Black Rose

Her lesson.

Trigger warning: chapter contains sexual abuse, mature language and suicide mention.

The documentary was still playing. It acted as background noise to the situation playing out before me, the sound of the narrator a twisted backing track to the scene I was forced to watch.

I wanted to stop him. I wanted to save Gwen from this hell. But I was immobile, unable to even lift a finger, forced to just watch in horror.

He did it on the coffee table. Stripped her down to nude and pushed her down beneath him. She didn't even fight as he started to kiss her. She let out a yelp when he started to knead her breast, but otherwise didn't react or respond.

It was as if he had drugged her too, so she was unable to move or fight back. But he didn't. That was the scariest part.

When he kept going, I forced myself to close my eyes. It felt like defeat, as if I was betraying Gwen, abandoning her. I didn't want to give into his sick desires. But I couldn't watch. That seemed like the ultimate betrayal.

"You don't enjoy this, my rose? You don't like watching me with my Iris?" Black hissed, his voice filled with a cold hard rage. "How about when I do this?"

Gwen let out a yelp of pain, and I winced, not letting myself open my eyes. I didn't want to see what he was doing to her. I didn't want to see the pain she was in. Black chuckles darkly.

"You see my Iris, that Rose does not want to watch us. She is not a pervert. She is not a whore. She is not like you."

Gwen let out another cry of pain, and I felt a tear fall down my cheek. This was hell. I hated this. I hated that I could do nothing to stop him.

"You are a freak."

I wanted to stop him.

"You are a slut."

I wanted to scream.

"You are sick.

I wanted to run away. A smack resounded through the air, and Gwen let out an ear-splitting scream. Blake was panting, his voice quaking with rage. He sounded mad and delirious, and dangerous.

He sounds familiar. His words set off buried memories I wish I could forget. Scenes I never want to relive. Violence at the hand of another.

"You are wrong."

She was yelling. Screaming. Her voice thick with frustration and anger. Of course, the anger wasn't what hurt me most. It was her disappointment. The sadness that was etched across her face. She didn't want me to be like this. She didn't want to have to do this to me. But I was, and she did.

"God hates sinners, Ophelia."

With every word, she sliced right through me. She made me feel ashamed, and doubtful. She made me feel guilty. If god hates sinners, then god hates me, I thought.

Just like everyone else.

The belt she hit me with hurt, but the words hurt more. The words were the truth. They were my pain. Echoing around inside me, making me feel weak and hollow.

You are wrong.

They fell silent. The only sound filling the room was the narrator on the documentary, droning on.

Gwen stood still, shaking from the cold and the fear. She was streaked with blood and sweat, and a broken look had settled upon her face. Blake neatened himself up, breathing heavily. After a few long moments, he growled at her.

"Get out of my sight, whore."

A flash of pain passed across her eyes, but she scurried away before I could offer her any comfort. She disappeared up the stairs, and Blake let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, my Rose, but she had to learn. She's not used to having others in the house. I'm sorry I had to let her ruin our time together." He said, and if I hadn't have witnessed what I just did, I would have almost thought he sounded sincere.

He fell onto the couch beside me, and stayed silent and still for a few moments. Finally, he moved, lifting the remote to turn off the TV.

Then he fell back against the couch, and stilled.

After a few long minutes of silence, I finally got up the courage to speak.

"What about Amelie?" I asked, my voice croaky and weak. The drug has worn off enough now that I can speak, but my lips feel heavy, and it's hard to talk.

His face twisted in confusion, and he frowned at me. "What was that, my Rose?"

I almost rolled my eyes but stopped myself. "You said she is not used to others in the house. What about Amelie?"

He shook his head, looking even more confused. "My rose, I'm sorry but I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know a girl named Amelie."

I frown, and let out a frustrated sigh. "She told me everything. She said that you called her Lily. That you tortured her so much that she killed herself."

He shook his head, looking worried. He stayed silent for a few moments before he spoke.

"My rose, I don't know how to say this, but there was never a Lily. I don't know what Iris told you, but you are the first and only other girl I brought here."

I shake my head, frowning. "That can't be true. She told me you took her from a pub. That you forced her to stay here, and that you brought her here to keep her company."

He bit his lip and let out a sigh, slowly standing.

"She lied to you, my rose. I don't know why, but she did. Now come on. Let me help you back to your room. I'm not in the mood to do any more with you."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and found that with some effort, I could move my heavy limbs. As much as I didn't want to accept his help, I let him, wanting to get back to the bedroom and away from him as quickly as possible.

Once I was back on my own, and I was certain he was gone, I took a long, deep breath, and let it out. Then I started to cry.

I didn't know what to think, whether to believe Gwen, or to believe my kidnapper. If she was telling the truth, Blake's confusion was well faked. Yet if she wasn't, that posed the question, why would she lie?

I didn't know. And I every time I tried not to think about it, my mind would return to that scene, playing out before me, and the helplessness I felt.

Resigned to my torment, I laid down, and let myself cry.

Would I ever get out of this hell?