Fic: Lies in Silence Ch 15
LIES IN SILENCE CHAPTER FIFTEEN
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count (Chapter Fifteen): 3740
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: Language, explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, slight dub!con, rape, violence, minor Fem!slash
Summary: Alternate Mirror Universe. He wants to protect me; I want that protection, need it, in fact. But I am willing to betray him if and when the time comes. We are not working together. I know my goals. But what are his?
Author's Notes: Umm...so so sorry for such a long delay. D: I was attempting to get far enough ahead of where I left off to make sure the muse wouldn't take another detour and screw up my outline. I think I succeeded. I hope. Though I'm sure some people will be upset with the next few chapters... ¬_¬
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Entrapment and Deception of a Catharsis
My tears have long since ceased but I remain here, naked and in his arms. I say nothing. There's nothing to say. My head rests on his shoulder; my eyes are open, but I am looking at nothing. I draw random patterns on Commander Spock's nude chest, my fingers brushing through the light smattering of hair. His arms tighten around me; a hand around my back, another through my hair. His grasp is comforting. It shouldn’t be. But it is.
When you’ve lived the life I have, it becomes difficult to draw comfort from anyone. I can’t get it from my parents, the two people who should be able to comfort me when I need it. I can’t get it from them because they betrayed me. I don’t even know if they live. I don’t want to know. I think I mentioned that before. I forget. Sometimes, when I was trapped in the grasps of that Admiral, the one whose life I took, the one who took my life...I sometimes thought about my parents back then. I sometimes dreamed that they would come for me. That my mother would burst through that door when the Admiral moved on top of me, taking his pleasure, and take me back home, a desperate apology on her lips. I would have forgiven her then. I dreamed it. But it never happened. But how could she decide to do that to me? How could my father? How do two parents decide that their daughter wasn’t wife material-who decides that?-and therefore should be some stranger’s whore? How could they have done that to me?
I remember being happy, smiling, laughing. I remember that. It’s been so long since I’ve been happy. I remember having friends, too. We were all so young and naïve. We spent hours planning our perfect, but imaginary weddings with our perfect, but imaginary, husbands. Until, one by one, they all disappeared. I hope they went to husbands, but I don’t know. I was the last one to leave. I don’t know if it was because my parents were hesitant to give me away or because they were simply waiting for the best offer.
I don’t want to think about them anymore.
Gaila gave me comfort, I’ll admit. But it was, more often than not, comfort of a sexual nature. We’d draw smiles, sighs, laughter from one another as we’d engage in intimate touches and caresses. But it didn’t mean anything. Not really. She loved Robau. And I vowed to never let my heart control me. I never allowed myself to grow close to someone. Because it never lasts.
Yes, sincere comfort from others becomes a rarity. A thing of beauty to be upheld and admired. A thing to be cherished.
That sounds strange coming from me, doesn’t it? When I don’t want to grow close to anyone, I still want, I still crave someone’s touch, someone’s comfort. I guess it’s only a human thing.
And Commander Spock’s arms are wound tightly around me and it comforts me. It shouldn’t. After everything he has done to me, it shouldn’t. But it does. I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been so deprived for so long or simply because he’s the one who caught me when I stumbled. I don’t care.
It won’t last. I know it won’t. It can’t.
I'm so tired. My eyes close. Then open. I'm tired but I don't want to sleep. I fear I may see them in my sleep. That I may be unable to escape them in my dreams. They haunt me. Always.
Those men by the Wall, the southern doctor’s hands on me, his prick rubbing against me. The countless faceless men in countless dark alleys. The Admiral, the one I killed. And my parents. Yes, they will haunt me. They will not allow me to rest.
“Nyota, you must sleep.” Commander Spock’s quiet voice sends me reeling back to reality.
I shake my head, burying myself further into his grasp. No, I can’t sleep. I’ll see them.
“Nyota.” He’s whispering into my ear, his warm breath brushing the strands of hair from my cheek. “You are exhausted. It is illogical to force your body to work through your exhaustion. You will endanger yourself.”
Tears blur my eyes and I bury my face into his chest.
I wonder what we would have been like if we were in another universe. Some parallel universe where nothing was like it is here. I wonder if I would have been a normal happy young woman on the verge of her career. I wonder if we would have met. Would Commander Spock have been different in that imaginary universe? Would he have been kind? Gentle? I wonder if we would have been drawn to one another. I wonder if we would have fallen in love.
