Dawn

೦ Anna ೦

 

My thoughts are slow, dragging. I try to remember what has happened, but my head is empty, completely empty; my mind won’t work. I remember my name: Anna. It used to be Anna. It was Rachel once. Now, it’s Samantha. Sam…

I know how old I am – I’m 21 – but everything else… It’s not there. It’s all hidden behind a thick and heavy curtain I can’t seem to push aside, not even lift. I haven’t lost my memories, or my identity. It all is right there, I just can’t seem to be able to touch it, connect with it.

This isn’t possible.

People don’t forget their entire lives just like that. Things like this only happens on TV, when they have been drugged, or after a severe car crash. I remember being in my car. My little, red VW. My grandparents’ present for my sixteenth birthday.

Was this what had happened to me?

Have I been in a car crash?

I can’t remember.

There are just fragments.

An explosion.

My car skidding across the road.

A crash.

Maybe… Maybe I am dead.

Was this what it was like?

To be gone? To be dead?

Was this Hell?

Being stripped of everything, being frozen with nothing else but darkness and emptiness? Everything black in black and… cold?

But why would I feel something like temperature? Am I not supposed to be nothing? To be simply gone? Without a trace? Only a sad memory for the ones, the little few, who had met me in college, with whom I had hung out with, but who had never truly known me?

My real story?

That I was good at pretending and bad at sharing? That everyone who loved me was doomed to die?

Was this death for the ones without faith?

Being confined to darkness and cold, stuck with all the guilt, despair, and sorrow? Is my stepfather, right? Have I condemned myself to this? This darkness?

No, wait.

I shake my head, and I can feel it.

Joshua is a liar. A liar and… my head hurts from shaking and I press my eyes shut, fighting the nausea.

I can’t be dead, not when I feel something. And if this is Hell, where are the demons, the devil to torture me for my sins? Maybe being stuck here, all on my own, not seeing my grandparents is my personal hell, my personal torture.

I swallow dryly as tears start to burn my eyes, increasing the headache I’m having.

And Sam… Nonono. I can’t have died without seeing him again. And if he died that night, if he really is gone, just as those men had told me, wouldn’t he be here now? Wouldn’t he have waited for me? Along with my grandparents?

Sam. I’ll never be able to forget Sam, who helped me nurse that baby blackbird back to health in secret, who protected me from his elder brothers although it meant taking a beating every time. Sam, who suffered though these hour-long training sessions because he was a ‘chosen one.’ A ‘guardian.’ Chosen to protect his father’s ‘church.’

From what?

Sam. If he isn’t here, he isn’t dead. Right?

I let out a frustrated, pain-drowned moan, as I try to set my mind straight. This isn’t Hell. There is no Hell, just like there is no Heaven. And even if there is, I will never see my grandparents again.

Because it is my fault.

I freeze.

Did I really hear that? Or is it my mind?

Why do I feel so weary? Why does my mind blur?

I straighten up. Instantly I tense as a piercing stinging jolt runs through my body.

Why does my body feel so strange, so wrong, so… stiff? It isn’t just the pricking stings that appear after lying or sitting too long in an awkward position. It’s something else.

I shudder.

Something is wrong, utterly wrong.

I feel panic take hold of my mind because my aching limbs don’t move like they should be able to. Slowly I realize that my legs are bound together at my ankles, but even worse, my hands are bound at my wrists, too. And the reason I barely feel them is that they are pulled up over my head.

I’m not dead. I’ve been drugged.

Someone kidnapped me.

Though my body doesn't feel weak, or broken, I’ve got the feeling that whatever will happen to me will be much worse. Somehow, I’ve known this day would come. I always expected, always dreaded for this moment to arrive, even though the agents that had given me my new identity had guaranteed that the Witness Protection Program would keep me safe.

So much for that. I chose ‘Samantha’ for myself, but they gave me the family name ‘O’Hare.’ The first time I read it, it had felt like an omen, and now the prophecy has come to fruition.

