Rage Against the Dark

How far can Siam push herself, driven by sheer terror?  Will her greatest fears come to pass?  Can her friends bring her back from the darkness she has surrounded herself with?

Rage Against the Dark

 

by

 

Ben Hannigan

Dear Diary,

 Even though Laura and all of the rest of the guys at HDI supported me and attempted to both comfort and protect me, I was scared.  My father was never found in the state though the papers were served at his home, to someone at least.  I was scared of what a confrontation could mean.

It was not a question of whether she was capable of shooting, but more the questions I was asking myself about what that action would bring in its wake.  “Am I good enough, worth her taking a life?” would the image that haunted my dreams come to pass? If she killed for me would she hate me? Would that act be what she saw each day, in my touch, my kiss, my taste?  Or would she feel bound to me and obligated to stay?

Since the hearing I had become focused and withdrawn.  If I wasn’t working, I was practicing.  If not training, I was sleeping or crying in Laura’s arms because I was weak, too weak. I became focused on never feeling trapped again.  Firearms, blades, hand to hand, I devoted my life outside of work into getting better, faster, fitter and stronger. As much as my partner enjoyed the changed me, the extreme changes in my temperament worried her.

I was focused, aggressive, and would only let myself be touched when I was too weak to move.  I barely slept , barely ate, all I could focus on was the fact I couldn’t let myself be trapped again. Laura talked to me and begged me to slow down.  She feared I would burn out, crash and fall or hurt myself as my sessions got more and more violent, going through each member of the team’s styles and skills  at a crushing, unrelenting pace.  I pushed her and her fears away as I focused more and more on my training and still she stayed. I only allowed her to help when I was exhausted, hurt and broken, yet still she stayed. Through each self-destructive day she stayed.

My work was influenced by this change.  I was more focused and spent more time on my designs. However, they moved away from the area I had been working on for the six months before the incident. The designs were much less cute college girl that carries for protection and much more militaristic in their designs;  less focused on defence,  more offensive in nature,  Rather than pepper spray containers in modified Coach or Versace purses, it was hidden blades in boots and pendants, the big elaborate butterfly hairclips hiding a set of punch daggers and hidden ceramic blades behind belt buckles. All best sellers, all evil. Everything from handcuff key bracelets to spiked kubaton ear gauges.  My look was that of a long haired militant, black combats, light Addidas sparring pumps.  I was even weaving spiked hooks into my plait to prevent my “daddy” from doing his favourite hair dragging trick. I had ceased to be a woman, but a rather a weapon first. In the year since the attack, I had stopped writing to you, too scared, too exhausted, I don’t know.  Yet, still she loved me and still she stayed.

The others knew why she stayed, but I was horrible to them, I know this now. The day that I realised the damage I was doing to her and to myself was the day that I had sent Laura crying away from me, because she attempted to stop me from training in some of the more dangerous ways I had resorted to.  Determined to find something ,anything to protect me from those men who outweighed me, outgunned me and  could throw me across a room with barely any effort.  The men who would have no qualms dragging me home to my father’s domain and having me sectioned until I did as he desired. Lucy had attempted to talk to me as I worked the speed bag, ignoring her. Sophie stepped in as my regular sparring partner, All the while we traded blows asking me to talk to Laura, to slow down to stop pushing. They didn’t know that if I stopped pushing, I would fall apart.

We were in the gym/dojo at the office.  The facility we used for testing security of retention of holsters and other equipment and also for honing the techniques we taught in our video’s, a new portion of the business that my extreme pushing had brought us into.  The idea was showing different styles and how to choose a style of training based on form, build, and gender.

It had been a bad day.  I was this avenging figure, this “angel of death” as some of the viewers of our training films had nicknamed me.  I was terrified, based on a sighting of a man I swore was my attempted rapist.  My sparring had crossed the line between sparring and fighting long before this day but it was harder and nastier due to the recent sighting of the man who tried to rape me in the city by the police enforcing the restraining order. I was therefore fighting harder than ever and my sparring changed because of it.  Not even making a pretence of pulling blows anymore, I was fighting purely and simply fighting to hurt my opponent. Sophie hit by me first in the throat and I snapped.  The fight wasn’t about practice now, it was me in fear for my life. I kicked her hard across the temple forcing her to stagger back and then with a beautifully executed palm-heel strike attempting to drive her nose through the back of her skull. As she hit the padded wall, her blood soaking the wraps I wore.  Everyone else in the room stepped back, watching in what I assume now was fear as I removed the two punch daggers from the butterfly hairpiece. What I didn’t know was that Ben had witnessed this session from the start and he knew then as did Laura that I had gone, lost myself in the terror of being trapped again.

