Lockeroom's Pandemonium

Chapter Twelve: Chains and Fears

Yohanna Caster, for uncountable times already, brushed her cheeks whose tears are trickling down uncontrollably.

The chains that shackled both of her hands has made a tiny metallic sound. She then froze when the man in her front—the one who is holding her chains—looked at her with scowling feature that she already considered as her horror.

She tried her best not to release a sob as the man looked at her with intent. However, she has no skill of controlling her own body. She cried and sobbed, uncontrollably.

Many says she is a stupid, useless woman. From her family, to her friends, to the people that she met, and even to this man—all of them, they have instilled a thought that she had nothing except her face and the beautiful curvature of her body.

That is why, in her nineteen years of existence, she had done nothing but to depend to someone whom she thought are more powerful, more independent people.

Yet, life before this island, she never experienced what she had been experiencing right now.

When she learned that she was a player in this demonic game, that she is a part of this pandemonium, what she did was the usual thing she had always been doing. It’s her instinct that acted first.

She tried finding someone whom she can depend on.

She knew that she has been considering herself stupid, and that she can't act alone. She can’t win alone. She can't survive alone.

She needs someone who will promise her safety and assurance. Someone who can lead her to the end of this game with confidence.

Then she found this man, Leandro.

She has been promised of everything—in the exchange of something—that sooner then, she regretted.

Even from the first level of the game, Leandro already helped her to be part of pandemonium's second level. He killed two men so that they could survive, and be part of the level two players.

Now, the man in her front walked slowly towards her. His tongue was stuck in his upper lips, body grooved boastfully, eyes are fixed at her cleavage.

“Why is it Yohanna? Why are you crying?” Leandro told her in a concerned, whispering voice.

It was the opposite of what his actions has been, however. He placed his hands perfectly fitting at the curve of her hips. She felt how he pressed it, making her froze and feel insurmountable amount of chill.

Sooner, his hand ran upwards, going to her armpit, then to her breast. Then she squeezed it, twisted it—and Yohanna can't do nothing but moan from the horror of his hands.

“P-Please,” she said.

“Why? Why are you crying? Are you sad we're not having happy little time anymore? We just did it earlier when we woke up. You want to do it again?” Then Leandro's lips ran on her neck. “Fine, Babe. We can do it again.” Then he twisted his breast and massaged it in any hideous way he could do.

Yohanna felt herself dirty. She imagined that the hands holding her breast was a clump of mud. She felt that the tongue circling on her neck was one giant worm who erupted from a dead, decaying body.

“Please, stop!” Yohanna pleaded, screaming, crying.

Leandro then, stopped. He removed his hands squeezing Yohanna's breast. He placed back his tongue inside his mouth.

Then he slapped Yohanna.

The slap rang on her head; she flew and kissed the ground; tears suddenly stopped out of her cheek's numbness; eyes widened in shock, horror, and fear; the tingling sound ringing on her ears were loud.

Her eyesight turned dark. Then, someone, a new found woman she never thought she have, she never thought she would see, the ‘SHE' on her inside was screaming.

“Kill! Kill! KILL!”

Her hands gripped the dried fallen leaves on the ground. It scrunched inside her palm. A smile drew on her face, yet, it was something too extraordinary, too scary when it was drawn on her face.

She felt the darkness cursing on her veins, the thirst for revenge, the willingness to kill someone who is a maniac, a disgusting man who did nothing but to force her to eat the fluid spitted by his genitalia.

“What did you say, b***h, huh?” Leandro said. His voice might be controlled and calm, yet Yohanna knew that the thirst for s*x are driving him mad.

He flipped Yohanna towards him.

Yohanna displayed a stoic, emotionless face as Leandro forcefully ripped her shirt.

For a moment, she saw that Leandro was flustered. The shock he displayed was obvious as he look at her face, at the new emotion that she found inside herself.

You must have been flustered, dirty man, she thought.

She almost laughed with the fact that she was able to scare someone even for a little bit of time.

But all of it were gone as Leandro smiled at her again.

“I like that face. Fierce.”

Leandro, in honesty, she found him attractive. He is handsome. His smile are curving into perfection, teeth are shining in white. His nose is proud, his jaw furious, and his eyes too deep and driving.

But there is no excuse, even to the most handsome man, when it comes to the narrative of committing rape, or any s****l activity without a woman's genuine consent.

She imagined herself grabbing Leandro's neck and twisting it into death. She even imagined how she would cut his p***s and pierce it on the tree's bark next to them.

She wanted to do it, to kill him.

But she wanted to survive too. To live. To continue breathing.

For even though most of the time, she was considered as useless, that her life was a trash, she believe that someday, she would be of use to someone—that she can be of great help to someone.

And she wanted to survive.

Her body wanted to move and make her dark imaginations come into real life. But she didn't.

She let herself do whatever Leandro wanted to do in her body.

She bit her lips, and closed her eyes in disgust.

She let her feel the wandering hands of Leandro in her body, the lips and tongue that moved from her neck, to her lips, then to her cleavage.

I will kill you, she thought.

Then the once bright sky turned dark. And the harpies attacked.