Obscura

By Jaden Wilkes

I was torn apart.

 

That's all you need to know about me.

A stranger dragged me into the bushes to shatter my world, destroy my body and ruin my future.

I thought I was done, but Zoe found me and things are going to change. The world is going to hear our rage, loud and clear. 

We are taking back our lives, one punishment at a time.

But I didn't expect Adam.

 

Sweet, gentle Adam.

With each kiss, he makes me whole. With each tender moment, he makes me believe again.

And every time he touches me, I am torn asunder and rebuilt into something powerful and beautiful.

I never expected for my world to come tumbling down again.

I never expected any of it.

And this time there are no pieces to pick up, nothing to rebuild.

This time we all fall down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Hawthorne
• Release date: Nov 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386629160

Jaden Wilkes

Jaden is the pen name of a girl living on the prettiest farm in BC. She shares her space with her husband, her children, and an Irish Wolfhound named Tiberius. She can now be found lurking in the dark corners of the internet looking for artful porn gifs, dirty poems and places to promo her work.

Book preview

Prologue

The church was empty but I had counted on that. The great wooden door closed behind me with a woof sound that echoed against the stone walls. It was in a bad part of town and was almost always empty except for afternoon and weekend youth groups or choir practice.

I’d been watching.

I looked around again, happy to see the wealth of Mother Rome hadn't trickled to this corner of the world yet, there were no other people posted to this church, and no working security cameras. I adjusted my skirt and slipped quietly into the confessional.

I knelt and waited quietly until the priest, the target, slid the window open.

Forgive me, Father for I have sinned. It has been five years since my last Confession, I said, reciting the words I'd memorized.

Go ahead my child, the deep, soothing voice said from the other side of the screen.

I'm not sure where to begin, I replied, suddenly unsure of what I'd say, knowing the others would be waiting, wanting to know how it went down.

I've been told it’s good to start at the beginning, the priest replied and chuckled warmly.

Well then, I suppose that’s where I’ll start, I said with a tight smile and narrowed eyes.

I took a deep breath and began to talk.

Chapter One

Iwas raped during my first year of college. I had followed all the rules, played it safe, had put on more of a freshman thirty than fifteen, so I wasn't exactly drunken sorority material.

I’d never even considered it could happen to me, I’d always been a little bit of a tom girl and not the kind of person who would be attacked.

But it happened. It was late one Friday night, I'd been researching for my Introduction to Anthropology term paper in the library's windowless special collections room and hadn't noticed the time. I’d packed my books and quickly left when the librarian had come to chase me out at closing time.

It was dark and I lived in the new dorms on the other side of campus. I pulled my jacket tight and adjusted my backpack. It was getting chilly, colder the longer I stood there looking around.

I briefly considered using the yellow security handset to call for an escort, but decided against it when I imagined walking up to my building with one of the ancient security guards at my side. I had an image to maintain, and hanging on the arm of an old dude wasn’t exactly it.

Besides, I convinced myself, a brisk walk would do well to warm me up and burn off a few calories.

I headed across the convocation mall, up to the academic quadrangle and crossed over the fish pond. It was lit up and I stopped to watch the Koi lazily pass back and forth under the bridge.

As I left the quadrangle, I heard the giggles and sounds of lovers inside the hedge pyramid.

I had communed with nature last semester with one wacky English professor. He had taken the entire class out to sit on the grass and listen to birdsong and wind to help them write their midterm essays. It hadn’t helped me one bit.

I briefly considered taking a peek, blushed bright red at the thought, and kept walking. I wasn't exactly a virgin, but apparently, I wasn't that sexually adventurous either.

Next was no man’s land, the long and winding, poorly-lit path between the upper parking lot and my dorm building. I spotted another yellow security handset and once again decided against it.

Almost halfway to my destination I heard a branch snap.

I stopped short and listened, unable to tell where it came from.

A minute passed with nothing but silence so I decided it must have been one of the deer that lived around campus and shook my head at my overactive imagination.

I kept walking, thinking five more minutes and I'd be curled up with Joy, my roommate, drinking hot chocolate and discussing the day's events.

The attack was sudden, brutal with its violence, terrible with its ferocity. I was pulled backwards into the bushes, something was tearing at my backpack and dragging me with it.

