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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

 

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There's No Dancing in The Alamo.
By SteffiSevenfold

 


A hand clamped over my mouth and I tried to scream.

A strong arm wound around my waist and I wanted to run away.

The touch felt familiar, but oddly too foreign.

I thrashed my legs about, arms attempting to wrestle the hand from my face.

I could get deep breaths through my nostrils, but it felt like I was suffocating.

Too dark for words. I felt blindfolded.

I begged my eyes to focus, trying to see through the blackness but it didn't work.

The hand let go of my mouth and there was ragged breath down my neck. They spun us around in a semi-circle and pushed me roughly against a wall.

My head smacked off of it, but it didn't hurt too badly. I was too distracted whimpering and feeling around the wall for some sort of remembrance.

My fingers fumbled about a picture frame and it fell to the floor. I wanted to gasp because that was my favorite picture, my favorite frame. It was a picture of me and my boyfriend of four years. I loved him.

I wanted to gasp but I was too confused and angry. Too scared and anxious.

I felt around more. I know there was a light switch so close, just too far for my arms.

I begged for them to stop, my raspy scared voice just turning them on more.

My house phone rang and that hand clasped over my mouth again, just a lot harder than before.

Two rings. Three.

Beep.

“Ayeeeee, fuckers. I can't come to the phone right now, or I just really don't want to talk to you. Caller ID tells me these things. Leave a message and I might just get back to you.”

Beep.

“Zacky, it's mom. I really wish you'd change your message, dear. It's so crude. Just wanted to say I love you and I can't wait to see you again. I had a nice night tonight.”

Beep.

I've always hated how much that machine beeps, and tonight I just hated it more. It felt like it was counting seconds, telling me how long I'd be stuck in this nightmare.

I see my mom once a week. She lives on the other side of town and I take her out to dinner when I can. I love her.

I wish she was here right now. I can't lie:

I need my mommy.

The hand dropped to my waist and I froze. I wanted to scream and kick, but my brain wouldn't tell my body to do so.

I stood there motionless as the hands played with the hem of my shirt and brought it up.

The stranger had to force my arms up in order to get my shirt off.

I whimpered as his hands unbuckled my belt and forced my zipper down.

I've been with my boy for four years and I still wasn't ready to have sex with him. He understood, even felt the same way.

No way in hell did I want to lose my virginity to a stranger.

I found myself brushing his hands away and kicking and screaming.

I found my head being tossed angrily at my nice purple wall.

I found myself useless.

I found myself being stripped of clothing.

Then I found myself losing consciences.

Once I regained my consciences, I couldn't believe anything.

It was still dark, not as dark, but dark and I squirmed around and huddled against a corner of my living room.

There's always been a slight draft in my house that I've never really noticed, but right now, my naked body trembled.

The message machine blinked a red light every few seconds.

My head throbbed and I reached up to touch my temple. It felt okay, nothing wrong.

I moved my hand around my head and it felt wet. I pulled my hand out of my hair and brushed my fingertips against each other.

It was sticky.

It was blood.

My ass really hurt, too. I don't see how people do it. Sex, I mean. If it hurts this much. And I wasn't even there. Mentally, I mean.

My eyes were watery and I was terrified of the dark.

My fingers drifted down my body, feeling for pain and finding some.

Some parts of my arms were tender, as if beginning to bruise.

My hips were tender too, as if someone grabbed me forcefully.

My hands drifted further down my body.

My calves felt like they were marinated in blood.

My inner thighs were sticky, feeling like I was injected with foreign DNA.

Trembling, whimpering and crying, I shakily got to my feet.

My hand flicked on the light switch and I looked around the room, terrified.

I froze in my tracks when I looked up at my high lamp, something different about it.

Something hung from it.

I stepped closer, tears spilling from my eyes and tried to focus unsuccessfully through my hazy tear filled mess.

I broke down then.

I didn't know above me I'd find not a creature of the night, but my boyfriend's necklace dangling in the air.

I got this idea from a friend of mine. She wrote a poem about one of her friends who was raped by her boyfriend. No one realizes that not only strangers can rape/molest you, but your significant other can as well. I feel I did this fairly well. I fyou don't think so then boo on you xD

Meh. I just hopped up two sizes in my gauges. My ear is on FIRE.

Reads and reviews would be greatly appreciated.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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