But it’s ridiculous to wonder about what-if’s. We don’t live in that utopian universe I’ve created in my mind. We live in this one. And in this one, Commander Spock is still in control. He still has power over me. And I can’t allow myself to forget that, even if he’s holding me the way he is, as if he cares. As if we are lovers. Mutual lovers.
No, I can’t allow myself to fall for him. Not like Gaila did with Robau. I’ve seen what happens with that. And I don’t want to feel that pain when the reality comes back.
I pull away. He hesitates, tightening his grip on me, then relaxes his hold on me, allowing me to separate myself from him.
Almost immediately, I want back in his arms, but I must not. I must not allow myself to cave. My gaze drops to my wrists. The dark and angry bruises he gave me while pounding into my pussy, so engulfed in his anger, his frustration, and his lust that he didn’t hear my cries. They help steel my resolve. I push away from him and get to my feet.
I move to the door and I hear him rising behind me, but I don’t turn to look.
My dress is still on the floor in front of the door. I bend down and retrieve it. I want to burn it. I don’t want to put it on. It smells like him. The doctor from the South. I cringe.
“Nyota?”
I pull the dress on, zipping it up in the back. I look around for my underwear before I remember. They were torn from my body and now lay in a tattered heap outside the Wall.
Tears burn. But I don’t let them fall.
“I must request that you remain here for the night.”
I freeze, my back to him, my front to the door. Why? God, why is he doing this now? I lose my battle and my tears fall anew. I glance upwards, fighting the fresh sobs desperate to escape my body. I sobbed in his arms; I broke. And now...
He approaches me, his feet light on floor. I don’t turn to look at him. I don’t want him to see my new tears. It’s bad enough that he’s seen my mental collapse. It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. What occurred by the Wall was normal. It was the way things were. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to worry about it. It happened before, several times, in the past. And I never...I never allowed it to get to me. Or maybe I convinced myself that it didn’t get to me. I don’t know. I don’t care to know. All I know is that Commander Spock wants me to stay here.
It can only mean one thing.
He stands behind me and places his arms around my waist. His touch is hesitant, not like it was mere moments ago, when he held me on the floor. “I wish for you to remain here.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice a whisper. I look at my bruised wrists, held awkwardly in front of me. I don’t want to stay here, but he wants me to. So I must. Because I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t. He’s in charge of Special Forces; he could turn me in before I realize what happened. I think of every man here-him, Robau, Pike and even Kirk-he is the one who could hurt me the most.
“You are not in any mental state to return to your dormitory alone.”
I hesitate, holding my breath.
“I am not seeking sexual favors this evening, Nyota. I am merely concerned with your well-being.”
I release the air in my lungs in a slow sigh. I can’t allow myself to grow too close to him. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”
His arms slide from my waist and I turn around to look at him, brushing the tears from my eyes.
“Explain.” He holds his arms loosely by his sides. His fingers twitch, as though he wants to reach out to me again. But he resists.
I hold my wrists out, shaking my head. “I don’t think I have to.”
His eyes follow my gaze to my wrists and he stares at them. And I grow uncomfortable, watching him. The intensity in his gaze... I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he’s going to say. He did this to me. He gave me these bruises. It’s important to remember that.
He raises his eyes to meet mine. “Perhaps you are correct. I shouldn’t concern myself, as I have no right. However, I find that I do.”
“Why?”
He remains silent for several moments, his brows furrowed deeply. When he finally answers, he shakes his head slightly. “I do not have a logical answer to your query.”
“What about an illogical one?” I whisper, dropping my gaze to his chest.
He takes a deep breath, holds it, then releases it slowly. “None that I am prepared to give at this time.”
I nod, my eyes jumping around the room, looking anywhere but at him. Tears sting. I know what he’s talking about. He’s eluded to it before. His fascination with me. How I intrigue him. Am I just some science experiment for him? Is he trying to see how long it takes before I collapse into a broken shell of myself? I’ve asked myself all these questions so many times since we started this fucked up, twisted, unequal relationship. This power play. Do I really mean anything to him? I don’t know if I want to risk it finding out.
“It is late, past curfew. It would be logical to remain here, lest you are discovered on your journey back to your dormitory.”
He’s right. I know it. He knows it.
I take a breath. “Fine.”
