Author's Note

CONTENT WARNING
This chapter contains a graphic depiction of sexual assault.

II - Out of Control

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said.

“Oh, I mean, you don’t have to,” Wallflower mumbled. She bit her lip as he stepped out of the car anyway.

“It’s no problem,” he said.

“...Y-yeah.”

She moved to her apartment door in silence, and he followed behind her the whole way. She could feel his eyes on her as they reached the door. She gripped her key in her hand, waiting for him to go.

“Since I’m here, I gotta use the bathroom.” He shrugged. “Drank a lot of punch at the dance, I guess.”

“The bathroom?" Wallflower blinked. He just stood there, staring at her expectantly. She wanted to tell him to leave, but she didn’t like confrontation, even over something this small. “Okay,” she said.

Wallflower turned the key, and he pushed past her into the apartment. She stood in the doorway for a moment, then walked in with a sigh. After placing her keys and handbag on the shelf, she plopped down on to the couch. Across the room, she could see the bathroom door was closed. She wished he’d hurry up so she could be alone. Maybe she’d erase the whole night so he wouldn’t talk to her at school next week.

She heard the toilet flush and mentally scolded herself for letting him use it. Wallflower didn’t think of herself as a germaphobe, but she was definitely going to spray the seat down a few times. The sink’s faucet creaked on and off, and Wallflower tensed up as the bathroom door opened.

“Thanks,” he said as he walked out of the bathroom, drying his hands on his pants. “Nice apartment.”

Wallflower didn’t reply. She just wanted him to leave, and engaging in conversation would only prolong that.

“So you live alone?”

Wallflower nodded. “Mhmm.” She stared at the door, then back at him, then back at the door, hoping he’d take the hint.

“That’s pretty cool,” he said. When Wallflower didn’t respond, he sat beside her on the couch.

Her muscles tensed up on their own. “Uhh...”

Her voice died in her throat when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Wha—!” Wallflower pulled away. “W-what are you doing?”

“Huh?” He looked confused for a second, then smirked. “C’mon, we’re dates to a high school dance.”

He didn’t even dance with her. He just talked with his friends while she sat in the corner the whole—wait.

Wallflower's heart stopped.

He didn’t mean...

Her question was answered when he put his hand on her again. Before she could react, he had pushed her on her back. The stale blue cushions shifted beneath her.

He crawled over her, and his hands were on her again. He pulled off the straps of her dress so hard that one of them broke. A chill ran over her shoulders, and she finally snapped back to reality.

“G-get off me!” Her voice cracked, and he only laughed in return. She tried to push him off, but he was too heavy.

He leaned over her. “Seriously? You went to a dance with me then invited me in. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I-I...” Wallflower’s mind was entirely frozen over. He was wrong. Right? Did she do that? No, she wouldn’t have. But she did go to the dance with him. Did she invite him in? She never told him no. Was that the same thing?

“Look, this is just normal,” he said. “Trust me, you’re gonna like it.”

He pulled down the top of her dress, exposing her undergarments. Her face burned as she wriggled beneath him, unable to move at all. She couldn’t look away as he grabbed her and touched her and squeezed her.

Her whimpers of protest died when she saw his face. Within his look of excitement, Wallflower saw a lustful desire that terrified her to her core. He wanted this, and he wasn’t going to stop if she told him to. She had no way to make him stop at all. He was bigger than her, stronger than her—he could hurt her, if he wanted. He would, if she kept fighting.

Wallflower gasped as he pulled the cups of her bra over her chest, and again when his hands returned to her bare skin. Every second he was on her, he pressed his weight down harder and harder. As he fondled and played with her body, she tried her hardest to look away. In her periphery, she saw her door.

She just wanted him to leave. If she let him do what he wanted, then he’d leave.

He tightly gripped her breasts, and she stifled a sob. If she screamed for help, he would hurt her. If she tried to fight him, he would hurt her even more. What else could she do but just wait for it to be over? He was too heavy, and she was too weak. There was nothing she could do.

Wallflower went entirely limp, even as she felt his fingers gripping the bottom hem of her dress. He tried to pull it down, but the dress bunched up around her hips. After a pause, she heard the sound of tearing fabric and felt the chill of cold air on her exposed legs.

She couldn’t stop him. He was going to take her, and she couldn’t stop him. A sob caught in her throat as tears stung her eyes. She agreed to go to the dance. She let him in. She never told him to leave. This was happening because she was too scared and stupid to say no.

Wallflower flinched as he slid his thumb beneath the lining of her panties. She wanted to scream for help, to kick and bite and thrash until he left her alone. But if she tried to, he would hurt her. He might even kill her. So instead she lay there, quietly sobbing as he pulled off the last piece of clothing protecting her. She heard the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, and the second she saw what was beneath, she twisted her head away, shutting her eyes as tight as she could.

She held her breath as his hands firmly gripped her by the waist. She whimpered when she felt it touch her. Tears streamed down her face, and her entire body shivered as he slid the tip of it over her.

Then she was torn open.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d felt in her entire life. Wallflower cried out as the agonizing feeling pushed into her, like she was being ripped apart from the inside. He said something she couldn’t hear. Blood and fluid trickled down the inside of her thighs as he pulled back—only to stab into her again. Every time he pushed forward, the pain inside her was renewed. Wallflower tensed up again and again as her body screamed at the thing invading it.

This was her fault. She let this happen. Even now, she wasn’t fighting. But if she did, he would kill her. Maybe that would be a good thing.

