Tidal Waves!

Saintilia POV

The sun dipped below the horizon, spilling a warm, golden light that set the landscape ablaze. The river was a hub of life, dotted with children splashing and chasing each other in the clear, shimmering water. Their innocent laughter and shouts of excitement echoed through the trees, a soundtrack to the evening. Some plunged beneath the surface while others raced against the gentle current. Nearby, donkeys drank patiently from the riverbank, and men and women knelt, washing their garments with rhythmic beats against the smooth stones. The air was filled with the sound of birds flapping between branches and the trees whistling softly to one another in the wind.

As the afternoon sky painted a brilliant canvas above, the children continued their carefree play, a living reminder that amidst life's hardships, moments of pure, unrestrained joy could still be found. My own world, however, was focused on the gourds in front of me. I had yet to finish cleaning them, a task I always found difficult. I was still disgusted by the slimy feeling of sticking my hand inside to scrape them out. But Jonas had insisted I learn, and through repetition, he had turned my disgust into simple routine. He was a deeply crafty man; almost all our plates, cups, and utensils were carved from gourds. I found it fascinating to watch him transform a simple, hollowed-out shell into something useful and beautiful, turning his skill into a small business that sustained us.

At the river's edge, the water gently lapped against the stones, creating a soothing melody that accompanied the rhythmic sounds of the village at work. I was squatting by the water, diligently scrubbing a bundle with great care and precision. I preferred cleaning them here, where the river itself helped wash the mess away. I was so absorbed in my work, plunging a gourd deep into the water and shaking it hard to dislodge the last stubborn seeds, that I was completely unaware my body was partially exposed. My movements were forceful, and with every shake and plunge, the uncovered part of my body became more visible. I was utterly lost in the task, oblivious to the fact that my innocence was on full display for a predator lurking in the shadows.

My face, framed by loose tendrils of dark hair that had escaped my braid, was a mask of focused determination. The faded sun's rays caressed my skin, gilding it in a soft, golden light, while a gentle breeze rustled the thin fabric of my dress, offering little relief from the day's lingering heat. I never saw the onlookers. Or if I did, my mind dismissed them as part of the river's backdrop. Perhaps some watched from a distance, admiring the quiet grace of my movements, a silent empathy for the girl who had already known too much hardship. Or perhaps their thoughts were less kind.

As I worked, a group of boys huddled together, their whispers and sudden giggles carried on the wind. They peeked from behind one another, their curiosity fixed on me. To them, my work must have looked like a strange dance, a mysterious tango with the water and the gourds as my partners. I paid them no mind. The river was always full of noise and distraction at this hour.

After some time, I sat back on my heels, surveying the cleaned gourds lined up along the bank. The task, once so disgusting to me, was now simple. Jonas had done that. He had sanded down my frustration with his infinite patience, turning a chore into a craft, and a lesson into a memory I now clung to. A faint, private smile touched my lips. He was gone, but in moments like this, his teachings remained. I could almost feel his proud gaze. Satisfied, I began filling each gourd, the cool water a welcome weight. I tied them into two heavy clusters, slinging them over either end of a sturdy tree branch. I hoisted the branch onto my shoulder, the familiar pressure a comfort. The job was done. It was time to go home.

The curves of my body shifted with the weight of the gourds as I lifted them. My flimsy dress, damp from the river, clung to my skin, revealing every contour. I was oblivious, my mind already on the path home.

But a few meters away, a pair of anxious eyes tracked my every move.

A prickle of awareness made me turn my head. And there he was. A stranger, his head breaking the water's surface like a hungry crocodile lying in wait. He was perfectly still, his expression contemplative, his observation so calculated it felt like a physical touch. The children splashed and shouted nearby, churning the water around him, yet they seemed blind to his presence, as if he were a ghost.

It was clear he had been there for some time, captivated. His gaze was not curious; it was intense and predatory, dissecting the fluidity of my movements, devouring the grace of my form. The scene was a perverse contradiction: the innocent chaos of the children's play against the silent, unwavering focus of a hunter. An unsettling intrigue poisoned the tranquility of the river.

Our eyes met, and for a long, frozen minute, his gaze held mine. I didn't recognize him. A jolt of paralysis shot through me, surprise that a stranger was so fixated on me. Then, understanding dawned, cold and humiliating. I looked down and discovered my exposure. I quickly covered myself, my cheeks burning, and looked away, fussing with my dress as if I hadn't seen him at all.

Nearby, some of the boys erupted in laughter, enjoying my embarrassment. I grunted at them, a sound meant to convey have some respect, but they only laughed harder, oblivious to my discomfort.

Against my better judgment, I let my gaze drift back to the water. I had to know if he was still there. This time, I avoided his eyes, but I couldn't miss the rest of him. He was emerging from the stream, and I was shocked by his muscular body, without an ounce of fat, a body carved from hard labor. My eyes, against my will, traveled to his face. He was smiling as water cascaded down his chiseled torso, glistening like sweat on the rugged slopes of a mountain.

But he was not an attractive man. The smile was a grimace, failing to soften a face with a flat nose and unusually wide nostrils. It was a jarring disconnect; a powerful body crowned by a face that, to me, seemed strangely and pitifully mismatched.

His gaze remained fixed on me, but his eyes seemed unfocused, glazed with an intensity that held my full attention. They were a startling, watery red, which made him look perpetually angry and sent a fresh wave of discomfort through me. Maybe he had been in the water too long, I thought, grasping for any logical explanation for his unsettling appearance.