I should stop lying to myself. I know that Joshua’s men, most likely his sons Michael and Gabriel would find me, eventually. Especially since the agents were so stupid to consider my idiotic request regarding my first name. These guys aren’t stupid, they know how much their younger brother meant to me.

I close my blindfolded eyes and listen, trying to identify where this shuffle I just heard has come from. But there is absolute silence around me. Most likely I’ve made the noise myself.

My body is aching from the strange position I’m in. My arms hurt and are useless, devoid of strength. I’m tied up to something above me, which causes my shoulders to ache and for me to lose all feeling in my arms, apart from the needle pricks, which is why I can’t pull myself onto my feet.

The only thing I can do is try and pull my legs under my body so that I’m able to somewhat stand and bring my numb arms some relief. It’s almost impossible with my feet being bound together. I don’t know how, but somehow, I manage to bring my legs below my butt, but then my body refuses to oblige. My feet slip across the coarse ground.

That was, until suddenly, one forceful, painful pull on my wrists lifts me up and sends a searing pain through my limbs. Almost panicking, I try to find the ground under my bare toes, grazing the rough ground beneath me.

Chains. Chains are rattling around me.

My arms feel as if they want to jump out of their sockets, and tears water my eyes. The pull on my body lessens as quickly as it started, and my body is being lowered, my feet are finally allowed to touch the ground, yet barely enough to hold my body, as I stand on the balls of my feet.

When the strain eases on my shoulders, it is pain that replaces the numbness in my arms, and I can’t prevent a moan from escaping my body. I do my best to find a more comfortable position, but it’s just not possible. It only makes it clearer to me that my feet are ice cold and numb. I’m freezing.

I’m naked and goosebumps rush all over my body.

After all this time of waiting for fate to catch up with me, I’ve mentally prepared myself for something like this, for them to eventually catch me, reclaiming me, and probably make me pay. I won't get intimidated by this situation, even if I’m blindfolded right now. Too many times I’ve woken up from a nightmare like this, and caught myself walking through situations like these, and what I would do.

I begin to flex my fingers and toes, strain my legs and arms, trying to get the blood flow going again. It’s painful at first, but I know I will regain control over my own body, and on top of that I now have something to occupy my mind with. I won’t allow myself to panic, because that’s obviously what this is about.

Why else kidnap and blindfold me?

I shake my head, inhale once more, and lick my lips. It’s not really freezing, but not warm either. I can feel goosebumps chasing down my skin as I slowly regain sentience in my limbs.

There’s one important piece of information I can gather right now: My clothes are missing.

Not all of them, but as far as I can figure out, I’m wearing nothing but my underwear. They had taken their time to undress me.

I swallow down the bile that tries to climb up my throat. I’m not completely naked. That’s a good thing, because it means that at least right now, they have no interest in raping me. But it doesn’t mean that it’s off the menu. I’m not naïve. In the end, it will be about taking my body, of having their way with me.

I just wish that I’d at least have lost my virginity on my own terms. But I never found the right guy. No one had been like him. No one’s like my Sam. I only wanted to give myself to Sam.

I let my head hang, and try to ignore the air that gets stuck in my chest. I’ve stopped lying to myself about this years ago. After all these years, it’s still him. He’s the only one I dream about, think about when I touch myself. I’ve tried to think of other guys, like the other girls do: singers, actors, royals. But none of them do the trick.

Only Sam does.

Again, I shake my head and try to focus, try to be rational, and to not let my emotion get the better of me. It always ends in chaos or absolute destruction when I do let my emotions take over.

So, I snuffle.

The air isn't fresh, but doesn't seem unventilated either. There’s a slight humidity, yet it’s not enough to make me feel clammy.

Sounds? Nothing.