He bends down and retrieves his pants, which I had stripped him of during my breakdown. He pulls them on.
I look away, embarrassment heating my cheeks, my ears. That certainly doesn’t make any sense, as we have seen each other naked countless times. We’ve touched, we’ve fucked so many times. But never before have I attempted to initiate and never before has he said ‘no.’ Now he is concerned about my mental health. Now, he is worried that I am about to fall. Is it because of what happened at the Wall? Or is it because I tried to take initiative, in a desperate attempt to forget? I just wanted to forget. And he wouldn’t let me. Why does he care?
“Are you hungry?”
My eyes jump back to him. He stands in front of me, dressed in his trousers, hands behind his back. As though nothing has happened.
I shake my head.
He gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. Then: “Perhaps it would be to your benefit to discuss the event that occurred outside the Special Forces Headquarters.”
Immediately, I tense. He is so blank, so cold, calculating. And so quickly. One moment, I think he understands, that he may finally get it. But then, this. Now he wants to talk. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Why?”
I shrug. I feel helpless. I want to run. I want to run away from here. But I’m trapped. Trapped by a stupid curfew. A commander who uses my body for his pleasure. A law forbidding me to be here. A man who speaks of change but wants me to sacrifice my dignity, everything I am for him. I am trapped. Everywhere I turn. So utterly and completely trapped. What does he want from me? But I answer him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“That is illogical.”
I scowl. “How is it illogical?”
“It matters, because you were clearly affected by the event.”
I laugh. It’s an ugly sound, marred by disgust, disbelief, cynicism. “It doesn’t matter because that’s my life!” I spin around, placing my back before him.
“Nyota -“
I look at him again. “You think that’s a new experience for me? Did you think that you’re my first sexual encounter? You’re not, Commander. You’re not the first to use me for my body. And you probably won’t be the last. My parents sold me to some admiral. My father stood by and my mother held me down as he shoved his dick into me. Explain the logic in that to me! Explain to me how it was logical for my parents to passively sit back and allow their only daughter to be used by this stranger I had never met before. I was sixteen! I was still a child! You think what happened tonight is the worst thing that ever happened to me? I’ve spent years with strange men shoving their dicks into my mouth, my pussy. Some of them I allowed-I needed their money-but most I didn’t.”
I run my hands through my hair, fighting and losing the battle with my tears. I did not think I could cry anymore. “And I have no choice because your precious Empire has declared it necessary for me to endure, to suffer all this because men are...men are so weak they can’t control themselves. They can’t function unless they’ve robbed a woman of everything she is. Where’s the logic in that?!”
He says nothing. He just stands in front of me, the epitome of a stoic. The clenching of his jaw is his only movement. But it’s so aggravating, so frustrating. His apparent lack of concern. Why does he want me to talk? Why does he keep questioning me?
“And you”-His eyes widen a sliver-“You told me you wouldn’t hurt me. You told me you would keep me safe if I gave myself to you. And I did. I did it because I was terrified. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to be hurt. But you hurt me and you keep hurting me. And I hate you for it. And I hate myself for giving into you because I told myself that I would never do that again. But I did. And I keep doing it. I keep coming back. And you keep hurting me and I keep coming back. Because the next moment, it’s like...I can almost pretend that you care. You do this and you hold me and you let me cry. I don’t know why. I don’t understand why I let you use me like that. I mean, why? Why?”
Spent, I fall to my knees. I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but the tears keep coming and coming.
“I apologize for any undue stress I have placed upon you.”
“I hate you.” I sob into my hands.
He inhales deeply but remains silent for several long moments. “When you are able, you may retire to my sleeping quarters. I must meditate.” He steps around me, careful not to touch me.
It’s kind of amazing how any forward momentum-if that’s what it was-we have can be so quickly stalled. How quickly he reverts back to the cold-hearted bastard he really is. How quickly he brushes everything under the rug. How quickly he forgets, ignores. How quickly that fragile bridge between us erodes and collapses.
Two weeks pass before he touches me again. And when he does, its laced with an urgency, a tinge of self-loathing-his, not mine-and he seems distant, even as his cock is buried deep inside me, even as he draws out my orgasms, even as I cling to him, because, God help me, I cling to him. On second thought, maybe there’s some self-loathing on my part, too.
