Free A Cruel Passing of Innocence by J.D. Jensen

festering within she had accepted his words, observing the silent acquiescence of her mother, whose face of stone turned away from her, denying her all maternal succour and protection. It was as if a daughter were nothing more than a young calf of the stables, ready for its purpose.
    Afterwards she sat hunched in one corner of the bed against the wall, tightly clasping the blanket around her trembling, shocked body. She listened in a haze of confusion and shame, her complexion drained, while he explained in a strange voice how this symbolic act had been but a paternal duty. Burning with disgust and pity she listened to a voice that before she would have trusted unto death itself. It was a gift to her, he said; a gift of knowledge by which she would avoid a loss of her innocence to some unworthy stranger.
    The same tears of confusion that stung her eyes that day stung her eyes now. Despite the contempt that had brewed within her with every passing second, she remembered her own contemptible utterance, when she dutifully whispered her thanks to him, muttering her unquestioning obedience and loyalty.
    Later, when she sat at the table, the numbness and shock still freshly upon her, her desperate eyes turned towards her mother to seek maternal wisdom and reassurance. But she was sullen and unspeaking, only pulling her shawl tighter as if to signify the end of her maternal role, unable to look at her daughter.
    Although her mind resisted the images, Nassara could remember the start of it all as clearly as if it had been but a few sunsets ago. She was sitting by the window humming contentedly to herself, weaving fresh flowers into her hat of straw, breathing in the fragrant freshness of the fields outside, when a shadow crept into the room.
    â€˜Remove your clothes,’ he ordered, his words gruff. ‘Make yourself naked.’
    It had taken several moments for his words to sink in, such that he had to repeat his command, his voice rising with impatience. Then when she’d slowly complied, blushing and standing before him, tear-dewed eyes downcast and filled with shame at her state of nakedness, he pointed for her to lie down.
    She obeyed, her frightened eyes averted, not daring to look at what he was about. Wincing as his hands roughly grasped her upper legs, forcing them apart, she felt the approach of his hardness buffeting between her thighs, in the moment before the shocking reality of its actual thrusting violation of her. Then he grunted and pushed mercilessly against the gossamer barrier of her innocent portals, not heeding her cry of pain and shock.
    â€˜No, please, I am hurting,’ she pleaded timidly in her desolation. ‘Please… please stop your duty.’
    Much later bitterness grew in poisonous waves, and she felt the soreness of the aftermath in her loins. Her silent tears meandered, and she could recall, even now, that lonely feeling of despair at the knowledge of such a cruel passing of her sweet innocence.
    From that day Nassara could never stand the earthy odour of him whenever he came near. Nor could she forgive her mother. Yet even in her misery and hurt she continued with her life, diligently performing her chores, eating at the same table as her parents and her brothers. But now there was a solemn coldness between them, and a silence from faces that no more looked upon one another with fondness.
    But all of this was nothing compared to the betrayal that was still to come. Had she really been worth only that pouch of gold? Was it for greed that he’d indulged her with his duty? And even then, within such confusion and misery, despite her physical revulsion for him and what he’d done, she knew he had raised her as his own, through famine and other scourges that had sometimes come upon their meagre lives. Had he not always put food in her mouth, even when there was insufficient for his? Had she not learned of life from him? For all this, she must forgive him.
    The sun was hot on