Angel [NSFW/R]

A blinding sliver of light permeates my otherwise never-ending night, alerting me to his presence and making the throbbing pain in my head come to a full crescendo. He's careful enough to not make noise; he doesn't want to startle me. Though the flash of light from the open door was only slight, it was enough to illuminate the fading yellow wallpaper of the wall opposite me. It was also enough that I could see the boards on the windows and the mildew stains in the ceiling's corner. I stiffened at his touch; felt his dirt and calloused hands in my hair as he ran his fingers through it. He spent a second allowing himself to inhale whatever it is I smell like, probably french fries and sweat, before he circles around to face me. His face is lengthy, dirty, and rugged. His bearded jaw is square and sharp, overall he might have been handsome once.

"Hello my Angel," he said, as if he came home to his wife. He brought out a bottle from behind his back, and I became even more rigid. Everclear. I could scarcely make the label out in the dim light of the room, but I knew it meant trouble. "You look beautiful. Here, I brought you some of this to make you more comfortable. I thought perhaps you might take to me more kindly if you had some."

"Hell. No. I'm not drinking any of that." I spat at his feet; I was absolutely livid. I tried to lunge at him, but I'm restrained by the bindings on my wrists. Just as I was about to set myself back on my heels, my face was struck by the alcohol bottle. Though my hands remained behind me, I crashed to the floor in a head, dazed by the pain. Before I was able to react, the bottle was over me again. I felt something in my mouth; he was pouring its contents into my mouth. I could feel the warmth of it as it traveled down and the spread of it as it reached my stomach. I knew it wouldn't be long before its effects set in.

"I'm sorry, Angel, but you know better," he scolded me "I always get what I want," I feel him pull me upright, and just as I orient myself, I feel his chapped lips collide with mine. His warm breath spreads across my face in putrid waves as he lets out a sight through his nose.

"Always," he said as he pulled away

That was days ago, I think. It's fairly difficult to determine how time passes from my position. From what I've gathered of the little light in the room, I sit in the middle of the far left wall from the door. The walls are, or were, covered in yellow wallpaper that is now peeling, the single window is boarded up, and the floor is cracked in several places.  He's come at least seven times since the Everclear. I can't remember anything before that though. My identity is simply Angel. That's all he calls me, and the more I hear it the more I want to scream. Each time that word falls from his lips, I want to shove it so far back in that he gags on it. I'm determined not to die here; I refuse to be the angel who fell to a demon.

With every visit, my hate for him grows. His words, though he means for them to be soothing, stoke the fire I harbor. I shudder at the thought of his hands on my thighs, where he seems to love for them to rest. I can hardly contain the bile in my mouth as I remember the sinking feeling as his hands slowly made their way further up my legs.

A knocking at the door disrupts my thoughts. "Angel?" I hear him call from the other side. I don't bother responding, because I know he'll come in anyway. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the door creaks open and my small world is illuminated while he remains in the shadows of what lies outside my room. I think I seem something else in his shadow. I take note that he has yet to close the door, as he makes his way over.

"Oh, my Angel, you look so sick," he says as though he actually cares about me. "You should really do something about that."

"Maybe if you'd actually take the bindings of of me, I'd be able to," I calmly reply.

"You know I can't do that; we both know things wouldn't end well for you." A sickening smile spreads across his face as his hand slithers behind him to retrieve something.

At the sight of it, my stomach plummets. I can feel every edge of it as he slides it up my leg, then my torso, until it's poised at my neck. The rusted handle is the only thing visible from his hand. He begins to press its edge into my neck, and I feel the warmth of blood as a small stream begins to work its way down my chest. By now, his mouth is near my ear to the point I could he and feel his ragged warm breaths. I clench my jaw as I feel his lips pressed to my cheek.

"Be a good Angel, and I won't have to use this. I promise I won't if you're a good girl," he whispers into my ear. For the first time since he produced it, the knife at my neck wavers and I know I've got a chance.

