Redeeming Rhys (18 page)

Rhys smiled with contentment, understanding that maybe Wren was fighting him a little more than he thought she would. She was holding onto hope, that non-existent piece of shit feeling that gives people a false idea of goodness. He was glad he had her where she was.

“Seems you understand to keep that pretty little mouth of yours closed unless it is to answer me. I asked you a fucking question, Wren. Why did you shave your cunt?” Rhys seethed, his cracked knuckles from his recent assault bleeding down his hand.

He began to touch her along her stomach, where he did before he was so rudely interrupted, and he liked how she responded that time much better. She failed to lean into his trace. Instead, she tried to withdraw as she clung on and fought, in a mildly lethargic state.

His hand traveled down to the strip of hair that covered her pubic bone. His fingers played with the short strands and he smiled, imaging that silk wouldn’t even be as soft. He opened his eyes to stare at the black hair that she had groomed so neatly, and his temperament changed yet again. He wanted her to remain like a virgin, only touched by his hands, but that wasn’t the case and bad girls who stray from the path of righteousness get punished.

“Answer. Me. Now.”

“I, I…” Wren stuttered.

She couldn’t find the words. She knew that Rhys would become angry if he knew she bedded another man. How could she come up with such a story? Wren was certain that Rhys would know if she lied to him. She looked up at him through exhausted and sorrowful eyes, hoping that he felt sorry for her, but men like Rhys didn’t feel empathy or sympathy for anyone. In that second, Wren felt sorry for him; for Rhys was just a human that was not capable of feeling such emotions.

There she went making excuses again. She shook her head at him, pissed at her rationale. She was restrained on her bed by a boy that took her virginity without any qualms when she was merely a girl at just fourteen-years-old.

“I fucked a man. My boyfriend!” she yelled, begging for someone, anyone that held a higher power to give her the courage to fight.

She would test him. Wren was trying to destroy him with her words as she snapped into someone else, willing to fight a storm that she was not ready to weather.

Rhys’ eyes grew large, the whites standing out in the scariest of ways against the black makeup that was painted on his face. Wren knew she was in for something terrible as he sat there in a state of hatred.

Rhys was fuming, his mind playing a wicked game with him as well as his ears. For a second, he thought he could hear her moaning for more as she came loudly. He saw images of Wren being pounded hard by a man that wasn’t him. His blood was as hot as lava; he was sure he was going to melt away like candle wax.

He pushed himself up from the bed, frantic to find something to instill pain and make her understand that she belonged to no one but him. His eyes spotted a roll of silver, shiny tape, and his hatred subsided for a transitory moment as devious instances played about in his fucked up cognizance.

Wren would be greatly mistaken if she thought that he was walking away to cool off. Rhys was just starting to play with his new toy. He took two steps over to her dresser, which was already in a discombobulated state from his frenzied mindset when he was delving through her underwear area. Rhys grabbed the roll of silver duct tape and turned around, cocking his head to the side while admiring her pink pussy. He thought about how it would soon redden to a cherry color, his favorite shade of red, and his hands could hardly handle the anticipation.

“Wren, when will you understand that you belong to me?” Rhys crooned, his maddened state almost forgotten as his tone soothed her fears.

But that was just a concealment as well. He was a master at playing with the mind.

The sound of the tape being unraveled from the roll startled Wren. Her skin started to crawl, yet the place between her thighs urged to be touched. She hated how conflicted her mind and body were. It was a battle that would never be won. She sat there, studying Rhys as his darkened and brooding face glimmered in just the right way. She was petrified, but there was something in that second about fear that appealed to her. Perhaps that is why she never allowed herself to let go of Rhys. The fear that she felt when she thought of him was an aphrodisiac that was shameful.

She turned her head to the side, tucking her chin to her bare chest as his breathing became labored. Wren could feel Rhys getting closer, but he had her heart, soul, and now her tongue. She couldn’t speak out again even if she tried. She knew that her punishment was about to be the worst kind of pain imaginable. It was petrifying and delicious. She hated herself more.

Rhys tore a piece of the tape off with his teeth, and repeated the act twice more until he had three sections of tape that were about five inches in length. He bent down to Wren’s pussy, once again inhaling her earthy scent. His heart and cock swelled with pride when he could smell the evidence of her arousal. Things were playing out in his favor, but there were several more things that he needed to hear.

He had to hear them. Once he did, Wren would understand that she was more like Rhys than she ever would let herself see.

Rhys’ tongue swiped out of his lips, still covered with blackened makeup, and he tasted her. It was everything and more that he dreamed of. Wren shut her eyes as silent tears marked her face. She was burying herself in a grave of self-loathing, sins, and disgust. She couldn’t believe that she was being torn apart by a demon-like man and letting herself respond in the manner that she was.

Rhys couldn’t have just one taste, though. That’s like putting a slice of chocolate cake before a person that is trying to diet and telling them that they can’t have it. More times than not, they will betray their will and eat it because the delicacy is more than their tongue can handle. His makeup covered lips ate her pussy, every lap of his tongue craved more than the next. Rhys closed his eyes as her tight cunt tightened around his tongue and he traveled back to a time when nothing else mattered except the secrets that they shared and the purity that they held on to.

But that would be shattered and he would be the one to blame. After, he would have nothing else to go off of because he was already molded into a man that was able to kill.

Wren’s cries became softened pleas. They sounded like whispered lullabies from the lips of a real-life angel to Rhys. Wren wasn’t sure what her sobs meant, if she wanted him to stop, carry on, or kill her, she just knew that she needed something, anything to happen to make that moment stop.

