Page 17 of Heal Me
Confusion flickers in her wide eyes as I draw back, just enough to see those eyes. “Give me those tears, pretty songbird. I want to see you cry.” I put down the remote, release the head strap, and press my hand to her cheek. “Give me all that pain and grief, so I can take it away.”
She gives the slightest shake of her head, but the tears are already coming faster, her breaths shaking with suppressed sobs. Her jaw clenches and unclenches, and her fists do the same as a world of pain seems to rise and fall within her. She’s holding back, but also trying to release it.
She’s still thinking too much, so I take the remote again, turn up the voltage, and press.
Even muffled by the stuffing in her mouth, her scream is shrill and painful as she bucks her strung-tight body against the restraints. It’s almost painful to witness, but powerful, nonetheless.
Before she can disappear into herself, I press my forehead to hers and whisper, “Stay with me.”
I have no idea what I’m doing. For a moment as I stand there, cupping her cheeks and holding her with an intimacy I’ve never understood, I see myself from the outside. It feels pathetic, and I’m about to pull away. But then her eyes draw open, and a sob wrenches from her chest, setting loose a cascade of tears that spills onto my hands in warm splashes of sorrowful rain.
All thoughts vanish as she becomes the only thing that matters—keeping her safe and taking away her pain.
“Let it loose, my little songbird,” I urge. “I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”
More sobs rack through her body, making her shake against the leather, and her breathing becomes hazardous above the gauze as she struggles to draw in air through her nose. Her despair is so deep it aches in my own heart, breathing life into the cold and quiet organ that I shut down so many years ago when I was just a boy.
It’s not for her sake that I suddenly have my knife out to cut loose the gauze, then unbuckle the straps with hastened motions.It’s for me.
The moment the last strap is gone, I hoist her up. A relief unlike any I’ve ever felt washes over me as I sit on the edge of the padded surface and curl her into my arms. Her hands clutch my T-shirt with a desperation that seems to ache in her very bones, and grief sends ugly sounds up through her chest as she presses her head into my shoulder. But there’s nothing ugly about her. Her pain is the most beautiful, raw, and honest thing I’ve ever felt, and I relish every second of it as I hold her tight.
“I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you as long as I have you,” I promise. It just might be the sincerest words I’ve ever spoken.
14
LAVINIA
I scream with the full force of my lungs as the knife cuts along the flesh on my stomach.
Zoltan's eyes are wide and protruding, like a demon clawing through the flesh of its victim, as he watches the blood trickle out of the wound.
I can’t see it myself—I don’t dare to look down there again. The last time I did, I nearly fainted at the sight of red smeared across the whole area.
But Zoltan refuses to let me forget. He drags his sweaty palm over my stomach. It’s like salt in the many wounds. But what’s worse is when he lifts that same hand to my face. I want to shut my eyes, but I’m frozen in place, staring at that blood-red hand coming for me.
I scream again as he drags it over my face, finally managing to shut my eyes.
The scent of copper fills my senses, drawing a wave of nausea up my throat. I swallow repeatedly to suppress it.
“It’s a shame I can’t use the knife here,” he drawls, pressing the side of the knife to my cheek. I lie deadly still, barely daring to breathe as he leans in, his stale breath blowing hard against my skin right above the blade. “No one would pay to see a cut-up whore sing now, would they?”
He presses his pelvis into me, rubbing his hard cock along my slit. Keeping the knife where it is, he reaches down to smear his dick in my blood, using it as lube before he shoves it into my dry opening.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the raw sensation tears through my tissues, squeezing my jaw tight as I suppress the heavy well of grief and despair at losing myself—my dignity and my worth. I don’t dare to move the tiniest bit as he keeps the knife pressed to my cheek. I just lie there, letting him fuck me, hating myself for staying.
“Stop,” I croak in a weak voice.
He pauses inside me. “If I stop, you won’t get to sing.”
I hold my breath as I weigh my options. If I tell him to stop, he’ll throw me back into the streets, where strangers will rape and abuse me—where I’m nothing and no one. If I let him continue, he’ll tear through my dignity and drag me through more agony. My dignity is not worth much as is, but on the streets, my worthlessness will be on full display. With Zoltan, I can keep it hidden. He wraps me in pretty clothes and shows me off to fancy people, spares my pretty face and promises to let the world hear me sing.
He promises to let me have the one thing left that truly matters to me.My voice.He’ll let me share it with the world and everyone in it. Just one more day with him, and I’ll get to sing on the big stage he has booked. I’ll finally get to soar.
So I stay quiet, and he starts moving again.
As Zoltan fucks me, I fill my mind with images of a red curtain going up, me standing on that stage, singing my heart out, and the audience struck into silence as they watch and absorb the deep-felt emotions I can only pour out through my voice. I imagine my song moving them the same way my music did my mother and sister—being the only comfort I could offer when times were bleak.
I will sing forthem—finally fulfill my purpose, bringing solace to the world with my voice, like my mother would say.
