A liar. Amelia was nothing but a liar to herself when she had hoped that that pitiful dagger and the awful way she held it would help her in any way. If anything, she had just managed to make the man angrier and at the end, even hurt herself by tensing up her hands so much when holding the weapon. Even the hope of cutting the drunk by his own stupidity was gone, after all, he might have some skill in him. She was once again left there, on square one since the nightmare started.
She choked and twitched her face, when her fragile back hit the tree, its bark probably leaving scratches on her pale and fragile flesh that had never experienced such violence. The grip on her neck strong enough to make her gag and gasp for air, and prevent her from speaking. His words hurt, but she kept silent as a tear or two escaped her. She didn’t think of anything, not a thing at all, it wasn’t her emotions or mind which was crying, it was her body. And though she tried to struggle at first, she soon enough realized that what she did was of no use. He was much stronger than she was ever, so she gave in.
His hands were messing her mind up. She was unsure of what he was actually doing, her mind was unaware of these actions as a whole, as it was not popularized information on the streets and her mother had yet to explain it. But one thing was clear, it made her feel wrong, it made her feel dirty and hurt. It made her question the worth of her own body and what was a good or a bad touch. And when he was done violating her innocent body, her mind was blank.
She felt like a rag doll dropped to the ground, a useless object that had lost all its value, not only in the eyes of its user but in its own as well. She was quiet, not saying a thing as her empty black eyes looked at the ripped dress in the distance. She was still quiet as she listened to the heavy footsteps of the man stomping off. And only when they were nothing but an echo of her own frightened spirit, did she find the strength in herself to burst out in tears. She was sobbing and close to screaming as her hands faintly hit the ground in anger, hit it so much it began hurting even more, but she didn’t stop, she kept going. Not caring she was naked on the ground in the middle of the woods, she just kept going with her fingers digging in the soil.
It was nearly a bell until she would stop crying to her own disgrace. When she stopped, she curled up, her knees to her chest. All sorts of ideas ran over her mind, but she wasn’t sure what to do as a whole. Faintly she found her way to the dress that was thrown on the ground. She didn’t bother trying to find her underclothing or shoes, she just pulled the dress on. It was clear the man hadn’t bothered to be gentle with it. The dress had torn in some places, it had dirt on it and had been wrinkled up. But she didn’t care, she just wanted to hide her body with whatever means were possible.
Shakily standing up, she walked like a ghost though the woods, her head down and her steps wobbly. The girl barely lifted her bare feet as she walked…and thus, scratched them even more and tripped more than once. Saying the girl looked awful, was just scratching the surface.
I really appreciate your open-mindedness and ability to differentiate between IC and OOC feelings.