The ticking of the clock is so loud I can hardly restrain my hands from destroying it. I ball my hands into fists, as I wait – wait for it to begin. It’s a part of my daily routine – whether I liked it or not. I have long grown to get accustomed to the anticipation, the confinement, the repeated pain that’s never abated . . . there’s nothing new. My ears are searching for those footsteps that seemed to put emphasis on themselves. I sigh, as if a child had done some mischief. The door is unlocked and it creaks open, like the door to my life – opened whenever anyone wants to; I have no privacy. I don’t move, or even look up. I feel . . . what do I feel? This is the umpteenth time it’s happening. There is definitely some emotion buried somewhere, encouraging my heart to beat faster, synchronizing with the vampire’s footsteps.
He kneels down in front of me. I still don’t look at him. My eyes are stubbornly fixed on the stupid clock. He is a patient man; he waits for me to look at him. Irritably, he grabs my chin and turns my head to look into his murderous, drugged eyes. They show every seething emotion, mainly frustration. I look back calmly, which only angers him more. He wants me to cower or try to escape; he likes his victims to beg for mercy. I don’t give him that satisfaction.
Giving up, he holds my fragile form in a vice-like grip, pulling me to him. His hands are shaking with greed and eagerness. I close my eyes, as I always do for this part. I have no desire to witness anything he has planned for me. Every physical feeling and emotion registers in my mind, to be embedded in my memories forever. He rips off what is left of my clothes. I can hear the vampire’s breath gasping greedily on my soft belly, as he runs his dirty fingers across it, digging his nails into my skin. His searching tongue explores me greedily. More clothes being ripped. My face is being pushed down, my tongue is being forced to move with another slimy tongue. Hands – my father’s hands – which are supposed to be caressing my hair lovingly, are instead caressing the part between my legs lovingly – love for my body. They are digging deeper and deeper inside me like a slimy worm in my body, with the pure intention of pleasure and torture. A female voice screams shrilly, cruelly – is it me? I cannot think through the pain and disgust and wetness. My still-growing breasts are being shaped by the vampire’s wet hands – so hard, I can’t even scream.
And then it’s over. He leaves without a word, closing the door behind him. I am lying on my bed, completely defeated. Pain is playing through my body and I burst into uncontrollable tears, gasping - gasping to let the remnants of my soul breathe. The vampire has been satiated. Except this vampire desires not blood or flesh, but something much worse.
My soul.
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