When he’s not fucking me, we spend our time together-he still wants me here; I don’t know why-in silence. He meditates often, sitting in front of his asenoi, hands in his lap. He doesn’t speak to me, but he seems to drink in my presence. The silence is fine, I can deal with silence. But his gaze, his unwavering gaze upon me when I enter is unnerving. But I’ve grown used to it. I’ve had to. He’s grown more haggard in his appearance. Dark circles are a constant presence under his bloodshot eyes. His once pristine Vulcan hairstyle is growing out and he doesn’t seem bothered to fix it. He still arrives to his apartment in a bloodied uniform. And maybe that’s the source of his unease. I don’t know. Because, like I said, he won’t talk to me. But it seems like the uniforms are becoming bloodier, the body count is increasing.
I’m scared.
Of him.
For him.
I haven’t decided yet. I haven’t decided yet if I should be, if I should waste my concern on him.
I don’t think he sleeps. That would explain the dark circles, the bloodshot eyes, wouldn’t it? I know that Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, but I still don’t think he’s sleeping at all. When he’s done fucking me, he rolls out of bed and meditates. And he is awake when I wake in the morning, when I leave to return to the dorm, to return to classes.
He never mentions my breakdown after the Wall. I don’t either because I want to forget it. He never mentions my exclamation of hatred towards him, even though he seems to have grown more distant, if that was possible. But he doesn’t let it stop him from fucking me. I guess I don’t let it stop me from seeking pleasure in his actions as well.
We reached our breaking point finally. It was my fault. Maybe. I guess. It was time for my meeting with Gaila. So I went. Dressed as a man, a cadet, because I didn’t want to get caught again. Never again.
But I never made it to that meeting.
Because there wasn’t any point.
It happened when I came across the Wall.
And there she was, blood staining her green body, her shock of red hair peeping under the sheet. Swaying gently in the breeze.
I faltered. I stumbled. I froze.
There she was.
There would be no meeting.
I don’t remember how I managed to get back to Commander Spock’s apartment. I was in such shock, such despair that I can’t recall how it happened. But it did.
He was there when I entered.
Blood on his uniform.
Her blood.
“Why?” I asked, finally allowing the tears fall down my cheeks unchecked. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he saw my tears. “Why did you kill her?”
He stood more erect, his arms held firmly at his sides. “You are speaking of the Orion?”
I stepped closer to him. “Her name was Gaila! Did you know that?! Or was she just some body to you?”
“I was following a direct order.”
”Why?!” I cried, hitting him on the chest.
He remained so still, so stoic in front of me, uncaring. Not a crack in that cold Vulcan veneer. Though in retrospect, a storm of emotions bubbled under that veneer, barely visible in his stricken eyes, waiting, searching for a crack, a fissure from which to erupt. “The Orion in question was a member of the Rebellion. She was a traitor to the Empire. I am bound by my duty to the Empire and to Starfleet to carry out the law. And the law explicitly states that all traitors are to be executed. No exception.”
I slapped him. He was so cold. How could I have hoped for anything else?
He grabbed my hands and propelled me into the wall behind me, pressing my hands tightly above my head.
Glaring at him, I asked, “When is it my turn?” When will it be my turn to hang from the hooks? When will it be my turn to endure his knives, his fists, his chains?
“Do not make me report you for assaulting a superior officer, Cadet.”
I dropped my gaze, tears falling. “You’re a bastard.”
Silence. It stretched so long that I ventured a look at him, at his cold hard face.
“And you are a whore.”
His words were like a punch to my gut. Despite our numerous encounters, despite my numerous moments of calling myself that, he never had. Until now. It hurt. It burned. Just like his callousness about Gaila. I think it was in that moment that I realized, remembered that I was dealing with an emotionless alien, an alien that saw emotions as illogical. It was the first time I truly hated him, even though I yelled that to him before. I spit on him, watching in sick satisfaction as my spit rolled down his cheek.
He didn’t react to my action as I expected. I had expected violence in retaliation. I expected something. But got nothing.
He released me and I fell to the ground, sobbing. He retreated to the door, wiping the spittle from his face. “Perhaps, it would be best if you are absent from my quarters when I return.”
He left his quarters without another word. His shoulders square, his posture straight. As if he was steeling himself for what lies ahead for him behind the Wall. Staunchly ignoring me, my tears. I yelled at him, telling him how I hated him over and over. Asking how he could have done that.
I haven’t seen him since.
