Muse and Mischief

Previous Chapter

After a pleasant bus ride from Camp Perdition, T265 still rode high from creating the poem on the roof. The world felt brighter as she began to feel what she thought could be hope.

Content Warning: This chapter contains physical violence and non-explicit sexual assault. Please exercise caution in reading.

The tall strands of dry grass danced in unison with the hot breeze across the field. Their undulation tickled T265’s waist as she carried a heavy limestone chunk. The most exquisite chill teased its way up her spine to her scalp. Only fifteen more steps until she could deposit the rock on the truck and face the breeze again to cool the stream of sweat running down her chest.

Her muscles burned as she hoisted the stone into the truck bed under the watchful eye of the younger Daxton with his mirrored sunglasses. No matter how she tried to avoid it, his obvious stare left her feeling dirty. His breathing, heavy and terse, unsettled her in its familiarity.

“Hey,” he called to her.

The slither of his voice over her skin sent a tremor through her body that failed to push it away. Instead, her body screamed for her to run. She refused to acknowledge him and turned towards the remaining stones by the sealed wall. A bottle shattered on the ground just ahead of her right leg. The stench of warm beer filled the air as it clung to her pants.

“Bitch I’m talking to you.”

She turned to give him the attention he so desperately craved. Her expression remained blank to avoid angering him further. His lascivious tongue slid across his lower lip with a look she’d seen before.

“You used to have nice titties right?” he asked in what he might have thought was polite. He climbed from his perch into the truck bed. 

“It’s the scars,” he continued and hopped from the tailgate. “By the size of yours, I reckon you were at least a little more than a handful.” He sauntered closer to T265 with an unearned swagger and held his hand over where her left breast used to be. “And I have big hands.”

The world went quiet. When she faced similar situations before the camp, there was always an escape, which was her privilege showing. Her mind raced. How violent would he get? How far would he take it? 

As much as she wanted to fight what was coming, she wasn’t ready to die. Not after that morning. She looked away to contain the anger and fear that embroiled her.

His coarse fingers slid along her bare scalp. “Bet you had pretty hair too.” The stench of beer and lust hung on his breath.

Tears cut their path out of her eyes and down her cheek. “Please don’t,” she whispered.

“You’re a woman to me,” he said and slid his fingers across her lips. “Let me treat you like it.”

She shook her head and fought against his grip on her chin.

“Why you crying?” His tone changed, and he yanked her head until she faced him. “I’m a good guy and just want you to feel like a woman again.” T265’s tear-streaked reflection watched over her as he grumbled. 

“That’s all.” He spat on the ground and grabbed his belt buckle. “You should be more appreciative, shouldn’t you?” His voice grew sharper.

Anything to keep him calm. She nodded. Maybe he would take pity on her. Maybe he was as nice a man as he thought. Her body didn’t yield though. Something hid within his words. His calloused fingers scraped her lips again as her responses froze when her eyes fell to the pistol in his side holster. No matter how much her heart screamed to grab it, her body refused to move.

“Now,” he whispered in a softer, more sensual manner. He gripped her bottom lip between two fingers as he seized her right arm and pressed her hand against his crotch. “Show me.”

The forced friction of coarse denim aggravated the skin on the back of her hand. When she tried to pull away, he twisted her wrist so her palm filled with the swelling groin of his pants. 

Her stomach curdled, but she choked it back for fear of losing it would only anger him further. She clenched her eyes closed. His fingers left her lips, and the tiniest bit of relief abandoned her when the metallic click broke above the sound of grinding fabric.

“Look at me.” There was no warmth in his words as his voice was devoid of all pretenses.

She obeyed. That same lascivious smile didn’t hollow her out as much as his eyes did. The emptiness in them felt cold, yet ravenous. To the side of her vision, the gun waited in his left hand. It was no longer a question of if but a matter of how painful.

She was going to die.

In an effort to lessen the pain of the inevitable, her hand moved on its own accord, as if her own body tried to protect her. He released her wrist and groaned in satisfaction of his conquest. 

She stared at her reflection as her hands joined at his belt buckle. After two tugs, the pants fell to his ankles and left him dangling in the air. Her gaze never left her reflection as she tried to give him what he wanted, no matter how much his slick skin between her fingers sickened her.

“Slower.”

Again, she obeyed. 

Her reflection comforted her by reminding her that she didn’t even need to be there anymore. It was just moving her body, and that was simple enough for it to do on its own. Her body agreed and assured her it could handle things for a while. His head rolled back, and he let out a childish moan. 

However, she didn’t need his feedback; she wasn’t even there. Not anymore.

The barrel of the gun pressed into her shoulder.

“On your knees.”

She closed her eyes and agreed with her body and the reflection. 

There wasn’t any need for her to be there for this or whatever came after. Her hand tapped her left pocket, and the letters sprang to life. The sunrise shined bright in her mind, and she marveled at it while her body endured what it needed to. For the time being, she would enjoy the rooftop in the cool morning and think about freedom and life far, far away from there.