Ben, as well as our government licensed firearms dealer and gunsmith, was one of the best instructors we had.  Gentle and protective, none of us expected what happened.  He nodded to Laura as she stood impassively watching what was happening and said one phrase “It’s time.”  She clapped her hands once as a signal and everyone left bar Ben and me.

They were watching, I found out later, but for that moment I was completely alone with him. From what I was told later, Laura knelt and prayed to any god that would listen. She prayed out loud, prayed for me as a lover, for me as a person in my own right who deserves to live, not be trapped inside my fears.  She prayed that Ben could drive me out of this bleak cold outer shell, this mental and emotional amour, that he could force me to confront my anger and my fear.  But not only that, she prayed that we would both survive the attempt. She knew he was better as a fighter, but she also knew the danger posed by a cornered mouse. More worryingly, she thought as she prayed for my safety and my return to her, she knew that I at that point was prepared to die.  As long as I wasn’t captured by my father, forced into a life of beatings and mental abuse designed to break me as he had my mother and mold me into a life of slavery, bound to an owner, his manager’s son.  That animal, the “man”, he had chosen for me to become the toy used to sate his desire, to clean for, to cook for and be fucked by. She prayed for this mad plan that was the final resort, that this would work; that it would  break the personality I was using as a shield before it killed me.

I stood impassive, dripping sweat and blood from my lip and watched him, armed with a pair of daggers I held pointed at him warily backing away in terror at this man who could easily undo all my hard work.  He looked at me with a disappointed look. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry this has to happen, but this needs to end.   I have to break this rage to get you to speak to us and since I am the only one who can do it, it’s my job. For this moment we are alone, all weapons we have trained with are useable.  We are using semi sharp blades and full contact. I need you angry.  Not cold, but angry.”

I spat at him “Tough, we don’t get what we want. I want my old life with Laura. I want to feel safe.”

He didn’t speak then in response to my comment, he just hit me exactly as I had hit his partner. I staggered back, tasting blood before I returned the blow.  I hit low as he turned away, feeling his jaw crunch with the impact.  He kicked my knee from under me and I dodge-rolled before launching a leg sweep, giving me time to get to the table .  Grabbing a single commando fighting dagger whilst he took a bowie.  It was nothing but clashes of steel and trading punches.  Neither of us getting anywhere; he had power, I had speed and a total lack of care about being hurt. It was nasty blows connecting, leaving us seeing stars yet it didn’t stop. He kicked the blade from my grasp after a knee to the gut winded me.  He threw his down and away before striking me with an Escrima stick.  I whimpered in pain, feeling the bamboo possibly shatter the bone.  I stood and hit him with a staff aiming blows for the knee and calf.

 He proceeded to prove exactly why he was the head instructor.  He began to toy with me, taking my defences apart blow by blow.  Not saying a word, just striking and waiting. I was broken, sweating, bleeding and all I could see Diary, was him not smiling, not gloating, just doing what he had to do to stop me.

 Finally, I as almost spent, blood covered and hurting, weak and useless,  was curled on the floor and could barely move. But, clawing my way across the mat, I dragged myself to my feet and threw myself at him.  I over balanced him through more surprise than skill, and I wasn’t fighting anymore.  This was more animal than artist.  I clawed, bit, kicked, and scratched.  I found myself gripping him by the head in order to pound his head into the ground.  I stopped because something in the room had changed.

I heard the door open and it was Laura. She had come running after hearing me whimpering like a wounded pet, and had come to stop this.  She was shaking and crying, begging Ben to stop that this price was too high to pay, that she couldn’t watch him systematically take me apart.  I stopped even trying to hold him down and saw myself in the mirror.  I was nearly naked, torn clothes and hurt. Blood and sweat everywhere.  Ben was bruised and scratched.   I let go of his head and collapsed into myself and howled.

