Noise and Kisses

When we got to Carlos’ I didn’t immediately knew something was wrong. People always say that, I think they just want to believe that they aren’t as stupid as they are. But I was stupid. I was stupid, and lost, and hurt, and Carlos was there. Maybe that’s why I didn’t protest when he handed me just a shirt to change into after my shower. Maybe that’s why I didn’t think anything of it when he said I could sleep in his bed instead of on the couch, ‘The couch is hard as a rock, and my bed is big enough for both of us.’ Yeah right. I can make up all the excuses in the world for why I fell into the trap, but the truth of it all was I was stupid and he was a fucking bastard.
I was lying in Carlos’ bed staring at the ceiling waiting for him to get out of the shower. I wanted to make sure he didn’t sleep on the couch. It was his house, after all. When he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing nothing but boxers and a hairy beer belly. I almost gagged, but I stopped myself. He reached over to his dresser and took a switchblade from the top of it. At first I didn’t know what he was doing, maybe playing a joke.
“What? Am I supposed to be scared?” I joked, chuckling slightly.
“Yeah, you are.” He smiled evilly, showing me his meth mouth.
I lost my smile then, as he crawled onto the bed a straddled my legs. I had put my old underwear on, seeing as Carlos hadn’t given me any. I was trying desperately to believe it was just a joke, and he would soon get up, laughing.
He was laughing alright; as he cut open the very shirt he gave me and tossed it aside. Now I was almost all the way naked in front of this disgusting man, and I would have puked if I wasn’t so petrified.
He took his knife and dragged it across my left breast, right above my nipple. I screamed.
“You scream one more time; I slit your throat next.” He hissed into my ear, putting the cold metal of his knife to my throat.
I nodded, slightly. He was serious. I wouldn’t scream. I wouldn’t even cry. There was no need to give him the satisfaction.
He put his knife into the cut and dug it deeper; I bit my lip, hard. He leaned in and licked the blood trickling down my chest. It had to be the most disgusting feeling I had ever felt.
I think he got bored of cutting me up, but not after a long time. I had stopped counting at about 6. I would have rather he continued slicing me up. He reached down with his right hand and easily split the seams of my panties with his knife.
I closed my eyes then, as I felt him take his boxers off. I felt his dick inside me. It was horrible. He pounded me with such force that it felt like losing my virginity all over again. But the worst part wasn’t the cuts, or the actual rape itself, it wasn’t even that he didn’t use a condom, or that he came inside me. It was that the whole time he never let me close my eyes, never let me look away. He put the knife to my throat and made me watch every second of my rape in the mirror above us.
When he pulled out, sticky and hard, I lost my stomach. I puked all over his plush carpet.
“You bitch.” He said, smacking me with the hilt of his knife. The last thing I remember was screaming Bert’s name, but I don’t even know if I made a sound.