Deserted on an island with a guy who kidnapped me? WTF

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 9 (v.1)

Submitted: January 10, 2013

Reads: 617

Comments: 2

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Submitted: January 10, 2013



I ran out onto the sand and collapsed onto my knees. I hugged my legs to my chest, and looked out at the sun quickly setting on the horizon. No one had come to rescue me yet.  What am I going to do? I looked behind me and Andrew was exiting the jungle and walking over towards me. He was fully dressed now, but to me he still looked like an animal. I watched his footsteps in the sand, kicking sand forward with each step until he was standing above me.

“I’ll tell you what, since I know you will die out here without me, I will help you only if you admit you were wrong and you will do whatever I want from here on out.” I glared up at him, what a scumbag.  Did he learn nothing from me this far? “I’d rather die.” I whispered and stood up staring him down. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed towards the jungle. “Go ahead; see how long you can survive without water, food, without me.” Those were the last words I heard from him for 6 hours…

 I stomped away from him and walked into the jungle a little bit, and looked around the slowly fading sun. Everything seemed to bigger at night, the trees, the noises, and the fear pulsing through my veins. I touched my fingers to my lips and instantly felt the dry, rough surface. It had been hours since I had drank any water, and now I had no idea where to get it from. The ocean was not an option since it was filled with salt and bacteria.

 I walked out of the jungle and saw a fire in the sand and Andrew sleeping next to it. This is my chance. I can’t wait for someone to rescue me, what if no one rescues me? I stalked through the trees on the outside of the jungle, opposite him in the sand. I crouched down low and saw the bags lying close to him, but I had to try. I inched forward, picking up one of the bags. It was the one with his clothes in it. I started to reach for my bag when an idea popped into my head. He was lying on his back with his legs extended in front of him, perfect nut shot. But that was not enough.

I stood over him for a second; almost hoping he would see my face before I inflicted pain on him. I took one last look at his peaceful face, eyes shut, lips parted slightly, chest lifting slowly and then falling back down. I stomped with all my might on his privates and he jumped out of sleep, grabbing his stomach and rolling onto his knees. He was in serious pain. I picked up a big handful of sand and yelled at him, “I hate you.”

He turned to glare at me, and at that moment I threw the sand right into his unsuspecting eyes. He screamed out in pain and frustration. I grabbed a branch from the outside of the fire and sprayed hot ashes all over his back. “Don’t ever touch me again you pig, you’re disgusting.” A rage took over me and I couldn’t stop.

I imagined my father lying before me, screaming in pain. I imagined my mother, lying to the school to cover for him. I remembered her telling me this happened to every little girl.

 I started kicking him in the side, right in his ribs over and over again. I wanted him to feel worthless, to cry out like I did. He rolled onto his side and held his hands up to stop my kicks just like I had tried to push him away when he raped me. “You didn’t listen!” I screamed at him and kicked him even harder than before. “Kim, please stop.” He begged me again, but I was now crying from this rage. “I told you to stop! You didn’t listen to me!” I went to kick him again, but this time his hand reached out and twisted my ankle, causing me to fall and yelp out in pain.

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