Rock Bottom

I heard and felt my Jaw dislocate.

A sort of red mist seemed to rise up behind my eyes, a red fog of total agony, my jaw flopped uselessly and a disembodied scream assaulted my ears.

"See it ain't too big now." he growled tossing the baseball bat carelessly aside.

And in it came, oblivious to my agony, past my teeth over my tongue to fill my throat, six inches of stinking black cock.

I had tried to get away but the pain of my shattered ankles was too much, and my smashed fingers flopped uselessly, I felt his filthy hands on my shaved head pulling me onto him and I wanted to die.

"Oh baby that's good," he cooed, "I should have done this right off, you suck gorgeous girl."

Suck, I was not sucking him, I was choking, desperate to breathe thats why I was sucking, I was being choked to death.

I somehow hung on, getting light headed until the warm creamy slime oozed down my throat until as he contracted I found I could breathe again.

He walked off, I tried supporting my jaw with the palms of my hands but it was broken or dislocated, like my nose, the blood soaked dressing from my pubes lay where he discarded it in a rage, the surgery they did on my labia, cutting most of it away with a filthy craft knife and sewing it with fishing line had not healed. He came back.

The needle gleamed, he sprayed a tiny amount from the tip and then stabbed it among the scars on my arm, straight into the vein and pretty soon it was ok, no pain, no hassle I was floating.

He laid me over a low table, checked I was ready by forcing the baseball bat up my anus again, lubing the end and just pushing pushing then ripping it left, right, up, down to loosen me up.

It hurt, oh it hurt so bad, but the fix somehow made it bearable.

I took my weight on my knees and the palms of my hands, it was not too bad, my left nipple was still sensitive where he burned the skin off it with a blow torch, so I kept the bra cup folded under that side, then before I knew customers were waiting.

Two men, African. they were all African s all unwashed, sleeping rough mostly but somehow they had scraped together or stolen the money to buy me.

I saw him drop his pants, his underpants were filthy, yellow with sweat and streaked with skidmarks,  he took his swelling member and thrust it unceremoniously up my ass, and started humping.

"Hey this ass pussy is dry man"

The blows started to rain down, slashing across my back, stinging, the narrow leather straps of the black whip, cutting deep into my flesh, as they asked the impossible from me.

"Lube that Ass pussy bitch, get turned on you hear." they were shouting and laughing, then as my blood dripped from the fresh cuts someone shoved something cold and wet within my anus, a penis followed, and he thrust at me again cruelly and oblivious to my agony.

Twice more I was invaded, the hot cum spraying deep inside me, HiV Hepatitis, clap, I could be becoming infected, I might even be infected myself and infecting them.

It was a comforting thought, fuck me and die.

They left as quickly as they came, I crawled to my mattress and curled into a ball to drift into the glorious relief of sleep.

I woke in the darkness, the drugs were wearing off, my jaw hurt, my shattered fingers once again in agonised disorder, I tried to get them to fall straight but with little success at least my ankles were bearable, but my jaw, how could I eat, if I could not eat then I must die.

My ass hurt, and my pussy was bleeding again where he had pulled the dressing away brutally earlier, but worst of all that devilish monkey of withdrawal symptoms was back.

My mattress, my haven, a corner of a filthy room, a stained soiled mattress, and a bra, all I could call my own, how soon would this nightmare end, and how, would it be starvation or would they take pity and kill me, a knife perhaps or an overdose.

I heard them, still awake, in the other room, talking. "No man she make a fine warning, is waste to waste her."

"Better still dead."

The morning came, the grey light seeping through the curtains, the big one, George, came to use me, shoving his unwashed cock in my face fucking my throat making my flopping jaw grate, his side kick threw me over on my back, and fucked me missionary style, the stitches bled again, but somehow they held as he forced his evil grey diseased slime into me, my ribs ached, I guessed a few must be broken or cracked, and I struggled, desperate to save my innards from being torn, I tried to imagine he was good looking, sexy, I needed to feel my pussy getting moist but there was nothing except his pre cum and  my blood to ease his thrusting.

I passed out, I must have stayed out for a while then a kick in the ribs woke me, a customer, he looked at me "I ain't that fucking desperate," he said and walked out.

A low life shit in stained Jeans and tee shirt walking away from me, a scumbag I would never even have looked at before all this not sufficiently desperate to want me, I wanted the floor to open up, I even wanted him to change his mind and fuck me, ass, mouth, anything but this rejection.