That was one week ago.
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura
Word Count (Chapter Fifteen): 3740
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: Language, explicit and non-explicit sexual situations, slight dub!con, rape, violence, minor Fem!slash
Summary: Alternate Mirror Universe. He wants to protect me; I want that protection, need it, in fact. But I am willing to betray him if and when the time comes. We are not working together. I know my goals. But what are his?
Author's Notes: Umm...so so sorry for such a long delay. D: I was attempting to get far enough ahead of where I left off to make sure the muse wouldn't take another detour and screw up my outline. I think I succeeded. I hope. Though I'm sure some people will be upset with the next few chapters... ¬_¬
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Entrapment and Deception of a Catharsis
My tears have long since ceased but I remain here, naked and in his arms. I say nothing. There's nothing to say. My head rests on his shoulder; my eyes are open, but I am looking at nothing. I draw random patterns on Commander Spock's nude chest, my fingers brushing through the light smattering of hair. His arms tighten around me; a hand around my back, another through my hair. His grasp is comforting. It shouldn’t be. But it is.
When you’ve lived the life I have, it becomes difficult to draw comfort from anyone. I can’t get it from my parents, the two people who should be able to comfort me when I need it. I can’t get it from them because they betrayed me. I don’t even know if they live. I don’t want to know. I think I mentioned that before. I forget. Sometimes, when I was trapped in the grasps of that Admiral, the one whose life I took, the one who took my life...I sometimes thought about my parents back then. I sometimes dreamed that they would come for me. That my mother would burst through that door when the Admiral moved on top of me, taking his pleasure, and take me back home, a desperate apology on her lips. I would have forgiven her then. I dreamed it. But it never happened. But how could she decide to do that to me? How could my father? How do two parents decide that their daughter wasn’t wife material-who decides that?-and therefore should be some stranger’s whore? How could they have done that to me?
I remember being happy, smiling, laughing. I remember that. It’s been so long since I’ve been happy. I remember having friends, too. We were all so young and naïve. We spent hours planning our perfect, but imaginary weddings with our perfect, but imaginary, husbands. Until, one by one, they all disappeared. I hope they went to husbands, but I don’t know. I was the last one to leave. I don’t know if it was because my parents were hesitant to give me away or because they were simply waiting for the best offer.
I don’t want to think about them anymore.
Gaila gave me comfort, I’ll admit. But it was, more often than not, comfort of a sexual nature. We’d draw smiles, sighs, laughter from one another as we’d engage in intimate touches and caresses. But it didn’t mean anything. Not really. She loved Robau. And I vowed to never let my heart control me. I never allowed myself to grow close to someone. Because it never lasts.
Yes, sincere comfort from others becomes a rarity. A thing of beauty to be upheld and admired. A thing to be cherished.
That sounds strange coming from me, doesn’t it? When I don’t want to grow close to anyone, I still want, I still crave someone’s touch, someone’s comfort. I guess it’s only a human thing.
And Commander Spock’s arms are wound tightly around me and it comforts me. It shouldn’t. After everything he has done to me, it shouldn’t. But it does. I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been so deprived for so long or simply because he’s the one who caught me when I stumbled. I don’t care.
It won’t last. I know it won’t. It can’t.
I'm so tired. My eyes close. Then open. I'm tired but I don't want to sleep. I fear I may see them in my sleep. That I may be unable to escape them in my dreams. They haunt me. Always.
Those men by the Wall, the southern doctor’s hands on me, his prick rubbing against me. The countless faceless men in countless dark alleys. The Admiral, the one I killed. And my parents. Yes, they will haunt me. They will not allow me to rest.
“Nyota, you must sleep.” Commander Spock’s quiet voice sends me reeling back to reality.
I shake my head, burying myself further into his grasp. No, I can’t sleep. I’ll see them.
“Nyota.” He’s whispering into my ear, his warm breath brushing the strands of hair from my cheek. “You are exhausted. It is illogical to force your body to work through your exhaustion. You will endanger yourself.”
Tears blur my eyes and I bury my face into his chest.
I wonder what we would have been like if we were in another universe. Some parallel universe where nothing was like it is here. I wonder if I would have been a normal happy young woman on the verge of her career. I wonder if we would have met. Would Commander Spock have been different in that imaginary universe? Would he have been kind? Gentle? I wonder if we would have been drawn to one another. I wonder if we would have fallen in love.
