The Devil and I by Kay Alastor

Chapter Three

 

Rayna

There is something deeply comforting about letting go. All the pain I've been so focused on has fallen away from me, disappearing into the vast, dark ocean I've become lost in. I feel so heavy and sapped of strength, which only makes it easier to let the bottomless void continue to pull me under. I sink deep enough to lose touch with reality, retreating into the quiet emptiness that surrounds me.

I vaguely recall an incredibly deep and soothing voice whispering to me from somewhere beyond the surface, saying words that made me feel more safe than I have in a long time. I tried to focus on that beautiful voice, to get closer to the source and the comfort it promised, but before I could reach the surface, the undercurrent forced me down deeper. There was no hope in fighting against the call of oblivion. It was far stronger than I could ever be.

Sinking deeper still, I am enveloped in a warmth that soothes me all the way down to my cold, fractured soul. Time passes slowly here, and it feels like I have lingered in this space for an entire eternity. This endless ocean of warm darkness is empty, but safe. I want to remain here forever, drifting thoughtlessly among the inky depths. If this is my afterlife, then I am grateful for it. This is a mercy in comparison to the cruel fate that awaited me in reality, where my abuser promised to hurt me again.

In reality, I don't know how much time has passed when I feel myself lifting towards the glittering surface of consciousness. The warmth of this place has kept me calm, but breaking the surface changes everything. It feels like I am drowning in a lake of fire as my nerve endings come alive all over again. Despite the terrible sensations all over my body, the panic never gets a chance to take hold of me. It remains a whisper, right before the weight of something I don't understand gently holds it down. Whatever is at work here, it does not allow the intensity of emotion to burst free and send me spiraling into the destructive force of my anxiety.

My eyes flutter open, and my blurry vision only evokes more confusion as I try to understand my surroundings. I'm suddenly in a small, dark space. It is soothingly warm here, and whatever I am sitting on is rumbling beneath me. The space I've found myself in feels comforting and safe, and I nearly slip back into the dark ocean of unconsciousness. That is until I hear it. The voice that came to me while I was lost in the blackness. Deep, rumbling and remarkably soothing. I don't think I've ever heard a voice so deep and calm until this one. The perfection of it brings a weak smile to my face, but my eyes can't help but close with the heaviness of my lids. I just can't process anything visually right now, not while I am dangling on the brink of slipping back under the surface.

“Are you awake?” The voice is somewhere close, and I love the sound of it so much that a small giggle emerges unwelcome from my mouth. Everything suddenly feels absurd. Aren't I supposed to be dead?

“Am I dead?” I manage to say into the darkness, my words heavily slurred from drowsiness. Am I now transitioning between real life and whatever comes next? Confusion winds itself through me as my mind fights the fog that has descended.

“No, you're not dead. My name is Officer Black. You're in my police vehicle. I'm taking you somewhere safe.” Though it takes my mind several long moments to process the lengthy sentence, realization hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I... failed? I couldn't even take my own life. What an absolute joke.

“No...” The word is slurred, and feelings of dread are trying to bubble up from somewhere deep inside of me. “He's coming for me.”

I am surprised that I sound so calm right now. Shouldn't I be losing my shit over failing to save myself? What the hell is even happening? I am supposed to be in the forest, dead beneath that big old oak tree. Someone must have found me and called the police before death could take me. The officer's voice cuts through my painfully frantic thoughts, the low rumbling growl under his words causing my hair to stand on end. What a beautiful sound, I think to myself, despite the strangeness of his words.

“You're not allowed to die. And whoever this Mark is, he's going to suffer for whatever he's done to you.” I wanted to laugh, but didn't have the strength to muster more than another silly little giggle. The idea of actually getting justice for what was done to me when no one even wanted to listen to me seems absolutely ridiculous at this point. Mark promised me that no one would believe me. He told me he had friends in high places, from the police force to the court room. How could I possibly fight that? I am nothing. Just a nobody without any real friends or family left.

I force my eyes to open, turning my head towards the source of the voice, speaking softly to me. Although still blurry, I can see just enough to acknowledge the behemoth of a man sitting in the driver seat of the car I am clearly in. I glance briefly at the large electronic device, like a laptop, situated between us. It towers over a central console covered in switches and buttons. It is a bit too much for my brain to process right now, so I force my gaze back to the shadowed figure sitting beside me.

Everything about this man is impressive. The lights from the car's dashboard illuminate his face, and when he turns his head to look at me I am struck by the radiance of his grey eyes. They look like molten silver when bathed in the cool tones of the car's interior lights. A few wayward, black strands of hair fall over his forehead and frame that piercing gaze of his. My eyes wander lower, along the strong column of his throat, and down to the formidable expanse of his torso. He isn't wearing a shirt, which makes it easy to see just how powerfully built this man is. His entire upper body is laden in thick muscle; the kind of physical structure you would find on a mixed martial arts fighter in his prime.

Whoever this man is, he is extremely attractive, like a fallen angel capable of making everyone around him give in to their most sinful desires with just one sultry stare. A small voice in my head tries to point out how different the two of us are as we sit side by side. He is massive and powerfully built, where I am small and curvy. Everywhere that I am soft, he looks so very... hard.

I force my mind to focus through the fog, suddenly wondering why this police officer is shirtless. Don't cops wear uniforms? A small laugh hiccups out of me yet again.

“Where is your shirt, Officer?” I ask quietly, turning back to rest my head against my seat and closing my tired eyes. A low rumble of gentle laughter fills the car, and the sound is soothing too. Just like his voice, which reminds me of distant thunder. I really love it, if I am being honest with myself. It is my new favourite sound, I decide then and there.

“I was out for a run after my shift. I used my shirt to wrap your arm.”

Oh, right. I slit my wrist open in the forest.

“Well, Officer No-Shirt, thanks for nothing. Now he can find me and kill me himself,” I whisper brokenly, the mixture of humor and hopelessness tastes so sour on my tongue. “I'm sure he will make sure I suffer first.” My words are still slurred, and I can't help but wonder why I sound like I'm drunk. I hate alcohol, so I can't quite fathom why I feel like I've been on a week-long binge.

I try to relax my body and let the current pull me back under, but his voice keeps me hovering just above the surface. Strangely, this man sounds angry. His beautifully rich and deep voice is laced with tones of frighteningly calm rage.

“If anyone so much as breathes in your direction, I'm going to gut them like a pig and string them up for the vultures to pick at.”

Huh. That doesn't sound very police-like. Now I am wondering if I should be afraid of this man. He told me he is a cop, but is that the truth? He sounds more like an avenging angel, or maybe he is a demon. Angels don't usually threaten to violently murder people, right?

“I wish I had a monster of my own, then maybe the other monster wouldn't have hurt me,” I muse, my words slurring so badly that I wonder if I am intelligible at all. His following words are the last thing that passes through my consciousness as I slip back under, causing a strange sense of safety and relief to wash over me. I didn't mean to sink back into the dark ocean below, but I am so just so incredibly tired.

“Don't worry. I've got you now, and no one will ever hurt you again. They'll die before they get the chance.”

Whether it is right or wrong no longer matters. Every single shattered piece of me begs for this stranger's words to be true. All I ever wanted was for someone to protect me, or even care enough to try.

***

Pain. It wraps around me like a second skin. His calloused fingers leave crackling trails of agony wherever they go. He grips my upper arms and shakes me as tears pour down my face, his distorted voice warning me to shut my whore mouth before someone hears me.

He tells me things that sicken me, and those words keep changing every time the shadows around me shift.

I know you want me.

You asked for this.

You wore that short skirt because you want me to fuck you.

You can't show up to a date looking like that and not put out.

You came to this filthy bar, so you'll get fucked like a filthy slut.

I want to block his words out, but I can't. His wet lips are pressed against my ear, and each word is echoing through the fog that surrounds me.

The pain keeps me focused, but all I want to do is disappear.

He tells me I need to focus on his dick, focus on making it feel good. He wants me to watch as he forces himself past that tight ring of muscle hidden between the cheeks of my ass. I didn't want anything going in that place, let alone this person's dick.

Dirty whores get fucked in this hole, he tells me.

He can't stand my crying anymore. His hand rises so quickly, I can't even register it before is cracks like lightning across my face. I am stunned, but the tears keep coming. He grabs me roughly and turns me around, forcing my face against the filthy wall out in the quiet alley behind the bar I agreed to meet him at.

I try to fight him off. I'll do anything to make the pain stop. If I can just get away...

His arm wraps around my neck, his forearm pressing hard against my throat. I want to scream, but I can't. I can barely breathe.

The tightest whore in Toronto, he says.

I'm not a whore. This was supposed to be my first real date.

He forces my back to arch, and his dick finds my sex instead of the other hole this time. I'm dry between my legs, but he forces himself inside of me, anyway. I didn't get the chance to tell him I've never had sex before. I thought sex was supposed to feel good, but all I feel is pain. I was a virgin, but I'm not anymore.

He laughs. Tears fall like rain from my eyes, but I can't make a sound. All of my effort is put into trying to breathe. He pulls out of me, cursing me for bleeding from both holes, before he pushes back inside of my ass.

I want to scream.

I want to go home.

I never asked for this.

I never wanted this.

He finishes. I cry. He laughs.

Pain radiates through my entire body, and my throat feels bruised. Suddenly, he is gone. He is sucked back into the shadows of the alley like a demon being recalled to hell. I cry and shake as red floods my vision. There is so much blood, I am sure I am dying. So much pain.

I want to die. Before I can do anything other than cry and bleed, I fall through the dark ground beneath me. Swallowed whole by the blackest ocean. Silence descends, the pain drifts away, and I am lost in the darkness once again.