Painful Blessings

Marsha laid immobile in the darkness, waiting. Blood seeped, pooling underneath her from her one futile attempt at release, before she figured out the slightest movement brought excruciating pain.

Tears slid down her cheeks, mixing with the blood under her neck and shoulders. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. She had always thought women like her were not targets for rapist or serial killers. Her skinny friends got annoyed with her when she would remark about their skimpy clothes and the fact they were drawing attention, sometimes unwanted and dangerous attention, by the way they dressed.

I was wearing a muumuu for God's sake! she silently screamed, afraid to make a sound, lest she bring the madman back.

She could not look down at herself, but knew she no longer wore the muumuu, that she laid naked on a hard surface, vulnerable and exposed. She let out a hysterical giggle at the absurdity of worrying about being naked. The nails holding her to the table were certainly more cause for concern than someone seeing her cellulite.

Please, God, she prayed, help me. Let someone find me.

She hoped someone heard her screams earlier, despite the fact the madman who had walked calmly into the room had assured her it was no use, she could scream all she wanted and no one would hear. She wanted to scream again but was scared of what the man would do if he came back.

She could not remember how she got here. One minute she was walking to her car after work, when a cloth was put over her face and the next she woke up nailed to a table. Everything in between was a blur. Vague images flashed in her mind from time to time, but they made no sense. She gave up trying to remember, deciding it didn't really matter how she got here, only how to get away.

Unfortunately, she could think of no way of escaping. Just trying to move one arm had almost rendered her unconscious from pain, so pulling enough to release her whole body was out of the question.

Marsha didn't know how long she laid in the darkness before the squeak of the door signaled her captor's return. She tried to see him with her peripheral vision, but couldn't make out what he was doing.

"Hello, sweetling," the man said, coming to Marsha's side and gently caressing her cheek. "I've been anticipating our time together all day."

"Please," Marsha begged, "let me go! I won't tell anyone about you, I promise."

Sighing, the man replied, "Now where would the fun in that be?"

Marsha tried to pull away when he trailed his finger down her arm, but the pain from the nails tearing her flesh prevented even that small act of defiance. She could only endure his touching her body, every indignity worse than the one before. When he ran his hands up the inside of her thighs, she whimpered.

"Ah, sweetling, I know it's probably been a while," the man whispered close to her ear while he touched her. "Other men don't know what they're missing, going after skinny little things all the time. It's much more fun with some cushion." He licked her face, and added, "Besides, without a little extra padding I wouldn't be able to have any fun," pulling on the fat of her upper arm beside a nail to bring his point home.

Marsha tried to think of something besides his hands on her, to remove herself from the situation, but no matter what happy thoughts she envisioned, the feel of his calloused hands invading her intimately snapped her back.

When he stopped touching her and moved away, Marsha breathed a sigh of relief, only to scream in terror when he returned, knife in hand.

"Shhh," he whispered, rubbing the knife across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek. "We're just gonna have a little fun."

Eyes wide in fright, Marsha held her breath while he ran the knife along her side and onto her hand. He placed the point of the knife against her index finger and made a quick slice. Marsha howled in pain, drawing shallow, heavy breaths while tears streamed from her eyes.

"Now, now, it's nothing but a little cut," the man soothed. "Isn't it amazing how something as small as a paper cut can cause so much pain?" he asked, head tipped sideways, eyes glazed with passion.

Marsha closed her eyes, refusing to watch his enjoyment. It did not deter him the least. The next cut was on the top of her hand. Marsha squeezed her lips tightly shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of another scream. When he moved the knife to her breast, she almost lost her resolve. The first knick sent pain searing through her body, but she managed to steel herself against it.

The man smiled, licked his lips and whispered in Marsha's ear, "It only gets better," before tracing the knife over her stomach and lower.

With a flick of his wrist, the man brought about pain unlike anything Marsha had ever experienced and she screamed despite her best efforts. "Please, God, help me!" she beseeched.

Marsha never felt the next cut. As unconsciousness overcame her, she knew her prayers had been answered.