But it’s ridiculous to wonder about what-if’s. We don’t live in that utopian universe I’ve created in my mind. We live in this one. And in this one, Commander Spock is still in control. He still has power over me. And I can’t allow myself to forget that, even if he’s holding me the way he is, as if he cares. As if we are lovers. Mutual lovers.
No, I can’t allow myself to fall for him. Not like Gaila did with Robau. I’ve seen what happens with that. And I don’t want to feel that pain when the reality comes back.
I pull away. He hesitates, tightening his grip on me, then relaxes his hold on me, allowing me to separate myself from him.
Almost immediately, I want back in his arms, but I must not. I must not allow myself to cave. My gaze drops to my wrists. The dark and angry bruises he gave me while pounding into my pussy, so engulfed in his anger, his frustration, and his lust that he didn’t hear my cries. They help steel my resolve. I push away from him and get to my feet.
I move to the door and I hear him rising behind me, but I don’t turn to look.
My dress is still on the floor in front of the door. I bend down and retrieve it. I want to burn it. I don’t want to put it on. It smells like him. The doctor from the South. I cringe.
“Nyota?”
I pull the dress on, zipping it up in the back. I look around for my underwear before I remember. They were torn from my body and now lay in a tattered heap outside the Wall.
Tears burn. But I don’t let them fall.
“I must request that you remain here for the night.”
I freeze, my back to him, my front to the door. Why? God, why is he doing this now? I lose my battle and my tears fall anew. I glance upwards, fighting the fresh sobs desperate to escape my body. I sobbed in his arms; I broke. And now...
He approaches me, his feet light on floor. I don’t turn to look at him. I don’t want him to see my new tears. It’s bad enough that he’s seen my mental collapse. It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. What occurred by the Wall was normal. It was the way things were. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to worry about it. It happened before, several times, in the past. And I never...I never allowed it to get to me. Or maybe I convinced myself that it didn’t get to me. I don’t know. I don’t care to know. All I know is that Commander Spock wants me to stay here.
It can only mean one thing.
He stands behind me and places his arms around my waist. His touch is hesitant, not like it was mere moments ago, when he held me on the floor. “I wish for you to remain here.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice a whisper. I look at my bruised wrists, held awkwardly in front of me. I don’t want to stay here, but he wants me to. So I must. Because I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t. He’s in charge of Special Forces; he could turn me in before I realize what happened. I think of every man here-him, Robau, Pike and even Kirk-he is the one who could hurt me the most.
“You are not in any mental state to return to your dormitory alone.”
I hesitate, holding my breath.
“I am not seeking sexual favors this evening, Nyota. I am merely concerned with your well-being.”
I release the air in my lungs in a slow sigh. I can’t allow myself to grow too close to him. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”
His arms slide from my waist and I turn around to look at him, brushing the tears from my eyes.
“Explain.” He holds his arms loosely by his sides. His fingers twitch, as though he wants to reach out to me again. But he resists.
I hold my wrists out, shaking my head. “I don’t think I have to.”
His eyes follow my gaze to my wrists and he stares at them. And I grow uncomfortable, watching him. The intensity in his gaze... I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he’s going to say. He did this to me. He gave me these bruises. It’s important to remember that.
He raises his eyes to meet mine. “Perhaps you are correct. I shouldn’t concern myself, as I have no right. However, I find that I do.”
“Why?”
He remains silent for several moments, his brows furrowed deeply. When he finally answers, he shakes his head slightly. “I do not have a logical answer to your query.”
“What about an illogical one?” I whisper, dropping my gaze to his chest.
He takes a deep breath, holds it, then releases it slowly. “None that I am prepared to give at this time.”
I nod, my eyes jumping around the room, looking anywhere but at him. Tears sting. I know what he’s talking about. He’s eluded to it before. His fascination with me. How I intrigue him. Am I just some science experiment for him? Is he trying to see how long it takes before I collapse into a broken shell of myself? I’ve asked myself all these questions so many times since we started this fucked up, twisted, unequal relationship. This power play. Do I really mean anything to him? I don’t know if I want to risk it finding out.
“It is late, past curfew. It would be logical to remain here, lest you are discovered on your journey back to your dormitory.”
He’s right. I know it. He knows it.
I take a breath. “Fine.”