Rhys’ trip down memory lane halted and he pulled his lips away from Wren that were coated with her arousal. He licked them clean and opened his eyes to look down and see her, her head down to her chest as she cried and begged without words to make that moment stop.

The tornadic emotions that were cycling through the air jolted his heart as his hands started an awful and painful tap of their own. He took one piece of tape and stuck it over the strip of hair that covered her pussy.

Wren’s heart constricted. She knew he was proficient in committing awful acts, but it was at that second that she understood that she wouldn’t ever try to figure him out. She was letting the devil love her in all the wrong ways, and her conflicted heart enjoyed it with every ounce of its fucked up glory.

The darkness one tries to hide from never stays in the past.

RHYS SAT THERE
admiring the silver tape covering the length of Wren’s folds. Her cries remained low as her head was tucked to her chest. She began mumbling words, familiar lines to Rhys.

“Hail Mary…” Wren trailed.

Rhys stood from the bed and walked over to the side to crouch down to be at eye level with Wren. He grasped a hold of her hair tightly to ensure that she wouldn’t whip her head around to break eye contact. His head cocked itself to the side as he admired her depressed and desperate state.

“Your prayers will not fix this, Wren. Your God will not save you. Did your God save us then?” Rhys stated without regard. He was not trying to soothe her, rather, he was trying to make her realize something important.

“The holy ones were those that destroyed us. Don’t you see? All that we had was our secrets. We had a chance to leave. We had a chance at life, Wren.”

Rhys’ tone became lighter, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be sorry. He wasn’t sorry. He was not the one at fault for all the grisly acts that had transpired when they were younger. Everything is merely what one sees. People always have an idea, but mostly, it never is accurate. Rhys was already depicted as a dejected, unfit boy. It only made sense for others to assume that he was at fault for the ghastly things that occurred. The man he turned into as a result was just who he was born to be. He liked to think after he took a life of an unknowing woman while he spooned her dead and naked body that things would have turned out differently if he saved Wren.

But that wasn’t how his story panned out.

Wren’s eyes made their way to Rhys’, the blues of his standing out like a beautiful sapphire in the midst of darkness. The air left Wren’s lungs and she wanted to believe him. She wanted it to make sense, but the pieces of her puzzle were still missing. Wren wanted to have faith that Rhys wasn’t all bad, but she saw it in his eyes. He was a monster destined and able for bad things. She wasn’t sure what to say as she stayed stuck on his stare, forgetting the prayer that she previously wished would work to whisk her away.

Rhys’ grip on her raven locks grew lighter, and he released her as his hand cupped her bruised and bloody face.

“Isaiah 7:14, Wren. Tell me, my darling. Tell me what it says…” Rhys cooed, bringing his face down to hers.

Wren though about how different her life would have been if she was able to keep that baby, but the thought terrified and depressed her. She wanted to know where he was at. She wished that he could have stayed in her arms forever, but with no parents or anyone to care for her, she was left in the hands of the nuns at the house for unwed mothers. She was given no other choice. When the idea of having a son grow up around those that are as tainted as she was threatening to become, she ran.

She wanted him to meet a pure God before he entered a world made up of dissolution and heartache. Wren wanted to give her son that before he had a chance to see how fucked up everything was by getting an abortion, but she was caught and thrust back into a place where she was forced to look at herself as a sinner. But, she wasn’t given a choice. Wren wasn’t allowed to keep him. They proved her to be too irresponsible and mentally unfit due to the circumstances that had ensued months before and the baby was adopted by a lovely Catholic couple in the city. She would never see her son again. Wren prayed that he wouldn’t be anything like the man that she dreamt of, his father. She wished she didn’t have visions of him as the line he would say with desperation weighing heavily in his voice rang in her head until it made her crazy.

‘I promise I’m not a bad boy.’

Wren started to cry as she thought back to the time she spent at the house for unwed mothers. She thought about her son, who was nearing ten, and what kind of boy he had become. He was born with Rhys’ blue eyes and her black hair. She hoped he was born with a good soul. One that saw the world for its goodness. Wren wished that he would be witness to the decency that she hadn’t been.

“What happens to bad little girls who don’t answer, my darling?” Rhys asked, disgust in his tone.

Wren’s stare sunk deep into his as she came to the conclusion that she would have to tell him everything.

“Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.”

Wren started to cry out in emotional pain. At that moment, she wished that Rhys would kill her and send her to a heaven she was sure didn’t exist any longer. Too much aching had occurred and not enough joy. She had been delivered to the callous people of the world, even those that were supposed to show her affection and love after her family died. Instead, she was dejected and ostracized just like Rhys.

Again, her mind played tricks with itself. Wren didn’t want to think that it was okay to have such feeling at that second when Rhys’ thumb traced her bottom lip. She was certain that her tears never really stopped. They were a permanent part of who she was then, a shameful servant to the boy who turned bad. Still, she craved the disruptiveness he offered her, because to Wren, that was better than being a no one who was constantly searching for someone that would never be him.

“You were mine. So pure. My little angel, sweet Wren. I kept your secrets deep inside of my darkness. I hugged them tight with hopes that was our reason. I broke you and made you mine. In that second, my darling, my soul became yours too. Where is he? Where is my son?” Rhys questioned, hopeful that the burnt pieces of hell could be put back together again.

Wren’s eyes got too big for her face and she bit down on her cut up bottom lip. Rhys knew, even without a return, that his son was gone. His Immanuel. His future. His redemption.