Chapter 36

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I posted a part just to be able to say "It's my birthday!"-- the day before Yesterday. Because again, I refuse to post something I wasn't satisfied with.

So enjoy!

Chapter 36

Children

Zachary leaned back on the tiled wall of our bathroom. His arms wrapped around me tighter. I was shaking, those memories pointing--drilling--fingers into my bloody guilt. They wouldn't stop. A messed up replay that went beyond one sense to the others. I could still hear the noise, smell that repulsive mix, see those men... That married stranger. Seth.

And feel. Of all things, I could still feel it. Every damning moment of it burying me deeper and deeper into condemnation. And worse was only coming to even worse. I felt tied down by the ankles with iron chains, while the chittering devils slowly dragged me down to the depths of hell with menacing curves on their malicious lips... as if they were merely waiting for me to join them.

My hands automatically clutched onto the shirted chest as if to prevent my demons from finally taking me. My sanity was dissipating at an alarming rate. Maddening, maddening, maddening. To the point that while my senses were opened up to those past scenes, it was closed off to Zachary. The rubs on my back and those comforting murmurs bouncing off uselessly.

And what did I feel instead? I felt those hands on my body as if that stranger was still beside me. That touch invoking repulsed shivers like cockroaches crawling all over my skin. My lips, my tongue still retained the tang of alcohol and that of another man's mouth. Worms, as if I'd taken a mouthful of it. I was drowning in those feelings. Hell, pure utter hell in the land of the living.

Dirty. I felt dirty. Like continuous maligning whispers over the skin that I couldn't do away with. Like guilt and shame exploded over my sense of touch. Like an itch that wouldn't go away... like an itch.

My eyes widened as a desperate idea came to mind. I bolted upright in a second, my gaze fixed on the exposed skin of my pale arms and I knew what I had to do. Fingernails purposefully dug into my own arms.

"No, you don--"

And I started scratching hard. The first swipe felt like my skin catching fire and pain felt good, welcome. It encouraged the second deeper swipe but before I got to the third, strong hands locked onto my wrists, pulling them apart.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked sharply.

I barely heard the words as I wriggled out of those hands to no avail. The relief that I'd just found quickly ripped away and I panicked. My vision blurred with new tears as I looked up to the man in front of me. "No! Let me go! I have to--"

"No, you don't," his expression hardened, of no mercy for my plea. Zachary firmly held my eyes and his tone underlied anger. "You're hurting yourself. Do you see this?"

He pulled me by the wrists, raising my arms to my sight. Raised angry red marks greeted me, blood dotting the deeper scratches. As I stared, the throbbing registered in my brain.

Pain was good. No, it was great, a thousand times better and I would welcome it again and again. But looking at Zach, I knew he'd disagree. I tried pulling at my arms again but he wouldn't budge. With irritating ease, he pinned my hand to his sides, effectively stopping further movement.

The first tear of frustration fell. "You don't understand!" I blubbered, "let me go!"

"No," that was all he said. I started trashing in his grip but he was like a statue I couldn't budge. No sign of strain as he looked down at me. It was as if he was decifering my thoughts. I knew he wanted to know and that clawed at my conscience. I couldn't tell him that. No.

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