I realized it was a man, and even in my shock I had the good sense to try and wiggle free. He caught my hair, forced me to the ground and dragged me further into the bushes, backpack in one hand, tangle of hair in the other.

He was huge, like a football player gone to seed. All fat and hulking muscle, and let’s face it, I didn’t stand a chance. I was soft, all my fight and bluster abandoning me the moment I was grabbed.

You make a noise and I'll cut your fucking throat, he whispered in my ear, a guttural noise squeezed from his thick throat.

I started sobbing noiselessly but managed to nod my head as I noticed the knife he pulled out and brandished in front of me.

I want you to remember that, okay? If you live or die, it’s up to you, sweetheart, he said slowly, letting his threat sink in until it sat brick heavy on my chest and choked off my breath.

I gave a barely perceptible nod that time as he held the knife to my throat with the tenderness of a lover. He reached down with his other hand and pulled my long skirt up slowly, almost relishing the moment.

I was wearing worn pink cotton underwear, my oldest pair, and was suddenly irrationally embarrassed. With horror, I realized what was going to happen and I started to struggle again, feeling like a turtle held down by the weight of my backpack.

He leaned closer, pressed the knife even deeper into my flesh and said, I don’t mind fucking a corpse, so like I said, this is completely up to you.

His eyes locked on mine and I saw the unleashed madness in them, I knew he meant every word of it.

I felt every last drop of fighting instinct leave my body as my arms and legs turned to jelly. I let my head fall back and looked upside down through the bushes to the pathway, mentally begging anyone to come and save me.

He ripped my underwear off at the side seam, he was practiced and had obviously done this before. I could barely breathe; somehow, I kept myself alive with shallow panting and thoughts of distance and escape.

I wanted to live, but was unable to fight for it.

Did I deserve to keep this life if I gave up on it so easily?

Within seconds, his fingers were deep inside me while he was thrusting and grunting on top of me in futile effort.

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I whimpered.

You like that, don’t you, whore? he said with a ragged breath.

He yanked the waistband of his track pants down and pulled himself out, gripping it tightly in his meaty grasp. He lifted himself up to look at me.

You’re gonna love this, bitch, he groaned and pinched my inner thighs as he retreated from his invasion of my body.

I couldn’t move my legs even though this desperate voice in the back of my head was screaming at me to run.

This was my moment, I could make a break for it while he was distracted but I felt myself fading away.

I forced myself to remain present and look at him. He was concentrating on jerking himself while mumbling a steady stream of angry descriptors.

This was my chance and yet I could not move. Every muscle in my body was locked, I was incapable of fight or flight.

Spread your legs, slut, he demanded urgently.

I still couldn’t move. Tears leaked from my eyes uselessly and I could only stare at the upside-down patch of walkway.

He grabbed my knees and jerked them apart. He jammed the head of his cock against me and thrust hard.

He pushed inside roughly, dryly, with a grunt. My head lolled loosely with each thrust and yet I still couldn’t move.

An eternity passed in silence, punctuated only by his groans and mumblings. I could feel the violation, but could only process it as an abstract act, something that was happening to my body, but not to me.

I went far away from there as he pushed against me, battering me with his attack and anger.

I wondered where I should go when he was done. What should I do if he let me live?

What was proper post-rape etiquette?

He stiffened up and let out another grunt, like a rutting pig. He pulled himself out of me and I could hear the wet slapping sound of him jerking his cock again.

You’re such an ugly bitch I can’t even finish. Look at me, look what you did, he snarled and pinched my thigh again.

I could barely lift my head and didn’t respond. He moved to my side and pressed the knife into my throat again. I could see his hand sliding up and down his shaft with expert precision, his angry red head looked engorged with fluid and I waited for him to finish.

His body stiffened again and he shot himself over me, hitting my jacket and part of my face.

I waited for him to pull up his pants and leave so I could see if I was still alive. I wasn’t convinced that I was by then. I wanted to be dead.

He wasn’t finished though. He brought the knife up to my face and said, You didn’t like it, you barely moved, what does it take to get a bitch like you excited?

He dragged the tip of the knife down my face, across my throat, to the center of my chest, down my stomach and to my mons.

He slid the tip into my cleft, stabbed quickly and as if breaking me free of my bonds, at last I could move.

I screamed and fought before I fell into hot white bright pain, then darkness.

