Punishment

Overtaken by the most profound urge to weep, I sat alone in my room, upon my bed, my bare back pressed against the cool concrete of my wall. Tilting my head down, I let my hair fall around my face, covering my eyes. In the darkness that sounded me, I could just make out the shape of my hands, laying palms upwards, on my crossed legs. White flesh, adorned with small cuts from handling glass, small rivulets of blood pooling in my palms. I flexed my fingers, seeing a shimmer of light from the jewel in my ring. Lifting my eyes, I slowly turned my head to peer towards my window, seeing naught but the closed curtains. A thin beam of light streamed out towards me, through a gap, flaring across one of my eyes. The moon had shifted from when I last saw her, high in the sky, like a queen, surrounded by her subjects, the infinite numbers of stars. I could feel my body convulse with an unintentional shiver. My breath fogged out before me, as the evening chill set it, producing the tell tale goose bumps of cold, the hair at the back of my neck standing on end. "Mitchel," I could hear, whispered in my ear, soft as a breeze that passed me. Shutting my eyes tightly, I shook my head. No, he wasn't real, he wasn't hear... He couldn't hurt me. I peered out through my eyelashes, tilting my head down, tracing the lines of scar tissue down my bare torso with my eyes. I pressed myself back against the wall again, turning my cut and bloodied hands downwards, gripping into the fabric of the grubby jeans that adorned my lower half. I shouldn't have tensed, but I did. That chilling, cold laugh echoed in the thick air around me. He was mocking me, he knew that despite my words, I feared him.

Almost at once I could feel the breath of him on my neck, the graze of sharpened fingernails, running from one shoulder, across my shoulder blades to the other. "Leave me be." I spoke, though no one heard. No one ever heard. No one ever thought to stay with me at least one night, so I could prove it to them that my 'stories' were actually truths. Not even my parents believed in the nightly torture I had to go through, they thought these wounds were my own doing. "You know I'm here." I shook my head again, my hair lashing at my cheeks, stinging at my eyes that threatened to tear once more. "No your not real, everyone else is right, your not real." I whispered hoarsely, knowing my voice did not have the strength I wished for. We both knew I didn't believe what I said. And my fear only made him stronger. “You know I am here, you can’t escape me.” I turned away, but my head only. Long ago I had learnt turning my back to problems, only ended in my own pain. Lines mimicking those on my torso were also scored deep in the flesh of my back, marks like crawls, fingernails, running down from my shoulders to my hips. No one stopped to think I could not have made those myself. “Come now Mitchel, I love you.” He purred in my ear, making me shudder once more. I love you, I love you. He always said he loved me. I believed him once, but it was always a lie. “Don’t say that. Stop it, stop it!” I cried, covering my ears with my hands, feeling the blood trickle down the side of my face, down my throat. Immediately his tongue was there, lapping it from my flesh. “Mmm yes, love you, love… you…” He purred again. I hadn’t the strength in me to look at him. I wouldn’t, no, I couldn’t.

I felt the mattress of my bed shift, and I knew without sight he had joined me upon my own bed, creeping closer. I could hear the sound of his own breath, the heavy, husky drawl for oxygen. I could hear my own heart pounding inside my chest, drumming loud in my ears. I could hear the rapid intake of my own breath, my panting, feeling my chest rise and fall rapidly. The brush of his fingers touched my face, making me yelp. I opened my eyes, staring out into the blank darkness in front of me. Quickly, my eyes scanned every part of my room. I could feel him, hear him. But I couldn’t see him. I swayed his hand up by my face, murmuring a soft “no,” opposing to his touch. But I couldn’t move him, I could never touch him. He was some ghost, some evil spirit, something, but not just my imagination, that I was sure of. “Give it to me.” He growled, making my jaw tremble, my eyes finally giving in to tears. “No.” I whispered, so quiet I couldn’t even hear my self. “Yes, give it to me, I want it, I want it.” He repeated himself, his hands running over the flat muscles of my stomach, brushing his fingers over my hips, my groin, undoing my jeans. “No, go, leave me!” I whimpered, flinching away from his touch, pinned now against the wall. Better than in the middle of my room. He couldn’t get behind me now, no, not behind me. “But I’ll have it, whether you let me or not.” I knew he was speaking the truth, he always got what he wanted… always. “Just tonight, leave me be tonight, and I’ll act for tomorrow, make it convincing.” I knew he was shaking his head, even as I could not seem him in the dark. “Tch tch tch,” He clicked his tongue as me, a cold cruel laughter breaking from his sneering lips. “But Mitchel.” I felt his body pressed against mine, his lips brushing against my earlobe. “I like to hear you scream for me.”