The big one came again, he carefully inserted his baseball bat in my pussy "To check the stitches" easing it in gently, then when it was in as far asit would go he started hitting it with a cricket bat, it was tearing me inside, hammering, I felt it against my damaged ribs, I tried to stop him with my hands and poor broken fingers but he laughed as I screamed.

The Cricket bat handle was split, the binding loose, he lost interest in trying to ram the baseball bat further inside me and shoved the Cricket bat handle into my anus, it must have splintered because it jammed and felt like I was on fire, he pulled it free and wound tape around it and tried again, the same bat he had smashed down on my fingers, and smashed my nose with, now slippery with plastic tape it slid embarassingly easily inside me, then he started playing scissors, moving the bats in opposition pinching then stretching, I screamed "No"

He rammed something disgusting in my mouth, rag soiled with shit, perhaps a pair of panties, but it made me nauseous and I threw up, some splashed his leg and he kicked my good breast then the bat came loose and I realised I had shit myself all over my mattress, liquid shit, I just lay, I had no more fight, it was time to die.

The house was eerily still, I woke and sensed something, I realised I was lying in my own filth but the smell was real bad, then I saw the smoke, it was the smell of smoke, I tried to stand but my ankles were smashed, smashed form so many repeated blows of the baseball bat, it was crazy how I had howled as he pulled out my painted toenails and clamped my toes in Vise Grips and bent them right back till they broke, it was crazy, so much crying for so little, who needs toe nails or toes come to that but ankles, you need ankles.

He had snapped my fingers, right after my toes, he clamped my hand in a DiY tool called a workmate, a bench with a big vise and just slammed the fingers back the opposite way to the way they bend and they just shattered, hanging limp, scrunching as the misaligned bones grated, they had both  had a go at cutting my hair off, they used garden shears at one stage, I thought they would cut my ears off but they just ripped my long blond out, by the hand full then cut, shaved, ripped and hacked as I screamed, afterwards they shaved my scalp with a ceremonial knife a long curved blade seven inches long with a wicked  curved Ivory handle.

I thought they would cut my throat as well but they stopped short of killing me.

They had plans for me, they had tied me down and some young guy started cutting my pubes. My clothes had gone long before this I was down to knickers and bra, and they decided my Labia was too pronounced and needed cutting back, he cut with a dirty paint streaked craft knife and threw the scraps of blood soaked flesh to the cat as he worked, he sewed me back together again and then his work completed he cut away my pubic hair with a spare craft knife blade.

He put a dressing on and held in place with my knickers, it was agony, the scab came away every time I had to wee, and it bled, and I had to keep using the same dressing.

I guess I soiled myself when I was injected, I lost hours, no memories just the injuries to remind me of what I could not remember.

The smoke got worse, I scrambled on palms and knees across the junk strewn floor, the doors all locked, the windows painted shut.

I got to the window, I tried to hit it, but almost passed out, I tried kicking but it hurt too much so I head butted it, the glass broke, I felt moisture, I knew my head was bleeding, but I hit it again to make the hole bigger then I dived through.

The basement grille was missing, my three foot drop to earth became ten feet into the cellar, but I had been seen.  The smoke had attracted bystanders and the Fire Engine was coming down the street.

"Down there, an old lady" someone shouted.

A Fireman looked down at me.

"Some clapped out fucking druggie whore, I ain't risking it" he charmingly observed, and I waited, I guessed my collarbone had also busted on landing but as the water from fire hoses started to cascade round me I realised I might well survive.

I seemed an age before an Ambulance guy dragged me out, naked or hear as dammit, he did not bother with covering me, half the bystanders were whores, I recognised the street where I had been held as being the known haunt of drug dealers and prostitutes so I guess parading me naked was something of a warning to others.

The Ambulance jolted and swayed alarmingly, I thought I would fall off the Stretcher which they laid me on but somehow I stayed on as we hurtled around the roundabouts and over the speed bumps until eventually they transferred me to a trolley and wheeled me into casualty at the Princess Anne infirmary.

"Druggie, set the place on fire and tried to fly" was their verdict.

A little girl with a cut finger, an old guy with no obvious injuries, they came in after me and were seen immeadiately. I tried to tell them How bad I was but it all sounded like gibberish, strange moans like a half wit.

Then a Porter fetched me.

"How the fuck did you get like that? waste of fucking tax payers money treating scum like you." he had a unique gift for chat up lines.

They slowly realised there was more wrong with me than just a little fall into the basement, the monkey had really kicked in when the adrenalin rush subsided, but bthank god they gave me something, Methodone probably, suddenly everything was cool again.