 I was barely human I think, howling with rage, pain, grief, and loss. I had let them win and lost myself. I buried myself into the shirt in front of me, sobbing huge cries that wracked my body.  I was surprised when two arms wrapped around me.  The man I had been intent on murdering by tearing his throat out, was holding me.   My lover, the woman I wanted to marry for lack of a better word, stood holding me from behind as I shook. I heard footsteps slapping across the floor as Lucy and Sophie came and joined the group.   As they held me, I cried myself into exhaustion;  cried for the time I had lost, for the things I had, said just mumbling apologies over and over, calling myself worthless ,and that I should leave and never ruin their lives any more.

I felt us moving and somewhere during my begging to be allowed to leave, I felt water raining down.  Bleary eyed, I realised we were in the shower.  It was just us, the core group of HDI and we were together.  I felt a pair of lips catch mine.  I was kissed, bathed, a tongue exploring me and holding me. Then it changed.  Three new tastes and feels, Laura holding me stroking me, bathing me, as the others kissed me.

“We are not letting you go Siam, we all love you.  Maybe not like Laura loves you.” The lilting tones of Lucy our New Yorker who came to Chicago with her parents who followed me south to be my support spoke softly.  At that moment, Laura bit my earlobe playfully and I shook with desire.

“It may not be full on spend the rest of our lives’ together love,” added Ben in his smooth Irish influenced drawl as I gasped  feeling a new, unfamiliar hardness pressed against my tummy insistently.

At my gasp, Laura nudged my legs apart gently and whispered, “Just enjoy this, think of it as a welcome home party.”

Here her southern drawl got louder for the others to hear. “Love is many things my darling, and we all love you.  These two monsters have wanted you since high school, something about the way you wore a white dress in the summer.” I blushed and moaned at the feeling of being filled and kissed by the three.

Sophie, the final member of the trio and the last to speak in her curious blend of British English and Chicago suburbs added, “We want you home Siam.  We have missed you.  We know why you retreated into this form, but we want you home with us, not hiding behind a butch bitch.  Who is sexy as hell, but fucking scary.”

I apologised to them all many times as I floated higher and higher as they touched me, Being filled by finger, cock, and toy, surrounded by not just my lover, but my friends. It was love that filled me, not just being physically filled.  I kissed the scratches and bites on Ben’s body and apologised for the tears and the pain, especially to Sophie for breaking her nose and to my Laura, my darling Laura for leaving by running into this hiding place.  As I lost myself in this endless outpouring of love, I was filled by Ben with a gasp and a kiss before being brought down by the group as I collapsed into their arms. They took me home to Laura’s the place I saw as home and just held me through the night.

The next morning Diary, I talked with the three.  I apologised properly, rationally, now I had  two decent meals and proper rest.   They understood,  supported me and just let me talk; about my fears, my dreams, about the fact I hadn’t really allowed myself to grieve for what was in my eyes the death of my family, and the worry that I was a bad girl for shattering my family in that way. They supported me and loved me, just protecting me.

At the end of the conversation I asked if they would still have taken me in the shower the day before this all hadn’t happened.  Lucy, Sophie and Ben all blushed whilst Laura roared with laughter, trying to explain between choking giggles that they were all planning to do it for my birthday and they were handing me an offer to join them in bed occasionally, with Laura admitting she had considered it occasionally, but was waiting for my view. I kissed Ben slowly and asked him to be gentle with us, both acting the sweet coquettish innocent southern belle.

He just smirked and replied “Yes Ms Monroe.” And so, my mature reasoned response was to throw a bread roll at him. Before it degenerated any further, we headed to work where I had something important to do. I took a deep breath and entered the packed office where everybody  on the staff bar the three accompanying me were waiting.  Laura held my hand encouragingly as I began to speak.

“Hi everybody.  Firstly, all I can say is Oh god’s I am so sorry. ” I let a tear run down my cheek still unused to letting emotion show again and I took a deep breath before continuing. “I got scared and ran, ran away, pushed myself into an image I could hide behind. I was self-destructive, spiteful and horrible to all of you.  Scaring you, being aggressive, arrogant and a danger to both me and all of us, in all honesty because I pushed too hard through fear. I don’t deserve to still be here, being loved by the family that we have here at HDI.  I screwed up guys, big time and I need to say I’m sorry. I don’t want you to forgive me if you don’t feel I deserve it.  But if you hate me after this,  just know I love you all and I never meant for this to happen.  I wish I could change it, wish I had been stronger, more able to ask for help.”

