THREE MONTHS ago
THE TELEVISION FLICKERS ON, but it is one of those old-school boxes, thick and bordered in a kind of wood-look laminate. Static brings it to life, lighting the basement with flickering colour and then the glow of a black-and-white movie.
The girl and the boy on the screen are naked, but the girl isn’t moving, and then I realise it’s because she’s unconscious. It isn’t in English. Despite the disturbing content, I find it hard to look away from the hypnotic way her body shakes as he takes her without consent.
I glance from the screen and meet Benji’s soulful gaze. In my mind, I smile, and yet, my lips won’t form the curve.
Still, I’m almost certain he winks at me.
Subtle. Just for me to see. And even in this strange state of intoxication, I feel my heart soar in response to that gesture.
When the girl on the television screams, my eyes cut across to watch as she wakes up with the boy inside her. It’s not a nice film. But Benji likes cult movies, and I like him…
Dotted in light from the standing lamps and the monitor, his room in the basement looks plucked straight from the set of an 80s show. On his wall, retro pin-up girls pose, their pear-shaped physiques tightly covered in short jumpsuits, taunting my skinny frame. He likes his girls curvaceous, confident, and dominant. Everything I’m not. Marilyn stands on a drain, air lifting her dress, and she pretends to be demure.
A cough drags my attention back to my brothers, back to the cannabis and cocaine sprinkled carelessly on the glass coffee table. My eyes scan the faces, naturally landing on Benji once more, and he gives me that grin. I think I successfully smile back this time.
A whooshing fills my ears, my heart rate slow but shuttering, nonsensical. I go to stand but wobble, dropping back down onto the couch.
No one notices.
My mouth is suddenly dry.
I go to talk, but the words don’t reach my tongue, yet I know they are in there. My bare thighs are like ice below my palms, and I wonder if I’m wet or sweating or if it’s just the sensation of being cold.
“She looks fucked.’
Benji moves beside me and wraps an arm around me. I lean into him, seeking comfort as the inebriation climbs into my consciousness and warps my reality. His scent covers me like a blanket fending off the awful helplessness my condition brings with it. We watch the horrible movie play.
My eyes shift from the rape scene ahead, slicing through the air to a blinking red dot…
… flash… flash… flash…
BENJI LAUGHS ON A COUGH, thick, pungent clouds moving around the space between the four of us. They have moved now, and the credits are rolling… I don’t remember when that movie finished.
A hand settles over mine, and I drop my gaze, staring at the way my bare thighs press together. A short white dress. Benji likes it, and I enjoy being smiled at by him. I watch Landon’s hand remove mine so he can touch my skin. It all feels the same, though. His hand. My hand. My thigh is so numb I’m not sure I’d feel a knife scoring my skin. Is that normal?
“Landon, man, give her another hit,” Benji says moments before dropping his nose to the glass and sniffing loudly. He tilts his head back and sucks air in.
“What time is it?”
I glance at them questioningly, but they continue to talk, continue to smile—such huge smiles. Did they hear my question? I focus on my tongue resting on the roof of my mouth, my jaw locked together. Did I say it out loud?
I blink.
I blink again, and I’m on my back on the couch with Landon kneeling on either side of my hips, working his arms low, fumbling with something below my knees. Benji is behind my head on the couch now, looking down at me, and I meet his eyes. My heart feels like a slow bass in my throat.
My eyes sting.
His narrow. “It’s okay, Fawn. Just breathe.’
When did I lie down?
Landon groans. “I’ve seen nothin’ so fuckin’ sexy in all my life. Don’t you think, Jake?”
“Perfect,” he agrees. “Doesn’t seem right for you to go to someone else, does it?”
I spread my thighs to see what he’s doing, and he hisses. “So sexy. I bet you’re tight. The tightest little thing.”
God, I don’t understand. Is he talking about me? Am I still watching that movie? His hand is on his cock. Needing to speak, I open my mouth, wanting to tell him I can see him, that he should put it away, but it all feels silly. I giggle, but I’m not happy. I want a scream to come from the place that giggle came from. My heart whooshes between my ears.
What is even happening?
I want… I want someone to walk downstairs, to see what I’m seeing so I don’t overreact, misinterpret. The vision of him touching himself blurs, my eyes misting up with tears.
When I slowly turn my face, heavy and mechanical, I see Jake. Pleas fill my eyes with water. My lips refuse to move, but his smile is the biggest of all, sloped, morphed.
When I look back at Landon, my dress is bunched around my waist, and he is dipping down between my legs. Terror circles me. No. Something is wrong with me. Something… I’m seeing things. A whimper fights its way up my throat when a wet and cold sensation touches me between the legs.
“She likes it. Keep going,” Benji says.
My mind screams for me to thrash around beneath him, summon all my strength, every muscle rigid with the need to fight… but my arse just shuffles slightly instead.
“God, she tastes good. Come here. Try her.”
My brothers move.
Switch.
Benji is there now.
I can’t keep track; they are like lines of black streaking the room. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I close my eyes to stop the lines from moving, but I can feel licking between my legs, hear them talking about me. It’s not real, though, it’s all in my head, and if I can just sleep, when I wake up, we will all laugh about my silly mind.
