Chapter 8 8. Fighting Alone!

The jagged ground dug into my back, but the physical pain was a distant concern. My mind was a storm of fear and shame. Aunt Tina. How will I tell her? Will she believe me? The faces of my neighbors flashed in my mind. I could already hear their whispers, their judgments. She must have asked for it. She must have led him on.

A corrosive shame carried over me, hotter and more sickening than his touch. My future, which just hours ago had felt like my own, now hung in the balance of this man's violence. My virtue, that prized possession I was told to guard above all else, was being stolen, and with it, my worth. My chance for a good husband, a respectable life, it was all being ripped away in this dirt. The despair was so profound it felt like a physical void opening inside me, threatening to swallow me whole.

I refused to make it easy. The moment his grip loosened by a fraction, I seized it, striking his face with the heel of my palm.

It was a grave mistake.

The blow didn't hurt him; it ignited him. A deep sound ripped from his throat, more wild with a new, terrifying rage. My face contorted in a grimace as I fought, like a wild animal caught in a trap. In a final, desperate act, I sank my teeth deep into the flesh of his arm. The warmth of his blood filled my mouth.

He barely flinched. The pain seemed to fuel him, his adrenaline making him a monster I could not hurt.

"Please stop," I begged, my voice a trembling, broken thing. "I am begging you. Please don't do this to me."

The plea was swallowed by the trees. The unforgiving ground scraped and dug into my back, a searing pain that was now a mere backdrop to the greater violation. Then, I felt it. The overwhelming pressure of his weight, the terrifying, inexorable force as he pried my legs apart. My last fortress fell. A final, shattered scream was torn from my lungs, a raw plea to a god who wasn't listening.

"Oh no. God, please... STOP!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to erase the world, to retreat into the darkness behind my eyelids. And in that self-imposed night, a terrible, peaceful thought bloomed. What if I just... disappeared? The idea of fading into oblivion wasn't frightening; it was a relief. It was a promise that I would no longer feel this excruciating pain. And it would mean I might see Jonas again.

The hope became a lifeline. In that unknown realm, I could find peace. I could finally meet the mother who was only a faded photograph and a ghost in my father's stories. She would be real. I would be safe. They would both be there. This fantasy, this vision of an afterlife reunion, became a flicker of light in the absolute darkness. It was a new, desperate purpose; something to reach for, a reason to let go. It was the only way to endure the nightmare.

A final, fleeting thought: if I somehow survived this, what future awaited me? Could I ever be the girl who’d grow old with Aunt Tina, the woman who had taken Jonas's role as both my mother and father? The thought of facing the humiliation afterward had shattered all hopes. Was I to exist in people’s mind as the damaged and unwanted? That thought alone was its own kind of agony. My resistance finally broke for his strength wasn't just great; it was absolute. He had invaded more than my body; he was tearing me apart with his relentless, rhythmic pounding accompanied by the bestial sounds that filled the space.

Then, something inside me snapped. Everything became a blur, a surreal dream. I felt myself detach, floating away from the body being used and broken beneath him. I was drifting in a waterless abyss, desperate to sink to a bottom where I could find rest. The physical pain began to recede, numbed by a vast, hollow helplessness.

It felt like my life was draining away, a cruel theft of all the dreams Jonas had sown in me. A wave of nausea crested, but my body was beyond reacting, gone cold and limp. The edges of my vision darkened, the forest fading to gray. The last thing I felt was the crushing weight of the injustice, not just of the violation, but of a future stolen as my consciousness finally, mercifully, slipped away.

Invader's POV

I stumbled through the woods, the world tilting softly with each step, when a silhouette cut through the haze of my mind. She moved with a natural grace between the trees, a dark shape against the deepening twilight. It was Saintilia. I could make her out even in the gloom, balancing those damned gourds. She'd stayed too late at the river. A part of me, the part that was still a man, knew I should help her. I should call out, walk her home, keep her safe. It's what Jonas would have expected.

But a different, hotter impulse surged, a physical reaction I've come to both dread and crave. My breath hitched. No. Not this. Not with her. I tried to wrestle the feeling down, to lock it away. A wave of shame, sharp and acidic, burned through me. I'd watched her grow from a scrawny child into this... this young woman. The wrongness of it should have been a wall I couldn't cross.

But the alcohol in my veins was a coward's fuel, dissolving my will. Jonas's face flashed in my mind. The trust in his eyes when he'd made me promise to look after his little girl. If he could see me now, see the vile thoughts circling his daughter like vultures, he'd rise from his grave to put me in it.

The guilt was a physical pain, but it was no match for the hunger. A new, ugly thought slithered into my mind, offering a pathetic excuse: Was it really so wrong? Wasn't it just... natural?

She stopped walking. Had she sensed my presence? The part of my mind still clinging to decency screamed that this was my chance to turn back. But a darker, more compelling voice whispered, She's listening for you.

Panic, sharp and sobering, seized me. If she saw me, recognized me, the fragile fantasy I was building would shatter. I ducked behind a tree, my heart hammered a frantically against my ribs. The forest fell silent, and then her voice cut through it, sharp and clear: "Who's there?"

I held my breath, becoming part of the wood and the shadow. The fear of being found was suddenly intoxicating. A raw, thrilling excitement coursed through me, a sensation I hadn't felt in years. This was a game she didn't even know she was playing. We moved deeper, the canopy swallowing the last of the light, plunging us into our own private world. Then she stumbled, and a curse meant for me tore through the silence. A strange pride flickered within me; her frustration was my creation.