I broke down and cried in the office, sobbing, slumped in my partners arms as I apologised. The crew and the whole family of HDI saw the terrified little girl that I was underneath the mask they had seen for the previous year. They came to me in ones and twos, careful not to overwhelm me with comforting words of support.  Everyone accepted me Diary, and they wanted me here.   I am home here Diary and I am staying here as the me that this place brought out; confident playful, confident sexually, artsy and just well, one hundred percent me!  I swear I am not going to let my father or my blood relations damage me or my friends any more. I will write to you again and I will live my life, not in fear but for me and my true family.

 

XSiamX

Fatal Indiscretions - Episode 1

Hello there! I am back! Did you miss me?

Firstly I would like to say that Fiona and Nyasha's story did find an ending, even though you didnt get to see it, but look out, I am in editing mode.

Now I am pleased to present Fatal Indiscretions. This time my story is going to be romance, erotica and a little mystery, it is something I cannot escape in my writing. I have a novel I wrote and was editing which is based on this plot I am presenting.
This plot is about a woman who has not been successful in bringing a child into this world and the hurt that this causes results in tearing her marriage apart. During this story we will get a view, through her narration, what this summer of her life is about and how it ends up being the last summer of her life. So come on in, and get your toes wet, it is summer, lets have some fun.

Fatal Indiscretions - Episode 1 - by Anjie Harrte

Prologue

In the marshes about five metres through the bushes by the big pond in the botanical gardens my body lay for two days. Earlier today I was discovered by a young man on his way through to the far end of the pond in hope of a good catch. This morning when he got ready and pulled on his long rubber boots, he didn’t know he would stumble upon me. Summer was almost over and the only thing on his mind was catching some big Tilapias to show off to his friends. He had been trying all summer; he had even seen me a few times by this pond over the last two months when he and his friends had come fishing. He had always caught the little ones and had been the laughing stock of his group. Today he was determined to redeem his name; he was determined to show them that he is the ‘man’. He didn’t account, however, that he may stumble upon the body of a thirty year old woman as it lay among the mud and dirt of the marshes, her throat with a long slit that was gaping  wide from the rigor. The moment he stumbled upon my body he forgot that he had come to show he was a man, instead like a little girl he screamed and ran off.

I remember how I died, the knife cutting the blouse I wore, tearing at my skin, crunching bones and then piercing my heart; the look of hatred driven passion upon the face of the person who plunged it into me. My body falling to the ground as the pain seared my skin and caused my body to go numb, and as just as I prayed; just as I looked up at them and pleaded with my eyes not to end my life; that I had done so much wrong during this one summer that I needed to correct them; just as I prayed to God to forgive me for my sins, to let my loved ones I know I didn’t mean to hurt them; just then, I saw my killer kneel before me and make one final move of their hand as  I felt the burning pain across my neck but only for a quick second.

As vivid as the memory of my death is, just as bleak is the face of the person who took my life. While the coroner zips up the body bag and the many onlookers gasp with fear, disgust or sorrow I ponder on whether my killer stands among them. My life plays before my mind like clips from a television show; every indiscretion, every sin, every sweet moment of this past summer simmers in my memory. Even though a floating soul, I still feel the pain of loss, heartbreak, betrayal and death. I still yearn for the same things that brought me to this garden two months ago, I still feel that emptiness within the depths of my soul. Except now, I am charged to remember this summer, to relive it over and over again until I can see who robbed me of my life.

Chapter 1

I was Sherry Miles, wife of the wealthy Pharmaceutical Giant; Ryan Miles. At the beginning of the summer I was plunged into a deep depression after my third failed attempt at bringing a child into this world. This time she was the full 39 weeks when my water burst. After twelve hours of no labour pains my husband refused to authorize a c-section. Six hours later was too late. She was still born and a little beauty. This happened early May but by late June we were living together almost in solitude. We didn’t speak to each other beyond the regular pleasantries and I spent most of my day staring through the windows, sitting in a corner of the nursery in tears or throwing things about the room in hysteria. Ryan tried convincing me to see a psychiatrist, but I didn’t see how that was going to bring my little Emily back. Finally, he threatened to have me committed. I checked it up, he could do it. He was my husband, and thus my legal guardian. I was determined not to go to a nut house.