Darkness.
“THAT’S ENOUGH. Her virginity is mine. You promised,” Jake growls, his deep tone right by my ear, his breath gushing past like wind. My body is being touched…
Pain spears me.
My eyes open to him pinning me to the cushions, kissing my throat, panting, the smell of marijuana swallowing us both.
It doesn’t go away.
His body is heavy, squeezing the air from my lungs. He’s stretching me open. Crawling up inside me. My face is so wet, tickles, trickles, a rushing sensation from my eyes, pooling into my ears. The pain is excruciating. When he thrusts harder, rocking us both on the couch, the dotted lights overhead bob, fizzle in and out, and no one seems to notice.
It’s my eyes.
They keep closing.
Open.
Close.
Jake groans. “Fuck. You’re right. Oh, fuck me.” I reach up, grasping his shoulders, trying to see if he’s real, convince myself that this isn’t happening to me, but to the girl on the television. The pain is only a manifestation of my mind. “She’s tight. So fucking tight, boys.”
“She likes it, man. Listen to her moans.”
He gets rougher. His breathing gets heavy, strange, uneven. “Like my cock, our … dirty … little… slut.”
Don’t touch me. Stop it. Stop it. I don’t want it. A violent grunt rattles between my ears. Jake stills on top of me, panting heavily, nuzzling into my wet hair, and I think he must have heard my screams, understanding I need help.
“My turn,’ Benji declares.
I manage to roll over onto my stomach. Or was I turned? Vomit fills my throat, a mouthful pouring from me along with the heavy fall of tears and sweat. I grip the armrest, hauling myself up but my body is like lead.
‘Where are you going?’ Benji laughs. Fingers sink into my hipbones, pulling me backwards while I scratch at the couch to stay on my knees. I grunt as my torso is flattened, weighed down by someone sitting on the backs of my thighs. A hand presses between my shoulder blades, decompressing my lungs, squeezing the air from them. I wheeze for more as he starts to thrust inside me, using the body that I’m unable to control but cannot escape feeling.
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
I tremble violently as I climb to my feet. My toes drag on the carpet with each step, the vision of the bathroom ahead guiding me. It’s so many steps. My muscles ache, and parts of me that shouldn’t hurt are on fire. Limping into the bathroom, I slide my feet along the tiles to the toilet. When my legs give up, I manage to pull my body up onto the bowl.
I sit, spread my legs.
A strange sensation leaves me, dropping into the water. Then I wee. I reach for the toilet paper, wiping myself, hissing as the paper feels like razors between my legs, but I’m not sure why. Pushing to my feet, I turn to flush, halted by the sight of red water and thick white blobs in the bowl.
The shaking of my limbs becomes hysterical. My finger freezes on the button, not wanting to flush it in case what I am seeing will be washed away and forgotten. Wide-eyed, tears stream down my face. No. It wasn’t real.
I don’t flush the toilet.
Barely alive, I walk back into the main room, head cast down at my feet. They seem to be working now.
“Flush the toilet, dirty girl.”
I convince my head to rise. Grinning wildly, Jake stands opposite me with his thick brown hair mused.
He steps towards me, and I shuffle to the side until the wall hits my spine.
He laughs. ‘What? Don’t you like me now?” he says, approaching me slowly. “A few minutes ago, you were hugging me so tight with your pussy you didn’t want me to leave.’
My blood crystalises, freezing right inside my veins. No. “No,” I mutter, hearing the word but it’s not real.
This is the movie.
Jake doesn’t stop advancing on me. When his eyes run the course of my body, smirking when they settle on my thighs, I peer down.
My breath catches, and I cover my mouth to silence the sound of the whimpers that follow. It’s a horrible helpless cadence, and I can’t stand it. My thighs are red, raw, and the skin is coated in pink liquid. “What happened? I’m bleeding.”
“You don’t remember anything?’ Jake asks, and somehow his already big smile grows, becoming a gash of taunting horror.
‘Stop smiling. I’m hurt,’ I whisper, my eyes bouncing around the room. Where is Benji?
Jake moves towards me, but adrenaline scorches a trail up my spine, forcing my legs backwards.
The sound of Benji snorting something snaps my eyes to witness him rise to his feet. He appears by my side, and I exhale deeply. ‘I’m bleeding, Benji. I’m bleeding.’
‘That’s enough,’ Benji says to Jake. ‘Let her get cleaned up. You had your fun.’
‘Fuck your shit.’ Jake walks straight at Benji and throws him to the side; the sound of the glass table shattering pulls a cry from me. Jake clutches hold of my elbow and throws me face down on the cushion.
I try to scramble up.
I try to move.
But there is pressure on my back. He’s touching me. Keeping me face down. I twist my head to the side, tears sliding down my face, seeping into the cushions, and then I see Benji lying on his back in the glass. His eyes are wide open. His mouth parted, sucking in shallow breaths.
He doesn’t look good.
I pan down to see a thick piece of metal impaled through his abdomen, a puddle of blood creeping out from under him. He’s not moving.
He’s dying…
I open my mouth to speak, ‘Help—’ But a guttural groan rips from my throat when someone thrusts into me.