My mind raced. Who was he? In a village this small, a new face was an event. He had to be from one of the neighboring settlements; his presence here was surely a coincidence. Our paths are unlikely to cross again, I told myself, clinging to the hope. But I couldn't shake my unease, or the lingering curiosity about this mysterious man with the angry red eyes.

I was so captivated by the strange, mesmerizing illusion of the water cascading over his muscular form that I barely registered his movement. He was suddenly closer, much closer, emerging from the riverbank. His voice, when it came, was low.

He asked for my name.

The sound jolted me back to myself. I quickly pulled my dress tight, ensuring I was fully covered, and turned my head away, pretending I hadn't heard him. I would ignore him. If I ignored him, he would have to go away.

***********

A flood of tension seized my body, my jaw clenching so tight a sharp pain shot through my teeth. The searing sting on my cheek jolted me back. Not to the river, but to the nightmare of the present. Confusion and fear swamped my mind, a frantic, wordless scream building in my throat. I was deep in the woods, surrounded by a wall of tall, trees. They seemed to lean in, creating an eerie, oppressive cage. I knew, with a sickening certainty, that if I screamed, my voice would be swallowed whole by the forest, lost forever in the indifferent rustle of leaves.

The man crushing me was not the one from the river. This man was heavier, his extended belly a suffocating weight that drove the air from my lungs. His fingers were probing, molesting, a violation with no purpose I could understand. A low, hoarse sound grated from his throat, and the stench of cheap alcohol on his breath made my head spin. I felt something hard and insistent poking against my inner thigh.

I twisted, I pushed, I fought. But his strength was a shocking, immovable force.

"Stop," I pleaded, my voice a broken whisper. "Please stop!"

As I kept resisting, he became more aggressive, using his weight to pin my arm and block my view. I felt him fumble, then the rough sound of his zipper. The cold air hit my skin a moment before he did. He tried to force himself on me, but my body reacted before my mind could, a sudden, sharp twist that startled him, blocking his thrust. I squeezed my legs together, creating a fortress he couldn't easily breach.

The jagged ground dug into my back, but the physical pain was a distant concern. My mind was a storm of fear and shame. Aunt Tina. How will I tell her? Will she believe me? The faces of my neighbors flashed in my mind. I could already hear their whispers, their judgments. She must have asked for it. She must have led him on.

A corrosive shame washed over me, hotter and more sickening than his touch. My future, which just hours ago had felt like my own, now hung in the balance of this man's violence. My virtue, that prized possession I was told to guard above all else; was being stolen, and with it, my worth. My chance for a good husband, a respectable life, it was all being ripped away in this dirt. The despair was so profound it felt like a physical void opening inside me, threatening to swallow me whole.

I refused to make it easy. The moment his grip loosened by a fraction, I seized it, striking his face with the heel of my palm.

It was a grave mistake.

The blow didn't hurt him; it ignited him. A deep sound ripped from his throat, more wild with a new, terrifying rage. My face contorted in a grimace as I fought, like a wild animal caught in a trap. In a final, desperate act, I sank my teeth deep into the flesh of his arm. The warmth of his blood filled my mouth.

He barely flinched. The pain seemed to fuel him, his adrenaline making him a monster I could not hurt.

"Please stop," I begged, my voice a trembling, broken thing. "I am begging you. Please don't do this to me."

The plea was swallowed by the trees. The unforgiving ground scraped and dug into my back, a searing pain that was now a mere backdrop to the greater violation. Then, I felt it. The overwhelming pressure of his weight, the terrifying, inexorable force as he pried my legs apart. My last fortress fell. A final, shattered scream was torn from my lungs, a raw plea to a god who wasn't listening.

"Oh no. God, please... STOP!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to erase the world, to retreat into the darkness behind my eyelids. And in that self-imposed night, a terrible, peaceful thought bloomed. What if I just... disappeared? The idea of fading into oblivion wasn't frightening; it was a relief. It was a promise. It would mean an end to this violation, this pain. And it would mean I might see Jonas again.

The hope became a lifeline. In that unknown realm, I could find peace. I could finally meet the mother who was only a faded photograph and a ghost in my father's stories. She would be real. I would be safe. They would both be there. This fantasy, this vision of an afterlife reunion, became a flicker of light in the absolute darkness. It was a new, desperate purpose; something to reach for, a reason to let go. It was the only way to endure the nightmare.

A final, fleeting thought: if I somehow survived this, what future awaited me? Could I ever be the girl who grew old with Aunt Tina, the woman who fulfilled Jonas's dreams? The thought of their pity, their shattered hopes for me, was its own kind of agony. My resistance finally broke. His strength wasn't just greater; it was absolute. He had invaded more than my body; he was violating my very self, his relentless, rhythmic pounding accompanied by bestial sounds that filled the air.

Then, something inside me snapped. Everything became a blur, a surreal dream. I felt myself detach, floating away from the body being used and broken beneath him. I was drifting in a waterless abyss, desperate to sink to a bottom where I could find rest. The physical pain began to recede, numbed by a vast, hollow helplessness.

It felt like my life was draining away, a cruel theft of all the dreams Jonas had sown in me. A wave of nausea crested, but my body was beyond reacting, gone cold and limp. The edges of my vision darkened, the forest fading to gray. The last thing I felt was the crushing weight of the injustice, not just of the violation, but of a future stolen as my consciousness finally, mercifully, slipped away.

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