I was reading the newspaper at Sunday breakfast when I saw my solution.

“If I can come up with an alternative method, will you let go of the psychiatrist idea?” I asked him.
I wasn’t sure if he wanted me committed to get rid of me, or if he truly cared about me. I had spent the nine months pregnant practically alone in this house. He always worked late, or had golf with his buddies. Truthfully, the day I was in labour was the one day through my entire pregnancy that he was truly there for me. It made me think sometimes that he delayed the c-section on purpose. Did he not want a child with me? Or was it that he didn’t want ME anymore?

“I’m listening,” he said without looking up from his breakfast or the other newspaper he read.

I knew that getting rid of me wouldn’t be an easy task for him, after all 75% of the company is mine. When he wanted to start this business fifteen years ago, my father invested it in my name. I was fifteen and he was twenty five, with a great idea. I don’t think my father ever foresaw us ending up together, or falling in love when I was nineteen and getting married a year later.

Ryan was now staring at me, his big brown eyes peering over his spectacles impatiently summoning me to speak.

“I can take these art classes for the summer in the Botancial Gardens, I’ll be with nature and art will be my therapy…” I waited for a reaction

He set his fork down next to the greasy remains of his cheese omelet. At least he still enjoyed my cooking.

“Let me see,” he extended his hand and I passed the newspaper to him and waited again.

“Okay, we can try this for the summer and see what happens, but if there is no change at the end of it, you will seek professional help,” he demanded.

He was good at demanding things. It is a shame he didn’t know I would be dead by the end of summer.

He pushed his chair away and got up, leaving his plate where it was. I watched him walk away; at forty he was still the handsome man I fell in love with. His broad shoulders shrugged as he walked away, his lean figure disappearing out of the dining room. He was gone but the air was still filled with the smell of Brut, his signature smell since I was fifteen and had a crush on my father’s intern.

I packed the dishes into the sink and wiped the table clean. I saw my image in the wooden table top and I stopped to look at her. She couldn’t be thirty, was it true that when you were with an older man he sucked the age out of you? Or was it all the stress and depression that made me look so old. The lines were evident on my face, fine lines on my forehead and at the sides of my mouth. My small brown eyes didn’t sparkle the way they used to, instead they seemed lost. My hair was hardly ever kept these days and so I had put a scissors to it, removing any excess; now it was a ruffled mop of short curls. My thin lips seemed pale and cold. Anyone who knew me any time before two years ago, and saw me now at thirty, would think I was already dead.

I shrugged off that feeling that overtook me this time of day. Even on Sundays Ryan found something to do to avoid me. Right now he would be on the treadmill and then he would go out to play golf.

I washed the dishes, wiping at them as though I could erase the memories in my head as I did. I heard him move and I turned around. He was already dressed.

“You’re early” I said, a little disappointed. It made me feel a little normal to have him around even if he we never said anything to each other.

“Yes I think I will exercise at the club today,” he said as he walked away.

My heart sank. I couldn’t figure out where my life had gone wrong. What I had done to deserve this punishment; childless and husbandless, alone and forsaken. Suddenly I missed my daddy. I wanted to curl up like a little girl on his lap and tell him about my pains and sorrows. I wanted to lean on his chest and listen to his heart beat. I leaned against the sink and the tears came down. Even my daddy I had been robbed of. Diabetes had taken a toll on his life until it finally took it altogether. I hated the disease. It was diabetes that had caused me my children too. It ran through my veins like poison, seeping into everything I loved and treasured, snatching them from my grasps and leaving me with just the thin air through my fingers. I clasped my hand and prayed, I couldn’t blame God for this; after all, I needed him now more than ever. As I heard the car pull away from the house I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the art class.

A deep husky male voice answered as though I had awakened him, I turned and watched at the clock it was 9am on a Sunday; I shouldn’t have called so early.

“Hello!” he beckoned into my ear for the third time.

“Oh I am sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you,” I apologized.

