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He laughs.
That pinprick of annoyance only grows, ebbing away at the fear that had clung at your heart as the gravely sound rings within your ears, the small bit of pride you possess wounded by his apparent mockery. In a huff, you begin to turn from him, away from the wall of fire and the memories of an innocent girl momentarily (stupidly) enamored with a beautiful man, from him in disinterest of continuing this strange meeting any further. But he speaks, and for a fraction of a moment, your blood runs cool.
‘Oh, my dear, I think I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want.’
You are either slow or reluctant to understand the full meaning of it, to recognize the extent of the darkness nestled within those words, perhaps expecting a lack of any actual action, or perhaps not understanding why he should want anything to do with you. As he lunges forwards, however, the why of anything does not matter. You flinch from him, side-stepping away as he reaches for you, his wings (had you even noticed them before?) blocking you from your narrow means of escape. The wetness of his tongue comes as a surprise to you, a squeal leaving you as your body swivels away from the mass of his.
“Get away from me—“
But he does not stop.
(And why should he? You, your threats, you realize, are nothing.)
His teeth find the russet of your skin next, pinching at the sensitive flesh as he makes his way down the length of your body (had you ever felt so insignificantly small?). At first, you do not fight, afraid to provoke him further, afraid of the consequences of his anger. The desire to run (for the first time since he had been born, rooted your heart to something more than whims, all of your childish sentiments, since that day on the lake that reflected nothing but sky when he had held you and for once you believed things would be alright, and it is here where your thoughts remain) resonates within your chest, in your bones, your long legs, but you know, even if you tried, you have nowhere to go.
His teeth, your ripped flesh, are nothing compared to the sudden pressure that follows as he throws himself on top of you, his weight alone nearly enough to send you crashing to the ground. ‘And you shall not fight.’ “No,” your legs, your entire body, tremble, a strained moan emitting from you as all of the feigned bravery that you have clutched to, fooled yourself in to believing would save you, crumbles into dust, into nothing. It feels like an eternity in the small space of the seconds that pass of him shifting above you, your body exhausted in all of your futile attempts to try and pull from beneath him, away from him, the rub of his skin like sandpaper against yours—“nnno, no,” a rushed breath, quiet plea as your eyes slam shut, your heart a hummingbird, his ragged breathing the only thing you can hear as it pools along your shoulders, his teeth still clasped so tightly to you.
“NO!” It is a mangled screech as your muscles bunch, legs extending as you kick out as far as your position will allow, desperate to hit him, knock him off balance, anything to get him away. There is a quick pressure against your right foot as it makes contact with something, (a wall? his leg? let it be the manhood he so clearly does not need) and in your sense of victory, you kick out again, unwilling to simply succumb to him, his black desires. Your sense of accomplishment is snatched away all too quickly when your stomach lurches as your feet hit the ground again, a gasp leaving you as the earth beneath you is pulled away and your world begins to spin.
There is a fresh wave of panic, of searing heat along your shoulder blades as you tear away from him, from his suffocating grasp, your head thrashing frantically as you fall. A jarring (sweet) pain emanates from your forehead, down your neck, and for a fleeting moment you realize that you must have hit him in all of your aimless flailing.
But this, too, is short-lived; eclipsed as your body crashes to the floor, as the air is knocked from your lungs and something within your leg snaps from its place. A scream meets the rush of heat, the tingling numb that shoots along the limb. For moments you simply lay, knowing that something has broken, knowing that you couldn’t stand even if you tried, afraid of the pain that would follow should you be stupid enough to. None of this is anything as you look up to the man that towers above you with too-wide eyes and the situation fully begins to sink in, your breaths growing shallow and fast. If you had not been at his mercy before, there is no doubt within you now.
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like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare
