Micaden, 22 years old

“We can’t appeal?” I ask my lawyer, and he shakes his head, wiping his eyes, and I frown, because it makes no sense to me.

Why is he crying if he was the one pleading for me to accept this deal? “No. You will stay here.” He doesn’t tell me anything new, but Tom is still searching for a solution. He told he’d travel to Seattle again and try to find Emerald, so he can persuade her to admit the truth.

I was thankful for his offer and accepted it with one condition: to be gentle with her. Although she broke me beyond measure, harming her wasn’t and won’t be on my agenda.

At least not physically.

“Thought as much.” But then it dawns on me. “Why are you here?” Last time we’d seen each other was three days ago, when they dropped me off here and he promised to visit me in a month. The prison is far away from our hometown, so I didn’t expect him to make the trip often.

He fumbles with his fingers, wipes his eyes. And then the tears come again, and I blink, not understanding what’s going on. “Patrick?”

He exhales heavily and clears his throat, and then says, “Your old man died today.”

I freeze, afraid to even take a breath, still processing his words when he continues to speak, with each word hurting me more and more while agony spreads inside me. “It all became too much. People painted your house in red paint, claiming he raised a rapist. They wouldn’t come to his auto shop. Money became tight with all the lawsuits. The entire town turned their back on him. The final nail in the coffin was your sentence. He couldn’t take it anymore, because there was no hope left.”

I cover my head with my arms, roaring while Patrick adds something else, but I don’t hear him.

All the memories of my father flash through my mind, the only man who gave me a home and all the values I lived by till today.

“Always be fair, Brochan.”

“Even if people aren’t?”

“Even then. They lost their way, but you didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I be weak for it?”

“No, my boy. The real strength lies in not succumbing to the desire to be exactly like the people who hurt you.”

However, my sweet old man didn’t really know life.

Because the injustice that’s been done to both of us can’t be forgotten.

Alone.

I fell in love with a girl and because of her… lost everything.

I numbly watch the laundry being washed as the sheets keep spinning round and round in the machine. I rest my back on the counter in front of it, still processing the earlier visit, and press my palms against my sockets so the tears won’t escape.

I can freely cry once in a cell, but here… showing weakness here is out of the question.

I’m so deep in my thoughts, reliving all the good times in my head with Dad, that I don’t see the blow coming.

The metal object swiftly hits the back of my knees, and I cry out, falling to the ground, shocked.

The man jumps me, hitting my shoulder, but this time, I’m prepared, and I hit back, sliding from him and standing up while fucking pain travels from my knees to my head. But I ignore it.

The beefy asshole swings his fist at me again, but I dodge it, and then bend quickly to deliver my own blow, and he groans as it connects with his stomach, and I kick him.

But then muscled arms wrap around me from behind, locking me in a tight hold, and that’s when the first guy starts to punch me in the stomach.

Blow, blow, blow.

I keep it tensed as much as possible and try to get free, and I finally do, breathing heavily and thanking God for exercising in advance, or it would have been a quick fight.

“You little shit,” one of them seethes and goes after me again, but I dip, and he goes flying past me. But then the blow comes from behind once again, and this time the metal hits my head.

I drop to the floor, my knees landing hard. I’m dizzy when the two men kick me with all their power. At some point, the bat returns, delivering another blow to my head causing me to cry out, unable to withstand it.

The blood slips past my lips and from my forehead onto the floor. My ribs hurt like a bitch. Some are probably broken, along with my nose.

Blood, so much blood, I can smell it.

The click of fingers echoes through the space, and immediately all the action stops. I gulp a breath, wincing, because it’s fucking unbearable to even breathe.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see several feet coming closer and closer, but the most prominent ones are black leather sneakers that I know for a fact belong to Ken.

He squats next to me, and I scrunch my eyes to properly see him as dizziness and nausea make it almost impossible to focus on anything but the wounds.

Ken fists my hair and pulls, sending burning through my scalp. “We don’t like rapists here, Brochan. Especially those who touch underage girls. Do we?” he asks someone, and they must have nodded, because he turns back to me, sighing. “I might have been more lenient if you had told me about it… but since your mouth was shut, you left me no choice.”

So he’s spinning this story in his favor, is he? His words make it sound as if I touched a small girl and harmed her.

Guys behind him hoot, and I hear zippers being lowered. He leans closer though, and murmurs for my ears only, “And someone offered me so much money for this, you have no idea. I like a little raping myself, but then no one knows that, do they? Let it be our little secret.” His breath fans my face while hate unlike anything I’ve felt before surges through me. I try to get up, but the kick from behind keeps me on my stomach.

Ken steps back, and says, “All yours. If he’s dead, I won’t be sorry.”

His black shoes disappear from my vision as I feel hands touch me from behind, dragging my pants down, and although I fight as hard as I can, my strength is nothing against the ten men surrounding me.

There’s more beating before each one of them proceeds to teach me a lesson I’ll never forget.

Pain, agony, blood, cold bottles, dicks, and spit. Laughter and burns from the cigarettes. Arms that won’t let me look away and voices that forever stay imprinted in my brain.

On that cold floor with nothing left to live for while men rape me for hours, Brochan dies forever.

And instead, someone else is born.

He doesn’t have a name yet, but he won’t rest until all those people are punished for what they did.

Hope dies too, and instead, he’s fueled by the desire for vengeance.

Island, United States

August 2019

Emerald

Wincing, I groan as the throbbing in my head assaults me the minute I move it on the pillow. I still, breathing deeply through my nose, and concentrate on calming my nerves.

I must have fallen asleep last night on the couch after creating yet another drawing, preparing for my students to learn new techniques.

This is what happens when you get too excited.

The bed is fluffy and cold under me, bringing relief to my skin, which is drenched in sweat for some reason.

My brows furrow as I wipe the sweat from my forehead blindly. This seems odd. The AC is always running high in my room. I can’t tolerate heat, since it always increases my headaches. Kaden made sure to install ACs in all the places I visited.

I probably turned it off at some point while painting, because it dries the paint unevenly, but then forgot to turn it back on.

Sighing heavily, I lift my eyelids only to close them again, huffing in annoyance. “How could I have gone to sleep without AC?” I grumble, pushing the words through my sore throat.

I shift to the side to lean over to my bedside table, where there’s always a bottle of water waiting for me, when the deep voice coming from somewhere freezes me. It brings back all the flashbacks and memories at once, almost hitting me with the realization while I listen to his words. “That’s the only thing that worries you? I’m impressed.”

Looking in the direction of the voice, I don’t see anything, since the place has no light, but I scoot farther up the bed. I press my back against the headboard while placing my palm on my heart, which beats so wildly in my chest that I’m afraid he might hear it.

I’m on the boat with Micaden.

No. I’m on a boat with Brochan, who’s completely lost his mind and wants revenge for something I have no idea about.

“Why am I here?” I rasp, remembering the last seconds before I passed out, and I touch my throat, realizing why it burns. He freaking choked me. “You are—”

“Uh-uh-uh,” he scolds, and I can imagine him wiggling his index finger at me. “Be very careful what escapes that pretty mouth of yours.” Although his voice is smooth and friendly, the warning skirts around its edges, prickling my skin and reminding me I’m in way over my head in this.

I don’t deal with crazy on a daily basis. “Or what? You’re going to hurt me more?” It’s hard not to hear sarcasm in my voice, but instead of replying to my jab, he clicks his fingers. Suddenly, the room brightens, the harsh light almost blinding me until I cover my eyes, bringing back the pain again and adding blurry vision to it.

Fucking perfect.

“I was gentle with you, because I know how your eyes can’t handle all this harshness at once, but you didn’t appreciate it. So no more mister nice guy.”

A chuckle slips from my mouth, a hollow, hurtful chuckle that displays all the desperation I feel in this moment. “Excuse me while I laugh at that statement,” I finally say, adjusting my eyes and breathing once again through the discomfort.

I do not intend to become a victim in his triangle, or whatever he called it.

Besides, he’s like a wild beast hunting and playing with his prey. But they want a challenge, right? Maybe my disobedience will actually make him wait to kill me, and I can find some help with that phone he mentioned. Playing compliant at this point will bring me more harm than good.

I finally see him sitting on the chair a few feet away from the bed, and I realize we’re in the cabin.

The room is surprisingly spacious with three windows that are blocked with black blinds, two bedside tables, and a closet with a bar across it. In the other corner is a door, which probably leads to a bathroom.

All the furniture is made from the finest oak, the freshly polished wood shining brightly in the light while different paintings decorate the walls. He sure likes to dish out money on his expensive toys.

I’m sitting on a huge, king-sized bed with my ankles chained to it by metal cuffs, and I follow the chain farther, only to see the end of it in Micaden’s hand.

He smirks, tugging on it lightly, and immediately I slide a little closer to him, the action causing the cuffs to bite into my flesh. “Like a dog on a leash,” he comments, and without thinking, I throw a pillow at him, breathing heavily. But it barely reaches him, falling on the floor between us with a soft thump.

He glances at it, then at me, and then sighs dramatically. “Your character is unbearable.”

“Fuck you, Micaden,” I seethe, but it doesn’t faze him. Instead, a light smirk curves his mouth.

“Let’s proceed, shall we?” He takes out a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and opens it up, while the cigarette I hadn’t noticed before dangles from his mouth. “I’m going to read you a story.”

“What story?” I scoot farther away again, grabbing the blanket and covering myself as much as possible despite the heat that drives me crazy.

Who knows what his plans are?

“Your story.”

“My story,” I repeat dumbly, wondering if he found my manuscript. I never wrote anything else.

“Mmhmm. It’s called Testifying Evidence Against Brochan,” he says, and coldness slips into my veins as his words try to make sense in my head.

Testifying? Wasn’t he supposed to get out of prison after twenty-four hours? And what would I have testified anyway?

He must have done something bad after all if it came to this. That’s why he hates me? Because he did me wrong, and I wasn’t afraid to punish him?

I eagerly await the so-called story, because it’ll finally shed light on all the blanks in my head. It will explain.

But one saying is true.

Be careful what you wish for.

Micaden

Some things in life are inevitable.

But the one thing that was always inevitable for me?

Make Emerald feel the myriad of emotions only I am capable of evoking.

And we are about to go down memory lane.

Ten years to be exact.

Emerald

Micaden holds the paper with one hand, while exhaling smoke and pointing his cigarette at me with the other. “What happened on August 23^rd, 2009?” he asks, greedily inhaling his cigarette, and I hate how the smell spreads through the entire room and disturbs my nostrils.

My birthday.

I shift a little, because every moan and tender touch is still fresh in my mind, and he gives me a sinister grin.

All right then.

I lift my chin high, and gaze straight into his eyes, when I reply, “We had sex. The first time.” I mentally high-five myself for keeping my tone calm and cold, not giving him the satisfaction of my turmoil. He has enough stuff to get off on as it is.

Micaden rubs his chin, frowning. “Was it? Because this”—he waves the paper—“says otherwise. Shall I read it for you?”

“Whatever you read to me, I know exactly what happened. No need to tell me the details.” Is this his way of bringing me more humiliation? He wants to remind me how I used to crave him? He wants me to hate him more?

He is on the right path to do it; I’ll give him that. “Is that so?” He laughs and it bounces off the walls, sending chills down my spine, but he stops quickly, anger flashing across his face as he clears his throat. “You will listen nevertheless.” He puts the cigarette in the ashtray by his foot and starts reading, each word shocking me more than the last while I shake my head in confusion and denial, not understanding any of it. “We came onto the boat where Brochan promised a surprise for me. It was all going well until he came to me on the deck and wrapped his hands around my throat, and the next thing I remembered, I was lying on the bed, chained while he took off his clothes.” He rises, the letter falling on the floor as he tugs on his shirt and it drops besides the ashtray.

His hands travel to his belt buckle and the sound snaps me out of my shock. “What are you doing?” Although I know the answer, I pray he’ll say something else.

But my prayers fall on deaf ears. “I remember it word for word. But don’t worry, darling. You will hear everything.” He continues without the letter, “I thought it was a joke, but he was serious. I told him to let me go, but he didn’t listen. Instead, he ripped open my dress and underwear, leaving me bare for his assault. The belt lay on the bed, as he kept it for his dark desires.” The pitch of his tone rises a little on the last words while I scoot back, but there’s nowhere to go.

I dash to the side, recognizing his plan. He wants me to relive everything I apparently wrote, or confessed, or whatever he thinks I did, and make me experience rape.

I won’t give up without a fight!

But he quickly grabs my hips, flipping me onto my back, and loops the belt around my hands, tying them tightly, and when he settles between my thighs, I have no room to push him away. His hands rip the dress open, along with my bra and panties, leaving me bare for him. Revulsion and fear combine while my heart beats like crazy inside me, because I’ve never seen him so detached.

It’s like I’m not even here with him. All his actions are practiced and methodical, like it’s not a big deal to make me suffer so much. “I screamed and begged for him to let me go, but he wouldn’t stop, and then forcefully, he pushed his mouth on mine.” He takes a beat, and then whispers above my lips, “Beg, love.”

I shake my head, but then he slams his mouth on mine, his thumb pressing on my chin so I have no choice but to open, and immediately his tongue slides inside while I still do my best to fight him off.

But then something changes, because instead of assault, he tenderly sweeps inside my mouth, causing me to respond, and nips softly, breathing in my scent, and I blink in confusion.

Was it all just a game then? Had he acted in order to get me into this position?

My body reacts to his touch, so used to his tenderness, and I answer the kiss as if the world is ending, and we are alone in it.

Then his teeth scrape my chin and his lips slide to my neck, sucking on the skin there and leaving hickeys in his wake. My hips rise as he trails his teeth to my collarbone, biting there too, and then closes his mouth around one of my nipples, murmuring, “See the goose bumps breaking out on your skin?” His index fingers rubs them a little while he bites on my nipple and then moves lower, shouldering my thighs wide open. “That’s how they react to my touch.” Then he cups my core, and to my horror, it’s wet from desire, and he chuckles. “But that’s not what you said there, is it? No, your words were different.” He raises his eyes, and they clash with mine, when he says, “I hated his every touch and breath, and he used my body, bringing me nothing but pain. Is it pain, Emerald?” he asks, and then I feel his breath on my sensitive skin right before he puts his mouth there, sliding his tongue from my clit to my lower lips and then pushes it inside me, just giving me the tip. But it’s enough for electricity to travel through my entire body. His fingers dig into my skin, and then as quickly, he takes it away, licking up and closing his mouth around my clit, pressing it with his tongue while his finger slips inside me, spreading fire through my entire system.

“Please don’t—” My body might react to it, but this is… this is madness.

It’s humiliating and degrading, but he has no intention of stopping, because he removes his finger and then darts his tongue back inside, and I moan as pleasure and fear mix together to alert every hair on my body.

“And you know what came next?” he says against my skin right before he snatches his mouth away and then rises back up. “You wrote that I pushed inside you forcefully and raped you for hours. Is this what happened, my sweet?” I hear a zipper being pulled down, and that snaps me out of my haze, with reality quickly sinking in. Once again, I see his hard-as-granite face with hate-filled eyes. “Tell me, damn it. Is this what happened?” He fists my hair, bringing us closer while we breathe heavily with me completely at his mercy.

A tear slides down my cheek, because I don’t know what to say. I have no memory of this so-called evidence, and as such, no way to defend myself or him.

But something in him changes, because with a roar, he lets go of me, gets up, unties and uncuffes me, and then disappears behind the closed door.

Micaden

Roaring, I hit the door with all my power, leaving a dent, while a deep rage continues to burn in me, igniting everything inside and demanding I go back to the room and finish what I started.

But the human part of me, the one I thought no longer existed, the Brochan part, doesn’t let me. Instead, it reins in the wild part and takes me farther away from Emerald, from her sobs that can be heard through the walls.

Her tears should mean nothing. She’s to blame for everything that happened, and her actions have finally caught up with her.

I plaster my hands on the table near the captain’s cabin and breathe through my nose, needing to find my iron-willed control, but I fail, because those emotions can’t be stopped.

My fury needs blood and justice. My conscience, or what’s left of it anyway, needs peace and truth. But none of those parts is getting what it wants, so instead, my body shakes with desire to do what I truly want.

That’s the problem though, always has been.

Micaden hates Emerald so much he can taste the hatred on his lips and the acid forever burns his throat.

Brochan, however, loves her so much he’s willing to do anything for her to be happy, even if it means he’s not.

So the internal battle continues while I feed them both with their desire, not knowing anymore who I truly am.

Because to satisfy one part, I need to squash the other.

And I have a feeling Micaden will win, because being Brochan destroyed me.

While Micaden allowed me to survive in the never-ending nightmare.