Chapter 49th

It was night already – how late, I could not tell, but everything was silent except for the old wooden clock ticking lazily in the kitchen. Still, I squinted my sensitive eyes when some light greeted them – where from, and how intense, I didn't know. Maybe it was just some particularly generous moonlight invading through the glass panel on the front door, or maybe even just a lamp left on in the living room… whatever the case, it hurt my eyes, so attuned to the despairing darkness downstairs. I protected them, lingered, but Chris was not willing to let me adjust: he pushed me forward after a mere second's delay:

"Come on! I'm sure you don't need to see to find your way up…"

Subdued and confused by my blindness, I followed his lead.

"There you are!" he incentivized with a meek, warmer voice, made tender by my easy compliance. "Watch your step now!" he pushed, instructing me, hand on my nape half-pushing, half holding in case of a fall "…one foot at a time…"

One foot was all it took for my body to tremble with the strange sensation – certainty, almost – of falling. The wooden step felt like the loose lid of a wooden chest under my blind foot, ready to skid away. That perceived loss of balance caused an exaggerate response, and suddenly I felt my blood flood with adrenaline again, the muscles controlling my breath tighten suffocatingly, the legs freeze. I lingered once more, looked up, towards the somber landing upstairs, shaking as my vision shook… That lethargy of submission effaced, I saw myself glaring wide-eyed at yet another flight of steps, recalling what awaited me – not that I had allowed myself to forget for even a minute! It was just the physical proximity of it that seemed to bring home a new array of horrors.

Dread filled my heart as I pictured I might not climb down those stairs again, might not ever leave that room once he threw me inside it – not in one piece at least. Chris gave another push – a gentler, good-humored one:

"Come on… Nearly there" he murmured almost sweetly now, happy to savor my hesitation and to fish in my eyes for the thoughts that probably haunted me then.

But the thoughts were such… that my legs didn't respond – to neither its own master nor its executioner. Chris tried another push, and as I wouldn't budge, he walked around me to stare down into my fearful eyes, instilling further threats – or sways. His blue eyes never looked so open and bright, so at ease and light-hearted… they moved across my face, examining and taking in every hint of fear, all while the corners of his lips turned upwards in a spontaneous smile of sheer, irresistible amusement.

"What's the matter? Afraid you are walking up your own gallows?" he smirked, measuring me up "…or just the traditional cold feet at the idea of finally being fucked?"

I darted at his eyes, and he stretched a smile at my reaction:

"What's the matter? Don't like that word? Don't like me saying it bluntly?" He leaned closer, enticed, watching me calmly "Well, I've decided I'm not taking it easy on you anymore, remember? Not treating you like a little girl anymore…" he sought my eyes, to firmly speak into them as to make sure the message was understood – the punishment, rather "So that's what's going to happen up there, in case you were wondering: we're going to fuck!"

I guess I did try to conceal it – to rob him of the pleasure of watching me react, but my body couldn't help but collapse to the side, against the banister, nauseous with nervousness. And my nostrils must well have expanded, extra hungry for air to hyperventilate my speeding blood. These all seemed like a treat to Chris – an offender's contrition welcomed by the punisher, and he leaned closer to my face to watch it all, unconcealed.

"Hmm… yes…" was his conclusion, having made clear his intention no longer sparing me – if ever he did so "I suppose it does make you extra comfortable: knowing. There's always hope, isn't there? And you must have had plenty of that to go around, through all these twists and turns, and yet, we stand here again!" He leaned back to smile, watching the sight of me condescendingly. "Hope or no hope…" he sighed, reasoning and concluding "…it's of no consequence, really: In the end, no matter how much you've prepared for it, I guess you virginal girls do fear this moment more than death itself: when you're all alone, in a room with a bed, and the man that's about to take you. It's actually kind of arousing…all this hesitation!" and he scoffed a short, charming laugh, the one that so insulted me "Why don't you tell me what you are so scared of, Abby? Tell me what's on your mind…" he petitioned, seeming to stand taller as inch closer, slowly but surely cornering me against the banister, locking me in his shadow, his hand casually poised to prevent my running back down. "Be specific…" he probed in the face of my silence "Who knows where that can get you?"

But he wasn't deluded, nor was he deluding me: he merely said those things to tease me, to belittle my terror and bring it home how little my drama affected him… He could never be moved, or reasoned with – so the cold thrill in his eyes told me, when they reveled in my torment. To cry, to beg, to try and desperately appeal for some sense of mercy was to arouse him further, and he stood there waiting just for that: to enjoy it as I crumbled. There was nothing I could do, really: my odds were worse than if life depended on the mercy of a cold machine, for at least the machine would derive no pleasure in degrading me, not as he would. Panic spiked! I hyperventilated.