"Of course, I'll be a good girl. Please, just put that way. It scares me," I say in my most sugarcoated, sweetest voice.

He seems stunned at my response, but hastily removes the knife from my throat. He's quick to apologize, and before he leaves he asks for forgiveness in a sloppy apology. I need to gain some ground with this person, so I begrudgingly agree. I sit ale with my thoughts for quite some time.

'I'm not going to die here. He will not silence me; I will not die. The story of...' and then it hits me 'So much makes sense; my headache, the blood on my clothes, his care when near my head. I never thought much about it but...I don't remember anything before all of this, before he woke me up. Not even my name'

Tears stream down my face. Though I have no memory of them, I'm sure I have parents out there that are worrying about me. I have friends and other family members who miss me and who have no answers. I'm just gone, and they have no way of knowing where I am. I need to get back to them; they will have answers. 

After an unusually fitful sleep, if you can call it that, I awaken to strange noises coming from outside the walls of my little room. My straining ears pick up on some voices and some otherworldly roar. I tense, because something in my mind is straining in an attempt to tell me something.

"STOP IT, I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU!" my voice explodes into the silence of my room. I feel more tears trickling down my face; I just...don't understand. I mean, it's like I'm speaking a foreign language even to myself. From the pit of my stomach, I feel a surge of energy cascade up until it spews from my mouth, and I let out an unholy cry of grief and pain. I sob and thrash against my bindings until they're taut and begin to cut into my skin. I keep at it until I have not more breath in my lungs, and the bindings on my wrists are slick with blood.

Just then, he has to sow up. A gentle knock on my door and a tentative "Angel...?" as though he seems to wonder if I'm actually there. Then he steps in and closes the door. He takes his time before he comes to me; h does this by way of pacing he room. The longer he takes to reach me, though I wish to burn every inch of my body upon which his hands has touched, the more apprehensive I become. At least, when his hands are near, I can see them. I know where they're going to go; I don't have to question. But...with him on the other side of the room, his fa hidden in shadows, it causes a cold rush of terror that seems to numb my very heart.

Finally, after what seems like hours of waiting, he comes to me. He kneels in front of my with a knee on either side of my calves. I try to press myself further into the wall, turning away and immediately regretting my wish for him to be closer. A firm hand on the side of my face force me to face forward just in time for his kiss to land square on my mouth. I try to pull away, but he just leans to keep his lips locked onto mine. Just as I eel his hand on my hip, he pulls away to stare at me.

"You know, you make the stressful days not seem so bad. Just a kiss is all I need, but I fear that's beginning to fade.  fear I'm going to have to ask more of you, and because you're such a good girl you'll comply, won't you?" He seemed like he was giving me a choice, but I knew it wasn't because his hand was already moving further up my torso.

The tears come without earning now; I'm violated, dirty. My pants have yet to be removed since my capture, but he took something more than what could ever come of rape. He took from me my innocence. I can feel every movement of his hands, tracing the most intimate portions of my skin. Tracing them like they were something to be treasured, like he wan't soiling them with his very touch. I have to try to sleep to escape this waking...I can't even call it a nightmare. This is truly hell n earth.

I awake to the putrid stench fighting its way up into my nostrils. I have to hold my breath to keep from gagging on the smell. It begins to dawn on me that I am the source of the smell. It's been go only knows how long, an I've been having to relieve myself in the confines of my raged pants. He thinks me beautiful, but with the combination of the smell of my countless bodily functions, and the lack of food he's given me I must be a sight to see. I'm sure that by now, my cheeks have started to recede into my mouth, and my eyes have become more pronounced, and under what's left of my shirt my ribs have got to be showing.

I jump as his hand comes into view; he's gotten better at coming in quietly. In his hand is a small, square package. After his last visit, my mind clamps wandering thoughts before they can guess the worst of what it could be. At my flinch, I feel a gentle hand on the side of my face, but in seconds I feel a sting as his other meets my cheek.

"It's a privilage to have me do this, you know," he says "Not every one of you get this. You're my special Angel."