He bends down and retrieves his pants, which I had stripped him of during my breakdown. He pulls them on.
I look away, embarrassment heating my cheeks, my ears. That certainly doesn’t make any sense, as we have seen each other naked countless times. We’ve touched, we’ve fucked so many times. But never before have I attempted to initiate and never before has he said ‘no.’ Now he is concerned about my mental health. Now, he is worried that I am about to fall. Is it because of what happened at the Wall? Or is it because I tried to take initiative, in a desperate attempt to forget? I just wanted to forget. And he wouldn’t let me. Why does he care?
“Are you hungry?”
My eyes jump back to him. He stands in front of me, dressed in his trousers, hands behind his back. As though nothing has happened.
I shake my head.
He gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. Then: “Perhaps it would be to your benefit to discuss the event that occurred outside the Special Forces Headquarters.”
Immediately, I tense. He is so blank, so cold, calculating. And so quickly. One moment, I think he understands, that he may finally get it. But then, this. Now he wants to talk. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Why?”
I shrug. I feel helpless. I want to run. I want to run away from here. But I’m trapped. Trapped by a stupid curfew. A commander who uses my body for his pleasure. A law forbidding me to be here. A man who speaks of change but wants me to sacrifice my dignity, everything I am for him. I am trapped. Everywhere I turn. So utterly and completely trapped. What does he want from me? But I answer him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“That is illogical.”
I scowl. “How is it illogical?”
“It matters, because you were clearly affected by the event.”
I laugh. It’s an ugly sound, marred by disgust, disbelief, cynicism. “It doesn’t matter because that’s my life!” I spin around, placing my back before him.
“Nyota -“
I look at him again. “You think that’s a new experience for me? Did you think that you’re my first sexual encounter? You’re not, Commander. You’re not the first to use me for my body. And you probably won’t be the last. My parents sold me to some admiral. My father stood by and my mother held me down as he shoved his dick into me. Explain the logic in that to me! Explain to me how it was logical for my parents to passively sit back and allow their only daughter to be used by this stranger I had never met before. I was sixteen! I was still a child! You think what happened tonight is the worst thing that ever happened to me? I’ve spent years with strange men shoving their dicks into my mouth, my pussy. Some of them I allowed-I needed their money-but most I didn’t.”
I run my hands through my hair, fighting and losing the battle with my tears. I did not think I could cry anymore. “And I have no choice because your precious Empire has declared it necessary for me to endure, to suffer all this because men are...men are so weak they can’t control themselves. They can’t function unless they’ve robbed a woman of everything she is. Where’s the logic in that?!”
He says nothing. He just stands in front of me, the epitome of a stoic. The clenching of his jaw is his only movement. But it’s so aggravating, so frustrating. His apparent lack of concern. Why does he want me to talk? Why does he keep questioning me?
“And you”-His eyes widen a sliver-“You told me you wouldn’t hurt me. You told me you would keep me safe if I gave myself to you. And I did. I did it because I was terrified. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to be hurt. But you hurt me and you keep hurting me. And I hate you for it. And I hate myself for giving into you because I told myself that I would never do that again. But I did. And I keep doing it. I keep coming back. And you keep hurting me and I keep coming back. Because the next moment, it’s like...I can almost pretend that you care. You do this and you hold me and you let me cry. I don’t know why. I don’t understand why I let you use me like that. I mean, why? Why?”
Spent, I fall to my knees. I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but the tears keep coming and coming.
“I apologize for any undue stress I have placed upon you.”
“I hate you.” I sob into my hands.
He inhales deeply but remains silent for several long moments. “When you are able, you may retire to my sleeping quarters. I must meditate.” He steps around me, careful not to touch me.
It’s kind of amazing how any forward momentum-if that’s what it was-we have can be so quickly stalled. How quickly he reverts back to the cold-hearted bastard he really is. How quickly he brushes everything under the rug. How quickly he forgets, ignores. How quickly that fragile bridge between us erodes and collapses.
Two weeks pass before he touches me again. And when he does, its laced with an urgency, a tinge of self-loathing-his, not mine-and he seems distant, even as his cock is buried deep inside me, even as he draws out my orgasms, even as I cling to him, because, God help me, I cling to him. On second thought, maybe there’s some self-loathing on my part, too.