I can't hear drippings of water, or movements, or the low murmur of voices. It doesn’t seem like there’s someone with me in this room, even though the chains that are attached to the shackles around my wrists, have been moved just moments earlier.

Maybe that was just a figment of my imagination?

I slide my feet across the ground, trying to create a noise and figure out the size of the room, I’m held in. I’ve never been good at figuring out distances, but it seems like this room’s not that large, probably a cellar.

It doesn’t matter if I’m right, really.

Everything’s better than allowing myself to give in to the paranoia and freak out.

Suddenly, there’s this sound again. Some sort of metallic sound, a chain briefly rattling, and I can feel a slight pull on my arms. A tug. But that’s what makes my heart beat speed up: there are footsteps.

A shiver runs down my spine.

Is my body or my mind playing tricks on me?

Maybe it’s the panic finally settling in? Despite me trying so adamantly to keep it out? Because there’s no explanation for the temperature suddenly dropping. Just enough so that I can feel it on my skin.

Goosebumps. All over my body.

I grit my teeth, fighting back the stupid impulse to ask who’s there. Whoever it is, he, she, or they will reveal themselves whenever that person wants to, and not because I’m asking.

A tremor takes over my body as I try to not think of all the nightmare’s I’ve had ever since I left the Church of the Second Reckoning behind. And of all the scenarios I’ve played through my mind.

No, I won’t be terrified, I will not panic, I won’t give whoever this is the satisfaction of having an easy prey.

Straightening up again, I hold my head high and inhale sharply. They won't break me.

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

Initially, I planned on getting some sleep and have the motion sensor wake me, should she stir, but I can’t find rest, can’t even close my eyes. So, I return to the small twelve-by-sixteen-foot room and watch her.

I’ve put the anchor for the chains into the wall, right next to the door. These chains to which I have attached the shackles around her wrists, on which she is hanging now. I have bound her feet with silk ropes that are lighter, so that the strain on her joints isn’t too strong.

I could have waited on the other side of the mirrored window I had installed into the wall for this purpose only: to watch her without her being able to see me. But I must be in the room with her.

It has been too long, I have watched her from a distance for years. I just must be in the same room with her. Breathe the same air as her.

While Anna is slumbering in a drug induced sleep, I cannot help but take in her form. I have stripped her of her clothing apart from her underwear, because I simply haven’t been able to take her final pieces of clothing. It is ridiculous, because I must, eventually. And yet, stripping her bare completely feels like a sacrilege. God and the Devil are testing me again.

I just stand there, leaning against the wall close to the door and watch her. It is such a difference to being able to look at her in comparison to watching her through a feed. It is such a temptation to reach out and touch her, but I must stick to the plan, which means: no touching, no breathing onto her, no getting close. She is supposed to crave any sensation, to plead and beg for me. That is what I want, what I yearn for. But it is for my father to take.

I am oblivious to how long I have stood there, taking in every inch of her form, studying it as if my life depends on it. In a way, it does.

When Anna finally stirs, and begins to move, I freeze. I do not move an inch or dare to take a deep breath. It is like watching a miracle come to life when she starts to move. But it is the sounds that strike deep into my bones. Her moans of pain, that make my cock get hard instantly, begging me to tear her briefs down and bury myself inside her soft folds.

But that is not the goal.

This is about making her submit, about turning her into a slave. Into my father’s obedient slave, and make her submit to the reality that pleasure equals pain, that enjoying herself was sinful unless it pleasured her spiritual leader. She was my father’s bride to take and not mine. She would never be mine. No matter how often I dreamt of her.

Yes, I confess: I have fantasized about her, dreamt about her, and I have had sinful thoughts about her. The memory of Anna has made me sin so often. I will never make enough amends. It started when she began turning into a woman. She was only twelve and I had just turned twenty. And it was wrong. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the dreams I had at night, the dreams in which she sneaked into my room and lowered herself onto my rigid, pulsating cock, were beyond sinful. She was just a child, and yet I wanted to bury myself in her, wanted to hear her sweet voice moan my name, while I claimed her for myself.

