Tainted

Another quick-write spawned from my lecture-induced coma....Please give your feedback and critisim and if I should continue this story or not....Thank you....

I close my eyes to try to block the pain. It doesn’t work. My skin crawls at the feeling of his sullied hands on me, touching me, tainting me. He thrusts harshly into me with some semblance of a rhythm, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

\"Please,\" I whisper, though I know he doesn’t hear. Or just doesn’t show it. I try to meet his thrusts in the hopes that it will finish all the sooner, but it hurts too much to even breathe.

I sigh in relief as I finally feel him stiffen, then collapse. I whimper and try to push his sweaty, heavy body off of me. I finally get myself free and rush to the bathroom, forgetting any clothes or toiletries I might need. Once I am finally ‘safe’, locked within the tiled walls of the bathroom, I undress and crawl into the farthest corner of the shower, letting the scalding water wash me clean. I hold in a whimper as the water, so hot it’s almost cold, crashes onto my skin, irritating many cuts and bruises that may be there. Burying my face into my arms, I suppress a sob as the memories and emotions come crashing down on me. I try to rid my mind of the horrible images, shame, and half-truths, muttering to my self in the hopes that someone will hear my prayers and rescue me, and will make me forget; purify me, and give back my innocence. I’m tainted, ruined, impure…dirty.

\"Dirty!\" I yell, half-sobbing, quickly clapping my hands over my mouth, silently praying I didn’t wake him. I freeze for a minute then relax once I’m satisfied in the knowledge that he’s still asleep. I lie there for a few minutes, then dry off and head to my room in the attic in a tattered towel, cursing myself for forgetting fresh clothing. God I hope he doesn’t wake up. I shiver, remembering the last time he caught me twice in a row. I could barely walk for days. Once I reach my room, once again wishing my door had a lock, I begin my hurried search for any clean garments --or at least the cleanest I can find-- wanting to leave before he does wake up, and knowing that the pawn shop closes in a bit. I quickly rummage through my drawers, smiling in triumph when I find some clothes that actually fit. I slip on a red tee-shirt with the words ‘My invisible friend thinks YOU have issues’ in white bold letters and a pair of faded, ripped jeans --one of my only three pairs. Swiftly slipping into the main room, I lift up one of the loose floorboards, retrieving his old wedding ring, including the one that my mom gave back eleven years ago. I look silently study it for a moment, wishing I could remember anything about her, but not being able to since I was only five when she left. I sigh deeply, then collect myself and leave, reminding myself once again that you can’t miss what you never had…or never remember having.

I shiver as the cold winds blast onto my face, blowing my long, raven bangs out of my eyes. I try to hail a taxi, but there aren’t many, and the ones that do happen to pass by are already taken. So I have to run to the pawn shop, all the way cursing under my breath and hoping that they’re still open. Luckily, they are. The hairy Filipino man inside tries to rip me off with a measly 100 bucks. We argue some, until we finally settle on $300. He accepts the offer with an acid smile, and I have to actually bite my tongue to keep from bursting out into giggles. The cold air is making me giddy. I try to hitch-hike, until some police pass by and I have to run into the bushes. They don’t see me. Or they don’t care. Either way I’m free. I smile wickedly to myself. I’m free.

I finally see some of my single-friend’s acquaintances and accept their offer of a ride. They agree to let me tag-along ‘til they get to their destination for $20 bucks, a ‘special deal’ because they kinda remember me…or someone who looks like me. Whatever. Although I’m almost sure it’s because the designated driver (who’s just as blazed as the others) likes me. I keep catching him looking at me from the corner of his eye, a strange glint in those half-lidded baby-blues giving me shivers. And not entirely in a bad way. My face burns with shame. Dirty, I think, remembering what my ‘father’ always said I was.

\"Faggot-Whore.\" I squeeze my eyes closed tight, trying to block the drunken, raspy voice out of my head.

When I open them I find Dev, the driver, staring at me, ignoring the fact that the light is green again, that same look flickering in those framed eyes.

\"Hey, Devi! Go!\" One of the more sober of the others calls out from the back. The others laugh as he just smirks, turning his head calmly and peeling off. And once again I find myself distantly terrified that we’re all gonna end up wrapped around a pole, but finding myself more concerned with figuring out how he could possibly be wearing underwear under those impossibly tight jeans. God forgive me.

~~

When we reach the motel they’re staying at I casually let it slip that I’ve nowhere to sleep for the night, so the lone girl in the group, ‘Kay’ or ‘Deb’ or something, perks up to invite me to crash with them. We all end up sharing a room --minus the lady, of course-- since the only had enough for two rooms. We all decide to take the floor, since the bed has some undefinable stain on the spread. I have a headache from all the crying I did earlier so I take a quick nap on the small couch in the room (if it can even be called that) after downing a Vicodin the chick had stolen from her aunt.

~~

When I wake I am startled to find the room pitch black. I groan and sit up, looking around in the hopes of finding some kind of clock.

\"Hey! You’re awake.\"

I look down at the floor to find Dev and one of the other guys…Chris, I think…staring at me.

I crouch down to sit on the floor beside them, laying my back against the ‘couch’.

\"What time is it?\" I mutter groggily.

\"5 am.\"

\"Geez,\" Dev chuckles, \"You slept all night, Scarface.\"

I smile at the newly-acquired nickname Dev had bestowed upon me on account of the thin, jagged scar running down the side of my right cheek. Though I still get butterflies every time he says it; worrying if one of these times he’s going to ask me how I got it. But, surprisingly, he never does. So I don’t ask him about the long one across his back.

\"Hey,\" Chris starts, handing me a glass of whatever they’re drinking, \"Why don’t you help us out on a little debate here?\"

I take a sip. Yuck. Gin.

\"What do you think separates man from the other animals, Scar?\"

I take another bitter sip, taking a second to think, \"I dunno. A condom, hopefully.\"

Chris, who I’m sure is more than a little buzzed by now, bursts into a bout of obnoxious laughter, while Dev and I share a small, private chuckle, laughing more at the flamboyant blond than the quip.

~~*several drinks later*~~

\"Scarface, Truth or Dare?\"

\"hmm?\" I try to concentrate, \"Truth!\"

He giggles, \"Have you ever snogged another bloke before?\"

My eyes widen, \"Have I ever what?\" I ask incredulously, assuming he doesn’t understand what he’s saying and thinking I never should have let him watch Monty Python in this condition.

\"Just answer the question,\" Chris butts in.

\"um, no.\" I answer, hoping he doesn’t see the sweat forming on my palms.

\"Have you ever wanted to?\" He’s looking dead in my eyes now, and I feel as if I can’t move, or even breathe…trapped by that familiar glint in those baby-blues.

…Until he bursts out laughing, too.

\"Yes.\" I answer quietly, wanting to know what his reaction would be, and if it’s what I expect I can just feign ignorance.....