I broke down into soft sobs, knowing what my fate would be. Like last night, and the night before. I could never fight him, I could never land a punch, or a kick or a bite. He was stronger than I, more to the advantage, of a lithe, thin boy like I. His hands clamped down on my arms, where they always did, upon the vivid purple, hand-shaped bruises. “No!” I yelped as I was thrown forward onto the bed, hitting my forehead against the wood of the bed head. Dazed I groaned, lying still as I felt his rough fingers, sharp nails running down, tracing the exact pattern of scars. Hooking the hem of my jeans, he wrenched them down to my ankles, taking the undergarments with them. Tears spilled from my eyes, in fear, sorrow, and blind fury. But I was helpless. Numb with fear, I could not move, could not lift myself, limp as he lifted my arms back behind my body, holding them in a position that pained me. “You are mine Mitchel, you always will be.” I shut my eyes tight, preparing for the pain I knew would come. There it was, the sharp stab that spread from my buttocks, up my spine to my head, making me feel sick to the bottom of my stomach. I heard him give a content sigh, just a sigh. He had no problem with the crime he was committing.

“Please, I beg you, stop. Stop.” I whimpered, unable to pull against the painful hold he hand on my arms, and on my hip. He would never stop, no matter how long I pleaded, he never stopped, not until he was done. I could feel the dull press of his hips against my own, my mind blacking out in the horror, the nightly horror. I could feel blood, trickle in red rivulets down my thighs, to stain the blankets beneath me. “Someone help me, dear god.” I cried, loudly, somehow finding strength in my depressing state of weakness, and yet, drowned out by the cry of pleasure. “Scream my name.” He ordered of me. “Stop it Leolse, no, ah, stop.” Something else in my room stirred, the handle of my door turning, swinging open to flood my room with light. There in the doorway stood my little sister, in her nightie, clutching her teddy bear. She screamed, eyes wide as both the spirit and I turned over our shoulders, my father running around the corner to stop at her side. “Dear god Mitchel, I see him, I see him to!” Finally they could see, in the light of the hallway, the man I had spoken so often off. Bath in light, he shone like crystal, or dewdrops of a spider web, transparent. Pulling back from me, he glared at the two of them who had ruined his nightly fun. “You’ll pay for this Mitchel.” He told me, his voice like that raspy echo of the ghost world. With that he turned, sweeping out of the doorway, my father, pulling my sister to him, backing up against the wall.

I closed my eyes, laying my head down on the pillow, easing the ache in my shoulder. My father ushered my sister away, coming to my side. He knew not to turn on the night of my room, knew that I would be embarrassed by it. I did not want him to see my true current state, bloody cuts on my back, bruised flesh, pained physically and mentally, the horrid state of a young boy raped. “Forgive us Mitchel, we didn’t know.” I didn’t want to say anything, for I knew it would come out wrong, I knew it would a come out as a ‘I told you so.’ Or, ‘I hate you, you never listened.’ And of coarse, ‘why would I do this to myself.’ “How long has this been going on?” He knew as well as I, he knew as well as I did when the scar had first been made. Three years, every night for the past three years. Apart from the break in the mental ward, that was my time of peace, my ‘recovery from insanity’ they had called it. “Mitchel?” He asked softly, concern in his voice, like I had just stepped onto a road in front of a car. I opened my eyes and looked at him, surprised that he was tearing the same as I. “I’m just glad you could see, before you locked me up.” I said hoarsely, trying to smile. In the back of my mind I could hear my mother’s shrill scream as she came around the corner.

“We’ll get you to hospital, it’ll all be over then.” I lifted my head, hauling myself up, turning to face my father, who look horrified by the large stain of red that had encircled my body upon the sheets. “No dad, it’ll never end.” I reached over to my back, wincing as I pulled a silver feather from the gaping wound in my shoulder, finally uncasing my wings before the family that had adopted me at human birth, blood pouring from the feathered appendages. “Not until I have served gods sentence.”