I dreamt of her showing off her swollen, curved belly, that carried my child, while she was barely a thirteen-year-old girl herself. I fought so hard to stay away from her then, I begged my father to punish me, to beat me until death herself would step from heaven to bring me home. Yet, nothing helped.

So, I continued dreaming of her, dreamt those oh-so-filthy-sinful dreams of her. They never changed. No matter how much older she grew. And even that fateful night, when the Devil had consumed every fiber of me, when I took her small hand into mine and tried to run away with her, all I dreamt of was that my desperation would come true. But that night I had sworn on my mother’s grave that I would wait for her to be old enough.

My sweet Anna.

My curse.

My temptation

This is not only about breaking her, it is also about getting her out of my system. When I am finished with her, she will yearn for all that I despise, for all that I must force myself to do. And when she equals all that of what I hate, all that makes me feel sick, I will finally be free of her.

Because despite her betrayal, I still love her.

I love her so much that I cannot breathe.

I scoff about my own thoughts, realizing too late that I have created a noise for her to hear. She reacts to it, but soon forgets about it, when I stay as still as a corpse, equaling my exterior to my interior.

Ever since she betrayed me, ever since I have been shot by my father, I have not felt alive. Until now, until having her confined within my secret, hidden spot no one else but me knows of.

It is fascinating to watch her, to see how Anna’s mind overcomes her instincts, how she calms down and fights her fears. She should not be able to do that just like that, but she does. And even though I do not want to, it makes me feel more fondly about her, somewhat proud. But it just proves that she is meant to give birth to Raphael, the healer, the strongest.

My father’s last son.

I cannot allow Anna to snake into my heart again. I will not allow it. She Is just like every other woman, no, worse, like her mother, and worse.

Worse, so much worse.

I still want to touch her. I still want to kiss her. I still want to make her mine. But that is not my fate, not my duty. She is not mine to take.

Even after all these years I am nothing but a dying leaf in her wake, a slave to her, if she only knew how to command me again. I do not understand why God is still testing me, why the Devil is still tempting me. I did everything my father asked for and more.

Before I can stop myself, I have already allowed my emotions to get the better of me – like they far too often do – and I reach out to yank on the chains that I have attached to her shackles. Quickly, I let go of them again, allowing her to stand on the balls of her feet.

While watching my sweet, sinful Anna, time seems to behave differently. It doesn’t run at a steady pace. Time speeds up and slows down drastically without any reason, or maybe just to hurt me, torment me. When watching her, I almost feel as if I can read her thoughts. I can see her racing breathing, how fast her pulse goes and what she is thinking of right now. I have learned that she isn’t allowing her emotions to rule her, unlike me, just like I should.

Any other girl would panic, would cry out for help. Any other girl would ask who was there, but Anna does not.

Why is that? Because she is not like any other girl, and she never was. It is fascinating to notice how different she is compared to the others my father had given to me to be broken and trained. But Anna… Anna is different. I always have known that she is, but seeing her proving it to me is such a satisfaction.

I cannot tear my glance away from her, no matter how hard I try. It simply stays glued to her slightly open mouth, to her plumb lips, and it roams across her body as she straightens up in defiance.

I instantly know she will not be easily broken and a part of me was grateful for this. I hate to admit it, but every minute it will take longer to break her, I will cherish. I would not mind spending years with her, but usually all the girls I have been entrusted with have broken within a month.

But none of them have been her. None of them have been Anna, and now as I finally have her, I cannot wait to find out how long it will take to break her.

I am torn about her.

I know that there is a difference between what I imagined her to be and who she really is.

I am not delusional.

All those years have been a long time and watching her through a feed was something else entirely than seeing her in person.

I underestimated the magnetic pull she would still have on me. It is as if these years have never passed. I know, this is another test, another task I must master.