Warning: mention of rape

You're not Sorry

When you broke me, when you destroyed me, you laughed while I cried, while I died. I can still remember it so clearly, as I sit here alone, I think about it. I remember the day you came into my cell, a sadistic smile on your face. I was just sixteen years old when you took everything from me. I was so young, so innocent; I had no idea what you wanted. Not even when you stripped me did it click, only when you forced yourself inside me did I know what you wanted.

I see it all so clearly, in my dreams, my nightmares, they replay and replay and it's like I'm still there. Still with you, still being tortured and torn apart, piece-by-piece. I shudder at the memories, I have to remind myself that you are dead now, gone, for good. I nearly laugh when I think of the way you died; crashing your own zoomer into eco is pretty clever Erol. I only wish I could have killed you by my own hands.

I only wish the memories died with you.

I still hear your voice, still see your face, hell I can still feel you near me, inside me. You always apologized, afterwards, saying you were so goddamn sorry, but you never stopped. You could have stopped; you didn't have to keep doing it, you had a choice. You chose to break me; you chose to fuck me every week for two years. God, no wonder I can't forget.

I saw you every day, you were always there, either watching me get tortured or doing so yourself. It's your face that haunts my dreams, its 'those' days that have me crying out in my sleep.

How could you say you were sorry?

How could you be sorry?

God I remember it so clearly.

It was cold, dark, I was afraid; I'd been there two days. I had no idea what would happen to me or where the hell I was, I was terrified. Then you came, told me how I was to be weapon, a weapon? That's what you tortured me for. I meant nothing to you or the Baron, you didn't care that I was scared and you didn't care that you were killing me.

You stalked towards me, lowering yourself down to the ground, almost looking like you actually cared, almost. That's when you stared to beat me; the blows kept coming, not stopping until I was black and blue. You stopped on purpose though; you stopped just before I could pass out. I had no idea what you wanted, I was dazed and confused.

You just laughed as you stripped me of my clothes and dignity. You moaned when I cried in pain, you only drove into me harder when I didn't scream for you. I couldn't scream, I was mute, otherwise I would have. You finally finished with me; I was left bloody, bruised and broken on the floor. You got up, redressing yourself and fixed your hair. No one ever knew what you did to me and if they did, I doubt they cared.

As you turned to leave you'd say 'I'm sorry'.

You're not sorry.

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This is drawing by my friend for this story, please check it out just take out the spaces

http:// lorazoronicktrance . /art/ You-re-Not-Sorry-117325341