“No, no, how may I help you?” he asked, the thickness of his voice sending goose bumps down my back.

“I was calling about the summer art class, the ad says it starts tomorrow, am I too late to sign up?” I asked

“No, no, we have a couple spaces left to fill, just hold for me please,” I was willing to oblige, there was just something about his voice that made me want to listen to him.

He was back within seconds as he took my information and gave me directions to where the classes would be held; in the gazebo by the front pond in the Botancial Gardens at 3.30pm.

“Do you have any prior experience in drawing?” he asked

“Only what I learnt in school,” I responded.

“May I ask why you are interested in this class?”

“Is that important?” I asked

“Not really but I like to have students who will actually give it a try, not just come for the sake of coming,” he said

“Oh I love art and drawing and I have tried doodling stuff before, followed a few online tutorials, but I guess I need someone there to guide me for me to be able to produce anything proper,” I added.

“Well that is what I am here for,” he said

Several minutes later we hung up and I stood leaning on the dining table with the phone against my chin trying to put a face to the voice. I watched at the little writing pad where I had written his name; Paul Degannes, and then I noticed that while taking to him I had drawn in eyes, nose, and a mouth in the D and put little devil’s horns at the top.

The next day; I walked nervously through the gardens, my feet crushing green grass. I hadn’t visited this place in a long time. Children were playing about under adult supervision. A couple on a bench under a huge plum tree, were making out. The air was fresh with the smell of grass and pollen. The breeze blew through every now and again making the leaves on the trees dance and even causing a few branches to sway in rhythm. The sun was up in the west and beaming down with all its glory for 3pm on a Monday afternoon. It was summer and everything was out in its glory. The Hibiscus trees were flourishing with their pinks, reds, peaches and whites. I could smell the scent of pollen dust as the breeze took it up and it danced in the air. The Buttercups seemed perched on the trees like little goblets waiting to be used by the lovers to have their wine.

 I walked on with my arms wrapped around my body, my little cloth bag with my art accessories hanging from my right shoulder and my big straw hat on my head. I had chosen fawn colored Capris and a white cotton top, loose around my body for comfort. I looked up and saw the image of him standing in the Gazebo. His hands were on his waist, his chest puffed out like a superhero and a smile at the side of his mouth as he watched me walk towards him. Suddenly, I felt naked and tried to look away. His eyes, black eyes, seemed to swallow me. His caramel skin shone in the heat of the day as though someone had oiled him down. He was wearing a black vest and a pair of black track pants, and looked more like a bodybuilder than an artist. I tried to look away, but his stare had me ensnarled. I felt his eyes move about my body and it made me hug myself tighter. I quickened my steps so the torture of walking under his gaze would be over. In what seemed like a millionth of a second I went falling to the ground with my hands flaying. I had stepped into some sort of hole in the ground, my ankle twisted to the side and my body went crashing down.
I was sitting rubbing my feet and grimacing from the pain of my twisted ankle when a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around me and helped me to my feet. Soon I was up; my body leaning on his. I could smell him; the smell of manly sweat mixed with a musky cologne. He smiled, his face inches away from mine, it wasn’t a complete smile, it was the one he had been giving me all the time with his lips barely curled at the side. I could feel the bulges of his chest against my breast, the hardness of his thighs against mine, the strength of his hold around my body and then I felt it. The blood rushed through my body flooding my face and eyes as I felt the snake like object pushing against my Capri pants against my skin. I looked up at him and his face bore no shame. He was still smiling, his lips still curled at the side and suddenly the image I had drawn on the D in his name appeared and I saw the devil’s horns above his head. I tried to push him away but the pain in my ankle was too much. Before I knew it, he was carrying me in his arms to a chair. With my arms around his neck, our eyes locked on each other’s as he walked me across the gazebo and for the first time in months I was aroused. It wasn’t like a teenage girl and her first crush, oh no, my entire body was alive in his arms and it was common decency that stopped me when he put me on that chair, it was the recluse inside me that held the reins and kept me from giving myself to him the first time we met.

******

So, did you enjoy my first episode? Are you interested in knowing what happens next? If so just come on back next week for episode 2, I promise the heat will be turned up.

Tomorrow our dear and lovely Cathy will be bringing Sea of Seductions and I can't wait to read it.