Then, for a moment, he stopped. Wallflower opened her eyes, only to see that he had re-positioned himself over her. He pressed his entire weight down on her, so much so that she couldn’t breathe. Her sobbing and whimpering devolved into desperate gasps, each one punctuated by a bolt of agony at the end of his thrusts.

The air was hot and stale and smelled of sweat and blood. As his hips slammed into her again and again, another scent filled her lungs, and it made her gag. The reflex denied her a lung-full of air, and her diaphragm spasmed, twisting with pain.

She was going to die here. He was going to suffocate her without even knowing.

Wallflower could feel herself slipping into dizziness, and she welcomed the sensation. If she passed out, this would be over. Even if she died, it was worth it. She closed her eyes and waited for unconsciousness to—

A spark flared inside her, and her eyes shot open. He had moved around again, pulling her legs over the arm of the couch. He pushed into her again, and within the torturous stabbing, the spark lit, and her sobs twisted into a gasp.

Another thrust, and she felt it again. And again. Each time, it smoldered and burned for a little longer and pulled her further and further away from the unconsciousness she so desperately needed.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to feel this. This was worse than the pain.

Wallflower tried to hold her breath, hoping to make herself pass out—only to have the air forced out of her lungs by the growing sensation inside her. He was stabbing into her harder and harder, and her body reacted against her will.

Her labored breaths came in sync with his accelerating thrusts. With every movement, the piercing agony he had spread through her sank further beneath the other feeling as her body worked to mask the pain. Wallflower could only stare at the ceiling, dazed and trembling, as he kept slamming himself inside her as hard as he could.

She shut her eyes, praying for the feeling to go away, for the pain to return, for anything but what he was making her do. Her body responded by shivering involuntarily, and as it did, the sensation within her intensified. She felt it spreading to her thighs, then her hips, forcing them to tense up as the fire burned within her.

He grunted, and stabbed into her one last time. Wallflower could feel his heartbeat as he tensed and twitched inside her. She whimpered as she felt him release, polluting her insides and filling her with a horrible warmth and wetness that forced her over the edge. The sensation in her lower body swelled and intensified before cascading through her entirety, drawing out a breathless gasp. Tears filled her eyes as she shuddered beneath him, unable to prevent herself from crying out. Time slowed to a crawl, and her core convulsed and radiated with pleasure.

She hated every second of it.

The feeling smoldered as he slowly moved in and out of her a few more times, leaving her exhausted and trembling. Only once he pulled out of her completely did Wallflower fall motionless, her breathing heavy. He started to say something, but she couldn't hear him. Her mind was too busy forcing her to admit what she had been trying to ignore.

She agreed to the dance. She let him into her apartment. She never told him to leave.

She felt really good at the end.

She hated it. She hated herself for going to the dance, for letting him in, for not saying no. She hated him for making her feel good, and she hated herself for letting him. She hated that she felt it at all. She hated that she knew what it was and what it meant, and she hated that she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, not even in her own mind.

There was a sound. A door closing. Wallflower blinked and looked up.

He was gone. He was finally gone.

For a few minutes, all Wallflower could do was lie there in silence. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the shaky sound of her own breaths. Try as she might, she couldn't ignore the awful heat of what he had left behind inside her. It slowly dribbled out of her, and she coughed out a single sob as nausea settled in her stomach. The smell lingered, and goosebumps rippled over her still-exposed skin.

Then she started crying. Heavy, broken sobs cut through every shallow breath as hot tears streamed from her eyes. How could she have let this happen? How could she have been so stupid? It was just like he told her. They were dates to a high school dance. What did she think was going to happen?

Her cries grew louder and more erratic. She didn’t want to live with this. She wished he had killed her. What would Mom and Dad think of her?

A lump caught in her throat when she realized they would never think of her again. To them, she would just be some stranger, some stupid whore who didn't know any better. Their own daughter meant nothing to them because she had erased herself from their minds.

Wallflower blinked. She slowly sat up, trembling. Her entire body was sore, her hips and thighs aching the worst. She didn’t want to stand up, but she didn’t want to remember this.

Leaning against the wall, she stumbled towards the table by the door where she had left her handbag. Viscous drops of his fluid continued to trickle out of her, running down her leg alongside trails of her own blood, tickling her skin and deepening the nauseous pit in her stomach. When at last she reached her bag, she opened it and pulled out her solution.

The memory stone had been able to solve all her problems. Maybe it could solve this one, too.

Her entire lower body was screaming at her to stop moving, so she fell against the wall, sliding to the floor. Her breathing was shaky as she stared at the unblinking eye etched into the stone.

She didn’t want to live with this. She couldn’t live with this. It would be best if she just forgot about it entirely.

Wallflower closed her eyes, willing the stone to purge her mind of anything and everything that could remind her of this. It lit up with a familiar blue glow, its eye staring into her. She held her breath, and—

Wallflower’s eyes opened. She saw the glow in Sunset’s eyes vanish, only to be replaced by tears.

“Oh Goddess...” Sunset whispered. “Wallflower, y-you...”

Wallflower’s breathing was sharp and shallow. A sob cracked her voice when she tried to speak, and then another, and then another. Her cries grew too heavy, and she broke beneath their weight.

Sunset caught her, but Wallflower didn’t flinch. Her trembling wails were muffled by Sunset’s jacket as she screamed into her friend’s shoulder, unable to escape the torment of her memories.