"Okay… Not in the mood for talking, apparently. I understand." he chuckled at last "You know what? Neither am I: we have waited enough, haven't we? I said no more games. Come on, let's go…" and he turned again, giving me way. His hand touched me, held me as he ushered me up in a gentlemanly way – but firmly. I shuddered!

"Abby…" he chided with the air of a threat, then tried his rather polite entreaty again. I didn't move to climb, but moved from his touch as if repelled.

"Go! Upstairs – now!" he commanded at last, his voice as ready as if he expected nothing less from the minute we started that pointless banter. But I still didn't listen – my brain wasn't well… something seemed broken, off.

"I said… Now!" he reiterated with a low, firm, imposing voice, more intimidating than any shout could be.

"…please." I caught myself whimpering cowardly, in spite of myself.

"No… no more pleading. No more games! This is your last chance to do as you're told." He was quick to reply this time around, expressing his impatience. "Let's go."

We were at the edge, at the very brink of my destruction, and I was cornered and speechless, standing where fear finally becomes so real your mind goes numb, as if moving away, out of the brain itself, floating high and behind watching the scene unfold.

"Come!" He commanded at last, grabbing for my arm.

Then, when his skin touched mine, it seemed to crash down again, and I lost it!

Suddenly, fear itself had taken the wheel, it controlled me – it injected my muscles with a hot gush of fresh blood, came from I don't know where, and I saw myself thrashing before I could process what I was doing. I threw myself against him, pushed him over the stairs, then ran to the door as soon as the way was free.

With hands still bound, I tried the doorknob: of course it was locked! I smacked the door, I kicked it and I screamed for help – my scream was halted mid-life by Chris grabbing me from behind and pulling me off my feet. I kicked the air, I screamed and I thrashed, all to no avail, until he turned me around to bring me upstairs – then I found some footing: I planted my two feet on the wall and pushed back with all my weight, succeeding in throwing him across the corridor, against the opposite wall.

With a mute thud and a grunt, he fell down. Of course, I went down too, still caught in his grip, but there was no pain to be experienced, no time for it just yet, not when adrenaline moved me to hysteria.

His hand felt around for me, grabbing the air – I don't know how I managed to elude them, but briefly I did! I sat up on his torso, and he held me by the shirt. I patted his pockets, and he grabbed me by the hair. I yanked myself free, pushed him down farther with my weight, and finally managed to produce my own keys from his possession. Hope surged! I lunged upwards, attempting to stand – Chris restrained me. I slapped his arms, slapped his hands, punched his chest, pushed him down onto the floor, on his back… but he wasn't fighting…not for real. I held hope itself in my hands – it jiggled noisily as we struggled, and never once he tried to reach for it, to steal it back from me… he was enjoying himself: letting me nurture that feeble expectation, just to have it crushed as soon as he tired of it. The realization hit me like a truck in the dark – that smile, it was there again, poorly-contained, leaking! Malice leaking! Quickly I tried to stand up, to repel him promptly, before it was too late – that's when his hand wrapped around my wrist, immobilizing me. I tried to pry open his fingers, but they were undisturbed. His eyes cast their mockery on me: this was his real strength, of course… how could I have forgotten?

"Did you enjoy it?" he mocked cruelly "did you enjoy the brief illusion that you could?"

My breathing climbed, soaring to rage, and once again I despaired. I screamed once more for help, until a slap across the face silenced me, and I fell sideways, onto the floor.

Chris pulled me to him, then rolled, landing on top of me, my body all limp and coward again as I nursed my cheek. Before I could scream again – my only shot at resisting now that my movements were effectively restrained between his thighs – he pressed his palm against my mouth, his cold fingers squeezing my cheeks – yes… cold! My commotion, all I had in me wasn't even enough to make him break a sweat! I moaned and cried into his hand – good thing I couldn't be heard, because, incomprehensibly even to myself, I think I begged – most pathetically!

"Okay…" he breathed "Your last chance is up! It's my way now: Let's go." He stood and yanked me up violently, pulling - dragging me behind him as he climbed.

"NO, NO, NO, WAIT!" I grabbed the wooden rails, wrapped my arms around them painfully. "PLEASE - " I began thinking, desperately thinking what to do next.

Chris came down the step he had just climbed – furiously so! He grabbed me by the root of my hair and pulled me free with an immobilizing tug. But I immediately reached and latched on to another piece of the railings again:

"THE COP!" I screamed, drawing at straws "HE HAS IT…"

That was all I managed to say before he had covered my mouth again… but then he paused, pulled his hand from my mouth, wrapped it around my chin, pulled it upwards, immobilizing me just in case. My heart beat so fast, it was all I could hear when it was silent, as it was now.

Silence didn't last: while I desperately tried to gauge his impatience, as if my life depended on it – for it somewhat did –, he let out a low, contained, annoyed laugh, as one who can barely help himself.

"What DOES he have?" he inquired in a disturbing mixture of feigned interest and clenched jaw.