When he’s not fucking me, we spend our time together-he still wants me here; I don’t know why-in silence. He meditates often, sitting in front of his asenoi, hands in his lap. He doesn’t speak to me, but he seems to drink in my presence. The silence is fine, I can deal with silence. But his gaze, his unwavering gaze upon me when I enter is unnerving. But I’ve grown used to it. I’ve had to. He’s grown more haggard in his appearance. Dark circles are a constant presence under his bloodshot eyes. His once pristine Vulcan hairstyle is growing out and he doesn’t seem bothered to fix it. He still arrives to his apartment in a bloodied uniform. And maybe that’s the source of his unease. I don’t know. Because, like I said, he won’t talk to me. But it seems like the uniforms are becoming bloodier, the body count is increasing.
I’m scared.
Of him.
For him.
I haven’t decided yet. I haven’t decided yet if I should be, if I should waste my concern on him.
I don’t think he sleeps. That would explain the dark circles, the bloodshot eyes, wouldn’t it? I know that Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, but I still don’t think he’s sleeping at all. When he’s done fucking me, he rolls out of bed and meditates. And he is awake when I wake in the morning, when I leave to return to the dorm, to return to classes.
He never mentions my breakdown after the Wall. I don’t either because I want to forget it. He never mentions my exclamation of hatred towards him, even though he seems to have grown more distant, if that was possible. But he doesn’t let it stop him from fucking me. I guess I don’t let it stop me from seeking pleasure in his actions as well.
We reached our breaking point finally. It was my fault. Maybe. I guess. It was time for my meeting with Gaila. So I went. Dressed as a man, a cadet, because I didn’t want to get caught again. Never again.
But I never made it to that meeting.
Because there wasn’t any point.
It happened when I came across the Wall.
And there she was, blood staining her green body, her shock of red hair peeping under the sheet. Swaying gently in the breeze.
I faltered. I stumbled. I froze.
There she was.
There would be no meeting.
I don’t remember how I managed to get back to Commander Spock’s apartment. I was in such shock, such despair that I can’t recall how it happened. But it did.
He was there when I entered.
Blood on his uniform.
Her blood.
“Why?” I asked, finally allowing the tears fall down my cheeks unchecked. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he saw my tears. “Why did you kill her?”
He stood more erect, his arms held firmly at his sides. “You are speaking of the Orion?”
I stepped closer to him. “Her name was Gaila! Did you know that?! Or was she just some body to you?”
“I was following a direct order.”
”Why?!” I cried, hitting him on the chest.
He remained so still, so stoic in front of me, uncaring. Not a crack in that cold Vulcan veneer. Though in retrospect, a storm of emotions bubbled under that veneer, barely visible in his stricken eyes, waiting, searching for a crack, a fissure from which to erupt. “The Orion in question was a member of the Rebellion. She was a traitor to the Empire. I am bound by my duty to the Empire and to Starfleet to carry out the law. And the law explicitly states that all traitors are to be executed. No exception.”
I slapped him. He was so cold. How could I have hoped for anything else?
He grabbed my hands and propelled me into the wall behind me, pressing my hands tightly above my head.
Glaring at him, I asked, “When is it my turn?” When will it be my turn to hang from the hooks? When will it be my turn to endure his knives, his fists, his chains?
“Do not make me report you for assaulting a superior officer, Cadet.”
I dropped my gaze, tears falling. “You’re a bastard.”
Silence. It stretched so long that I ventured a look at him, at his cold hard face.
“And you are a whore.”
His words were like a punch to my gut. Despite our numerous encounters, despite my numerous moments of calling myself that, he never had. Until now. It hurt. It burned. Just like his callousness about Gaila. I think it was in that moment that I realized, remembered that I was dealing with an emotionless alien, an alien that saw emotions as illogical. It was the first time I truly hated him, even though I yelled that to him before. I spit on him, watching in sick satisfaction as my spit rolled down his cheek.
He didn’t react to my action as I expected. I had expected violence in retaliation. I expected something. But got nothing.
He released me and I fell to the ground, sobbing. He retreated to the door, wiping the spittle from his face. “Perhaps, it would be best if you are absent from my quarters when I return.”
He left his quarters without another word. His shoulders square, his posture straight. As if he was steeling himself for what lies ahead for him behind the Wall. Staunchly ignoring me, my tears. I yelled at him, telling him how I hated him over and over. Asking how he could have done that.
I haven’t seen him since.
That was one week ago.