Fueled (Driven, #2)(2)

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I’m so hungry, so weak from the lack of food while Mommy has been away on her last trip that I tell myself to not resist. Mommy said that if I’m a good boy and do what I’m told, we’ll both be rewarded—that doing this for her makes her love me; she’ll get her fix of “Mommy feel goods” from him, and I’ll get to have that half eaten apple and plastic wrapped pair of crackers she luckily found somewhere and brought back here. My stomach cramps and mouth waters at the notion of having something in it for the first time in days.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I just have to be good. I just have to be good.

I repeat the mantra to myself as his bearded jaw scrapes against my neck from behind. I try to stifle the heaving sensation from my stomach, and despite there being nothing to throw up, my body shudders violently, trying to anyway. The heat of his body against my back—always against my back—makes tears spring in my eyes that I fight to prevent. He groans into my ear—my fear exciting him—as the tears leak through my squeezed eyelids. They trail across my face to fall on my mom’s musty mattress sitting on the floor. I tell myself not to resist as his thickening thing presses against my bottom. I remember all too well what happens when I do that. Resist or not, either option is painful, is a nightmare that results in the same ending―fists before pain or just accepting the pain without the struggle.

I wonder if there’s pain when you die.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

“I love you, Colty. Do this for Mommy and I’ll love you again, okay? A good little boy does anything for his mommy. Anything. Love means you do things like this. If you really love me and know that I love you, you’ll do this so that Mommy can feel better again. I love you. I know you’re hungry. So am I. I told him you wouldn’t fight this time because you love me.”

Her pleading voice rings in my ears. I know that no matter how hard I scream, she’ll never open the door to help, despite sitting on the other side of it. I know she can hear my cries—the pain, the terror, the loss of innocence—but the haze of her withdrawal is so strong she doesn’t care. She needs the drugs he’ll give her when he’s done with me. His payment. That’s all she cares about.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman. Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman. I repeat the names of the superheroes, my silent escape from this hell. From the fear that races through my veins, coats my skin with sweat, and fills the air with its unmistakable scent. I repeat the names again. Praying any of these four superheroes will show up and rescue me. To fight evil.

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Say it or it’ll hurt more until you do.”

I bite my lip and welcome the metallic taste of my blood as I try to prevent myself from crying out in fear and terror. From giving him what he wants, my screams for the help that I know will never come. He grips me hard. It hurts so bad. I give in and say what he wants to hear.

“I love you. I love you. I love you…” I repeat over and over, endlessly as his breath picks up from the excitement my words bring him. My fingernails dig into my clenched fists as his hands grope and grab their way down my torso. His rough fingers find the waistband of my threadbare underwear—one of the only pair I have—and I hear them rip under his excited and jerky movements. I suck in my breath, my body shaking violently, knowing what happens next. One hand cups my crotch, squeezing me too hard and hurting me, while I feel his other hand spreading me apart from behind.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I can’t help it. I’m starving but…it just hurts too much. I buck against him. “No,” gurgles past my chapped lips as I fight hard to escape what happens next. I thrash violently, connecting with some part of him as I spring from the bed and escape momentarily. Fear consumes me, engulfs me as he rises off the stained mattress and comes at me, a determined grimace on his face and desire in his eyes.

I think I hear my name being called and confusion flickers through my overwhelmed brain. What is she doing here? She has to go. He’ll hurt her too. Oh f*ck! Not Rylee too. My frantic thoughts scream for her to run. To get the hell out, but I can’t get the words out. Fear has locked them in my throat.

“Colton.”

The horror in my head slowly melds and seeps into the soft morning light of my bedroom. I’m not sure if I can believe my eyes. What is real? I’m thirty-two but I feel like I’m eight. The chilled morning air mingles with the sheen of sweat covering my naked body, but the cold I feel is so deep down in my soul I know that no amount of heat will warm me up. My whole body is taut with the impending assault that it takes a moment for me to believe that he’s not really here.

I shift my gaze, my pulse thundering through my veins, and lock eyes with Rylee. She is sitting up in my beast of a bed, pale blue sheets pooled around her bare waist and her lips swollen from sleep. I stare at her, hoping this is real but not sure if I believe it. “Oh f*ck,” I exhale on a shaky breath, unclenching my hands and bringing them up to rub them over my face to try and wipe away the nightmare. The coarseness of my stubble on my hand is welcome. It tells me I really am here. That I’m an adult and he’s nowhere near.

That he can’t hurt me again.

“Fuuuccckkk!” I grit out again, trying to get a hold on the chaos in my head. I drop my hands down to my side. When Rylee moves, my vision comes back into focus. She very slowly reaches her hand up to rub the opposing shoulder, her face grimacing with pain, but her eyes are chock full of concern as they remain focused on me.