I could feel him.
I couldn't hear him.
No; not over the pained creaking of the trees as the wind forced its way through their skeletal branches.
(It was actually very relaxing, like sitting in the graveyard when I visit Trent.)
I couldn't see him either, but it was so dark that only a bat could’ve seen without the orange glows coming from the streetlamps.
But I could feel him behind me as I walked toward my house.
It was an ominous feeling; a big black rumble that stalked me.
You know, like how they make it seem in horror movies.
Exactly like that.
He had been following me for a long time
And I could feel him every second that ticked by.
And yet, it still scared me when I finally saw his shadow as I walked under the light of a streetlamp.
I was one away from home.
He was strong.
He picked me up like I was a pebble.
He smelled like sweat and was panting hard.
I wasn't struggling much, except for a few instinctual kicks.
I didn't scream.
I didn't bite.
I didn't try to get away; well, very hard anyway.
He carried me out of the light.
The night was dark and cold as he took me into the shadows.
The gravel was crunching under our weight; it was calming, in a way.
Suddenly, I fell to the ground; instinct took over and I crawled; he pulled me back.
My knees stung.
He was heavy.
He moved quickly.
I heard fabric tear as loudly as a car horn and then my legs were bare; I could feel the icy wind winding between them before it was blocked by something large.
His hands were rough and callused.
One circled my neck tightly; I could hardly breathe.
The other crushed my breast.
Something hot prodded my pelvis and with one swift motion I felt my insides burning.
Whimpers of pain crawled out from my constricted throat.
He was grunting and panting and swearing and squeezing and thrusting and biting.
I could only lay there, my hands pulling at the huge mitt around my throat, pushing into the ground to try to relieve the pressure that was crushing me.
Grunting and panting and swearing and squeezing.
He thrust deep and hard; my pelvis was screaming.
He got up for a millisecond and flipped me onto my stomach.
Grunting and panting and swearing and thrusting.
The hand around my neck was now in my hair, trying to pull my head off my shoulders.
His breath was hot in ears; his whispered words were menacing; my cries were stifled as much as I could stifle them.
He kept thrusting; harder, deeper, faster.
The gravel dug into my hips; my hands held me up and tried to pull his grip from my hair.
Grunting and panting and swearing and pulling and ripping and thrusting into me.
He was sweating.
An eternity passed in pain.
Tears rolled from my eyes and quiet cries escaped out into the night; no one heard and no one knew.
He went faster and harder; the pain grew more intense.
He was panting.
My insides were on fire.
My legs were wet.
My body was shaking under his weight.
My body was screaming.
His weight lifted off of me and I could breathe.
Gravel crunched off in the distance and then footsteps grew fast and faint.
I heard panting and crying coming from my throat.
I rolled over and pulled the ripped fabric over myself again.
My knees were bleeding; my stomach was scratched; my legs were soaked with thick liquid.
My body ached.
Every inch of it protested movement, but I got up and walked back onto the street.
I was in pain as I walked home.
I was bewildered and stunned.
I could feel pain.
I had been numb for so long that the pain was welcome; even this pain.
I wanted it.
I needed it.
I craved it.
I walked up the steps to my house; walked through the front door into the darkness; up the stairs into the tiny bathroom.
I kept the lights off and turned on the water.
The steam was suffocating and the heat was relaxing.
I crawled into the tub and sat down.
The water was searing and pain still radiated through my body.
I sat there in the dark, in the stream of molten lava, revering in my pain.
I wanted more.