Chapter Two

Iwoke to the sounds of hospital equipment and hushed voices. I fluttered my eyes, then opened them with more force. My eyelids were glued together with tears and sleep. They felt crusty even though I could see.

I tried to lift my hands to rub them but during my time in the darkness, my hands seemed to have turned to stone. I couldn’t will them to move.

Out of nowhere my mother’s face appeared above me, twisted in concern, her voice sharp with worry.

Oh God! You’re awake! Nurse...nurse! She’s awake!

Mom? What happened? I asked, alarmed by my own weak voice, I sounded like a mewling kitten.

You’ve been in an accident; the doctors can tell you more about it. Do you need water? Why don’t I go get you water, Mom replied, her little hands fluttering around nervously like twin sparrows. She was nervous and that made me nervous.

Mom left the room and shortly after returned with a nurse who promptly began to take my vitals. She was friendly enough, but invasive with her treatment of me. She reminded me of somebody’s grandmother, round faced with a smooth Scottish lilt.

How are we doing dear? she asked me, staring deeply into my eyes.

Good I guess, what happened to me? I asked, my throat opening up a little more to let my voice force itself free.

The doctor will be able to tell you more, you were in an accident dear, the nurse replied.

Everybody kept saying accident, and although I couldn’t quite remember all the details, it didn’t feel like an accident.

The nurse tugged on the curtain next to the bed and pulled it closed as my mom came back with a plastic jug of water. She took one look at what was happening and backed away slowly, a mortified expression frozen on her features.

The nurse looked at me, pasted another tight grin on her face and said, I just have to take a little look my dear, try and relax.

She gently pulled my legs apart and I felt gloved fingers prodding me. I realized there was gauze packing between my legs and I could see a catheter tube dripping urine down to the bag on the floor.

What kind of accident was it? I asked and tried to sit up but I still couldn’t move my body well enough to manage.

The nurse looked at me, pursed her lips with a sympathetic grimace and quickly said, The doctor will be here soon. He’ll explain everything.

Life became a series of images linked together with long bouts of darkness. I spent as much time as I could sleeping, whether naturally or helped by some of the medications they had given me to deal with the pain.

I couldn’t remember any details of the attack, I just picked information up from what I was told. As I slowly emerged from the cocoon of drugs and emotional breakage, I realized I was different in more ways than one.

In the end I had to have a full hysterectomy, there was nothing they could do to save my uterus. Somewhere along the way I seemed to recall the words reconstructive surgery but had never dared to explore myself to find out exactly what that meant.

As the story finally came out I discovered that I’d been rescued by a couple heading back to the dorms. If they by chance hadn't heard my whimpers, I would have ended up having a funeral instead of a recovery.

At the point I was now, I wondered if that might have been a better option. I was alive but not exactly living these days.

When I was finally able to go home five weeks later, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My clothes hung off my thin frame, and my normally thick hair was lank and fell in wiry strands to my shoulders.

The worst part was how much I’d changed inside. It’s not that I’d ever been fearless or bold, but I had retreated even further into myself. I felt as if I had been drained of color and joy, all that was left was somebody smaller, quieter, and full of fear.

I was terrified of the world I’d once navigated on my own, and I was even more afraid of the people in it.

Most of my days were spent laying upstairs in my childhood room in Mom’s house. I hadn’t gone back to the dorm and my roommate seemed to quickly forget me.

It was for the best really, these days I felt like I was walking around with a giant V for victim tattooed on my forehead. I despised the way people would wince and give me that pitying look when they saw me again. I was a constant reminder that bad things happened to boring people, and none of them wanted that in their lives.

Getting out of bed became an effort and the fear of running into my rapist completely consumed me at times, rendering me unable to leave the safety and familiarity of the house.

The police never caught him, instead they gave me words like transient and crime of opportunity, as if that would bring comfort. How could that offer me comfort though? They burned me inside, re-opened my healing heart and left me panicked with the knowledge that he was out there walking free with my scent still clinging to him, blending with the scent of others he destroyed.

My mother finally broke me down and convinced me to see a therapist. I had gotten word the day before that I had officially failed every single course. I hadn’t even been capable of withdrawing with dignity, I’d just tried to forget about university and the thing that had happened there.

The therapist conversation happened one morning at breakfast. Mom had coaxed me downstairs with the smell of pancakes, I should have known it was a trap.

You know, Mom said as I drizzled syrup