"Pity they did not get there five minutes later" was the doctors reaction. "For gods sake get her cleaned up."

They took me to the bathroom, two nurses, thats when they realised my ankles were shot, my foot turned ninety degrees the wrong way, one girl passed out, and the porter came and put me in the bath, he brushed my burned nipple and I screamed, he started to wash me, I am sure it was against hospital rules, especially after the nurses left, the one who fainted assisted by her friend, but the porter continued.

He undid my bra, and soaped me, the water turned brown, he had to empty the bath and start again, but the water was lovely and warm, and he was gentle.

He seemed fascinated by my pussy, the stitches, he ran his fingers over the stitches, it felt nice, I wanted more, I parted my knees in invitation, then I saw myself in the reflection in the bath.

It took a second. I did not recognise myself.

I thought it was someone else, my nose, squat distorted, two black eyes, cigarette burns over my forehead, and my jaw, drooping obscenely, I looked repulsive, I knew my hair was gone but this.

If I had not been starved I would have thrown up.

They kept asking my name, asked me to write my name, but how could I, my fingers would not work, I could not speak.

A policeman checked my teeth, lectured me on immigration, asked my nationality.

They moved me to a special unit, a teaching facility, and they started to put me back together, they used an IV drip to feed me, splinted my fingers and ankles, put my feet in plaster and then they looked at my jaw.

I came back from the operating theatre, and realised my jaw was wired up.

They gave up asking questions, I squealed when I wanted a bed pan, they did not even try a one squeal for yes two for no code to ask me anything, just did the minimum, I was a Druggie and no use to anyone.

It took months, I had a sort of fur on my head, my eyes were not black any more, but without my contact lenses the world was a sort of blurred parallel universe.

They weaned me off the Methodone, I tried to sleep as much as possible, I was on a liquid diet drunk through a straw, sometimes there was something on the TV I could listen to, and I guess it was about three months before they announced they would try some physio.

My Ankles hurt worse than ever as they made me stand after cutting off the cast.

I stood in just on of those hospital gowns, the ones that fasten up the back with ties, as the Doctor ordered me to walk.

The first few steps made me feel suicidal, but after a few days I realised it was bearable.

They had to operate on my jaw again, I came back with a long scar, they tried to do it without cutting the first time but it was not quite in line as it started to knit together.

They kept my hands in plaster for months, my fingers itched unbearably, but still the cast stayed on until finally the sawed it off.

My fingers were all white and puffy, the skin all disgusting where the air had not got to them but they worked, after a fashion.

I looked scarcely believing when I was able to bend them without almost passing out.

They looked like the hands of an old crone, I used to have beautiful hands, so people told me, sensitive, I had played Piano and Cello at school.

"Can you hold a pen?" asked the doctor, in a tone which suggested he thought I was a brain damaged imbecile.

I grasped the pen and started to write on a form he had put on the table.

He grabbed it away and took the pen with him. "That's your records, don't mess it up" he ordered ungrammatically.

They found me clothes from the red cross booth, a horrid green dress and some shoes which went out of fashion in 1952.

My Jaw was still wired but I was mobile, I just took a pen and wrote my parents phone number.

The young nurse rang the number for me, I wrote, "Hi Mum," but it just rang.

She tried several times.

So I persuaded her to ring my Boss.

"I have Julia here" she said.

They kept her hanging around for ages. "Water Music by Handle" she explained as she tapped her fingers and mimed the tune.

"Yes Julia," she repeated, "Nightingale Ward, - yes, - Oh weeks. - her jaw is wired she can't speak,- don't speak to me like that." she slammed the phone down. "Really he was so rude."

Jack, my Boss arrived, it was way outside visiting hours, he walked right past me, looked at me and did not recognise me.

He realised his mistake, he started speaking, then he gave me a notebook.

"Mum" I wrote.

Colour drained, from him. "Ah of course," he ran a finger around his shirt collar. "There is no easy way to say this but, your father he shot himself, after shooting your sister and your mother, they found a fourth body, we thought it was you.  Sorry."

"Danny"  I wrote.

"Living with Phoebe in your old flat, you left him everything in your will, remember, we thought you were dead, even the dental records showed the body could have been you, probably was you.

I felt numb. Everyone I really cared about had either died, or had forgotten me.

I had reached rock bottom.

I felt hate building within me, In my minds eye saw my captors, illuminated by the fiery glow of a welding torch their body fat flaring as I burned pieces from them

Only hate stood between me and self destruction.

I had a plan

To be contined.