Romance 5
My fault. Goddamn it, all my motherfucking fault. We should never have come here. Never. I was a fucking idiot. A damned fucking idiot.
The men surrounded us, three of them, one with a gun, the other two sharing an already bloodied bat. Three men, a gun, a bat, and the two of us: the composition of our hell.
There was no fire and brimstone to illuminate us, only a cool spring evening, with a myriad of brightly shining stars in the middle of a blooming park. I had thought it'd be romantic. I was wrong.
My hands were roughly bound, my chest hurt every time I breathed, my leg felt like it was on fire, and I could taste the blood trickling from nose. At least, I thought it was my nose. It could have been my fucking brain for all I cared. All of it paled to the pain of watching her. And them.
Her binds were not of rope, but flesh. A flesh that moved, explored, assaulted her, every movement another torment. A flesh that beamed when she sobbed, savored the moonlight in her tears, and sought any way it could to induce more. It didn't have to try hard.
She had struggled. We both had, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't that we were afraid of dying. It wasn't ourselves we were afraid for. It was each other. Really, what can you do when a person levels a gun at the person you love more than your own life and says "Stop or I blow his fucking brains out." She'd stopped. Even when I yelled for her to keep running, it was already too late. I got my nose broken, and she got a hand down her blouse. Would that it had stopped there.
She'd screamed when it went down her skirt. That was her second warning, and the moment when my leg had become intimately familiar with the bat.
I looked for options, but there was no way out. The one I took for "the leader", fat with greedy eyes, counted our money, his bat forgotten on the ground, as my lover was groped, and I could only watch. This was just a prelude, an opener to the "main event."
I wanted to scream, to break free, to tear each one of their fucking heads off, to take her into my arms and never let go. I wanted to be the hero.
Instead, I got to vomit, tears streaming down my face, my head held by my hair, a gun leveled at my skull. I wished I could help her, free her, rescue her, die for her. But all I could do was stare into her terror-filled eyes and try to let her know how much I loved her. For all the good it did.
The fat man finished counting and crammed everything of value into his pockets.
"Well, I'm afraid yore a bit short. Gonna' have t' find another way to pay, heh heh."
His eyes left little doubt what he expected.
"Bastard I'll kil-"
I was answered with a backhanded slap and a gunbarrel jammed into my head.
"One more word outta you, and you'll wish I'd killed you both."
I stared defiantly, my eye rapidly swelling shut.
"Now, fellas, what say we stop playin' around an' let get o' her. Let's see what she's got under that purty dress. No, no, let her take it off. Nice and slow. Heh, wouldn't want loverboy here to break anything else, would ya sugar? Go on, I ain't got all night."
With a renewed burst of tears, she began to undress. Her hands shook so much it seemed like she'd never be able to remove her bra, but with a bit of "encouragement", she managed.
She stood in the moonlight, naked. And beautiful. More beautiful than I had ever seen her. I sobbed again.
The sob turned into a lurch when he dropped his pants. He ambled toward her, savoring the fear so evident in her face and the absolute control he had over the situation.
I was powerless. Bound, weak, terrified. If only I was stronger, smarter, better! I could have done something, said something, changed something to kill this fucking nightmare. Damn me and my weakness, damn me and my romance, damn me damn me damn me fuck me fuck me FUCK ME FUCK ME!
The sudden burst of light blinded all of us. The gunshots deafened us.
I felt the gun atop my head fall to the ground, as did my now released body and that of my captor's.
"Not another step."
The fat man stopped.
A police officer walked slowly to the man, his gun raised high, as another officer moved to intercept the sole living accomplice. When both were on the ground in handcuffs, I ran to catch my girlfriend. I tore off my jacket and covered her, cradling her in my arms.
"I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, so sorry, so sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
I kept repeating myself.
She didn't say a word.
The men surrounded us, three of them, one with a gun, the other two sharing an already bloodied bat. Three men, a gun, a bat, and the two of us: the composition of our hell.
There was no fire and brimstone to illuminate us, only a cool spring evening, with a myriad of brightly shining stars in the middle of a blooming park. I had thought it'd be romantic. I was wrong.
My hands were roughly bound, my chest hurt every time I breathed, my leg felt like it was on fire, and I could taste the blood trickling from nose. At least, I thought it was my nose. It could have been my fucking brain for all I cared. All of it paled to the pain of watching her. And them.
Her binds were not of rope, but flesh. A flesh that moved, explored, assaulted her, every movement another torment. A flesh that beamed when she sobbed, savored the moonlight in her tears, and sought any way it could to induce more. It didn't have to try hard.
She had struggled. We both had, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't that we were afraid of dying. It wasn't ourselves we were afraid for. It was each other. Really, what can you do when a person levels a gun at the person you love more than your own life and says "Stop or I blow his fucking brains out." She'd stopped. Even when I yelled for her to keep running, it was already too late. I got my nose broken, and she got a hand down her blouse. Would that it had stopped there.
She'd screamed when it went down her skirt. That was her second warning, and the moment when my leg had become intimately familiar with the bat.
I looked for options, but there was no way out. The one I took for "the leader", fat with greedy eyes, counted our money, his bat forgotten on the ground, as my lover was groped, and I could only watch. This was just a prelude, an opener to the "main event."
I wanted to scream, to break free, to tear each one of their fucking heads off, to take her into my arms and never let go. I wanted to be the hero.
Instead, I got to vomit, tears streaming down my face, my head held by my hair, a gun leveled at my skull. I wished I could help her, free her, rescue her, die for her. But all I could do was stare into her terror-filled eyes and try to let her know how much I loved her. For all the good it did.
The fat man finished counting and crammed everything of value into his pockets.
"Well, I'm afraid yore a bit short. Gonna' have t' find another way to pay, heh heh."
His eyes left little doubt what he expected.
"Bastard I'll kil-"
I was answered with a backhanded slap and a gunbarrel jammed into my head.
"One more word outta you, and you'll wish I'd killed you both."
I stared defiantly, my eye rapidly swelling shut.
"Now, fellas, what say we stop playin' around an' let get o' her. Let's see what she's got under that purty dress. No, no, let her take it off. Nice and slow. Heh, wouldn't want loverboy here to break anything else, would ya sugar? Go on, I ain't got all night."
With a renewed burst of tears, she began to undress. Her hands shook so much it seemed like she'd never be able to remove her bra, but with a bit of "encouragement", she managed.
She stood in the moonlight, naked. And beautiful. More beautiful than I had ever seen her. I sobbed again.
The sob turned into a lurch when he dropped his pants. He ambled toward her, savoring the fear so evident in her face and the absolute control he had over the situation.
I was powerless. Bound, weak, terrified. If only I was stronger, smarter, better! I could have done something, said something, changed something to kill this fucking nightmare. Damn me and my weakness, damn me and my romance, damn me damn me damn me fuck me fuck me FUCK ME FUCK ME!
The sudden burst of light blinded all of us. The gunshots deafened us.
I felt the gun atop my head fall to the ground, as did my now released body and that of my captor's.
"Not another step."
The fat man stopped.
A police officer walked slowly to the man, his gun raised high, as another officer moved to intercept the sole living accomplice. When both were on the ground in handcuffs, I ran to catch my girlfriend. I tore off my jacket and covered her, cradling her in my arms.
"I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, so sorry, so sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
I kept repeating myself.
She didn't say a word.
posted by Ophelia at 1:40 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home