#cottoncandyfields

“I made Chili con carne, I hope you like it, mija,” she smiled infuriatingly, as though I hadn’t been screaming moments ago. Her glee felt like a dismissal of my suffering, invalidation of my emotions… of me.

“I am not supposed to be here,” I insisted, hoping for some recognition from this stranger. Her smile flickered for a moment, hinting at discomfort, but she resumed her pretentious joy, scooping a hearty portion of the chilli into my bowl.

“It’s a family recipe, my mamá taught me. Go on, have a bite,” she blabbered, waiting for me to eat, but how could I?

I looked at her dumb founded. In my periphery, I could feel Edward watching me, anticipating something drastic from me. But I was too devastated by the look she gave me. Her thoughtless stare nullified me, as if I was invisible, as if she couldn’t see the dried blood on my wrist or hear my screams. 

A sharp ache behind my eyes promised tears if things didn’t shift.

“Please just help me,” I murmured, my voice shook, like a taut string fighting strain. 

Anxiously, her gaze shot to Edward, as if seeking permission. “Oh dear, Edward told me about your situation, things will get better,” she reached out, patting my shoulder for encouragement, “just give it time y/n.”

Hearing her use my name was jarring; utterly, unequivocally jarring. She knew of me?

“NO! He lied,” I screamed at her. Maria flinched back, afraid of me.

“I didn’t,” Edward interjected. I turned to him, ready to confront his bullshit. 

“You did! because -because if she knew the truth, she would never allow this, she wouldn’t help you!” I spat out, frustration shaping my words into a jumbling, stuttering mess. 

“Sugar, give it a rest. Let's n–” 

“NO! He kidnapped me, pls help!” I interrupted him, turning to the woman again, but like every other time, she was watching him, wordlessly asking him to rescue her. 

How could Edward be anyone’s saviour? Why was I more terrifying to this lady than the beast of a man? I hated her for choosing him, for helping him.

“I don’t think I should be here, Señor. Clearly, the poor girl is still adjusting,” she spoke, overlooking me.

“What... no, you don’t understand, he hurts me, he rapes me!” I cried when Edward finally snapped. 

His fist struck the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The chair scraped violently as he rose, sending it crashing behind him. 

“Enough!” he roared, and I fell silent at once. His eyes fixed on me, he dismissed Maria, all the while I sat frozen, like roadkill. 

He spoke as soon as the door in the kitchen slammed shut, signifying our solitude.“Rape you, huh?.. tell me, is that why you like it so damn much?”  

There it was that inflection in his voice, the one that made me fall apart. His fury had this sick, playful undertone to it when he was at his worst. He used it in the bedroom whenever I resisted, and he used it whenever he was going to push my limits. The ‘Edward’ so far had been patient, shockingly so; the man from seven years ago would have found some humiliating way to punish me the moment I had thrown the plate of food at him. 

He stepped closer, looming over me. His massive hand wrapped over my lips, thumb and fingers digging into either cheek, hurting me. Pushing my head back, he forced me to look up at him. The sight of him, that gorgeous face, mapped by spiteful lines, cobalt eyes clouded with contempt, sent me reeling for air. Terror replaced the blood in my veins. He was angry, really, truly terrifyingly angry. 

“I asked you somethin’,” he spat out, inches from my face, but I couldn’t breathe with his palm on my mouth, let alone speak. 

I yanked on his wrist, desperate for a sip of air. My panic was all-consuming; I shook with it, losing control of myself. Desperately, I cried into his palm, praying for his pity, for his consideration, the very consideration I had pretended not to need moments ago. 

“You force me to become this ugly thing. I fuckin’ try with you, try so fuckin’ hard to be patient, but you.. You push me too gawd damn hard, Sugar.” He confessed with clenched teeth, fingers embedding into my tender flesh. 

With a violent jolt, he let go, leaving me a heaving, sobbing mess. He left as I wheezed and puffed, struggling to steady my breathing, struggling to stave off the panic clawing at my chest. By the time Edward returned, I could breathe again, but the sobbing didn’t relent. 

“Here,” he said, tossing a winter jacket and fur-lined boots onto the table. Confused, I looked up at him.

“It’s one-thirty now. I’ll give you till sundown. Do whatever you please — ask for help, look for the truck keys, or run. I won’t stop ya, I swear,” he said slowly, carefully, leaning in closer to emphasize his sincerity, “But, as soon as the sun’s down, I’ll come get ya, and you. You’ll come willingly. Understood?”

I gape at him, shocked by his words, not comprehending why he would give me this opportunity.

“Why?” I breathe out.

“Because you think I am lyin’, so you should see for yerself, there’s no way out,” he smirks, sure of himself. 

“You swear?” I asked, still naively optimistic.

“On my life, Sugar,” he promised.

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The perfectly fitting suede boots were caked in mud now, clayey black viscous mud like tar, slowing me down. Each breath grated my throat, the dry wind shriveling my lungs from overuse. I had run, then jogged, and now I walked, although my pace brought shame to the word, perhaps calling it a refusal to stop was truer. The dirt road was the only path away from the farmhouse, so I had followed it, the most obvious choice, the only choice, and I followed it. Even though walking this muddy instrument of torture was my only option, I felt like a fucking Idiot. How did he always make me hate myself more than him? 

The path led east; the lower the sun fell, the longer my shadow reached, stretching time thin between me and sundown. For the first time since I started, I stopped and looked up. The sky above me, a deep, rich blue, scattered with only the brightest stars.

The wind cried around me, and I listened, praying for the roar of an engine and rescuer, but only the deafening quiet of nature accompanied my damned soul. Just a million little sounds - the whistling air, chirping of creatures, and my ragged breathing. 

A sharp gust hit then, sending bitter polar air past my winter jacket, chilling my already frozen torso. Pathetically, my knees gave out, sending me plummeting into the mud, the wetness seeping into my leggings instantly. The cold had long made me numb, so it didn’t sting anymore. I was oddly warm. I tried to remember the symptoms of frostbite and hypothermia, but my mind was a haze, and I was tired, so so tired. 

Just a moment of rest, that’s all I needed. I reached a hand out into the mud, squeezing it like playdough. It tickled as it squeezed past my knuckles, and I giggled. Gently, I lowered myself onto my side, lying in the silly putty. Yes, just a little rest, a pit stop, and I’ll be good to go again. The mud shifted with me, nestling my body, and I sighed contentedly. The tall grass, stretching endlessly around me, danced freely with the gust; at least someone enjoyed the frigid cold.   

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I am not horny enough for kinktober.

do you ever look at the pics and think wtf is the context for that?

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