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Not A Stranger

"From Philena's POV, the prologue to her story, Tomorrow."
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His fists came down on me again as his words cut into my mask. Bitch, he called me. Whore, he said. Good-for-nothing cunt. I couldn't breathe without him hitting me again, I couldn't move for all the broken bones and mangled pieces of my body. I couldn't scream because of the gag in my mouth with my hands handcuffed behind me, my legs splayed wide open.

I couldn't do a thing.

His boot comes forward to my stomach, knocking every bit of breath I tried to draw out of me. I'm suffocating, my stomach's numb because my body says the pain is too much.

Suddenly, his hands are on my naked body, touching, feeling. I can't cry for help, I can't cry Rape! or even Fire! if that doesn't work. I can't... I can't.

The zipper to his jeans is noisily lowered, his clothes slid down, basically discarded.

I don't breathe, can't. Not really. I don't cry, he may... he will hurt me worse if he sees a single tear escape my eyes. Instead, I swallow everything down as his rough fingers enter me, tearing me apart, hurting me beyond any point I could ever imagine.

Now him down there, forcing in.

Hurting me.

Do you know what the worst part of all this is?

I know him. He's not a stranger. He used to be my father, now he's just a monster.

I'm only ten years old.

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