Dear Agony
[This fic deals with needles and sexual assault, so if that's something that triggers for you, it's best to avoid.]
It's dark as she wakes up. Even as she slowly opens her eyes, there's not a single ray of light in the room. She has no idea where she is or how long she's been there. The last thing she remembers is...leaving the coffee shop. As she sits up--or pulls herself into a position that should be sitting up--her head starts pounding and her jaw aches. She must have bit her tongue at some point because her mouth tastes like blood. It doesn't help with the nausea.
What the hell happened? How long was she unconscious? Jen groans as she gets to her feet, feeling woozy and wobbly. She really can't even see the hand in front of her face and she's hesitant to go feeling around in the dark without having any idea what kind of space she's in. It's damp and cold. Maybe it's a basement. As she stands there, hoping her eyes adjust to the darkness, she rubs her hand over her belly.
It's then that she realizes why she's so cold. Her clothes are missing. And now fear sets in. What did he do to her while she was out cold? She has no way of knowing.
"Oh God," she says softly into the darkness. She has to get out of there before whoever it is comes back. With her arms outstretched in front of her, she walks slowly forward, looking for a wall or a door or something, anything solid. Eventually, she bumps into cold, damp bricks.
But she's too late.
The overhead light flicks on--a single, naked lightbulb on a cord. Jen turns over her shoulder and slams her eyelids closed against the pain of suddenly being thrust from pitch black into light. Still, the silence is deafening, and no other sighs of life appear. Her eyes adjust again and she looks around the room.
Her heart sinks.
Turning around, she faces into the center of the room. It can't even really be called a room. No windows. Only a, solid, smooth, solitary door, locked from the outside. Four cinder block walls with water seeping through. It's a cell. A prison. And now with the light on, she feels exposed and vulnerable. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to regain a little bit of her modesty. It doesn't really help.
"When I get out of here, I will make sure you don't live to see another sunrise," she shouts into the room. Her voice bounces around the walls and she wonders if there's even anyone listening.
Before she can say anything else, the door swings inward and a tall, broad-shouldered man stands there, framed in the light from beyond the cinderblock walls. "Ah, beautiful Jenny," he says with a thick French accent. Of course he knows her name; he has her wallet. He also knows where she lives. Was Jethro here, too?
"Jethro!" she shouts, but is she hoping for a response or not? Silence. She hopes he's safe. She hopes he's looking for her.
The man in the doorway starts laughing as he enters the room. He pushes the door closed behind him. No way out. "He is not here. I am only interested in you, Jenny" he says, advancing on her. Jen stands her ground, but she's defenseless against him, completely naked and vulnerable. But she hasn't come this far to meet her ending here when she still has so much to live for. She vows to fight.
"Mmm still so much spirit," he adds, continuing to advance on her, forcing her to start backing up. There's a hungry gleam in his eyes and he grabs her wrists, pulling her arms away from her chest. His eyes rake over her body, taking in her curves and her scars. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, trying to block out what's happening. Her body is for her husbands eyes only and it took her a long time to get to even that point. But now, this disgusting man was raping her with his eyes. He backs her up against the wall and pins her wrists above her head. He's so much bigger than she is. His hand is easily able to pin both of her wrists together, freeing up one of his hands. She's at his mercy.
But she can at least try.
Jen opens her eyes and brings her knee up. It connects with his groin and she spits, "Do not touch me."
He growls and shoves her knee down and presses into her with his hips. His face is so close, she can smell his breath and it makes her gag. She turns her face away as he gets in closer, whispering, "That was a mistake, dear Jenny." He has every intention of touching her. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they glide over her skin, starting at her collarbone. He slides one finger down over the scar between her breasts and again, Jen screws her eyes closed. This isn't real. This isn't happening. She's safe at home with a man who loves her.
Her breath catches in her throat as he grabs her sore, aching breast. "Do you know what it's like to be loved," he whispers, sliding his fingers over the most sensitive part, "and then to find out that love was never real?" She doesn't answer. He doesn't need her to. He just wants his words to sink in. It's a message to pass along. He smiles and pulls back completely. Jen doesn't move, doesn't open her eyes.
"Stay put," he says, though she has no where to go. He turns on his heel, unafraid to turn his back on her and leaves the room. Jen remains against the wall and slowly pulls her arms in, wrapping them around herself--one across her chest, the other across her middle. Silent tears drip down her cheeks. What did she do to deserve this? She knows what he did while she was unconscious. And she's never felt more disgusting, like the floor of the cinderblock cell.
Jenny doesn't notice when the door swings open again and he captor returns. He comes over to her, clearly pleased that she didn't move from where he left her. In one hand, he carries a small fabric pouch and she watches as comes over. "I don't know about you," he says conversationally, unzipping the pouch, "but when I was in college, the drug of choice was LSD."
His words catch her attention and her eyes flick to the pouch in his hand. She watches in transfixed horror as he pulls out a medical grade syringe and a small vial. She can only assume the unlabeled substance is LSD. "But I bet you didn't know," he continues in that same conversational tone, "LSD can cause uterine contractions?" He loads up the syringe and tests it.
She cannot let him inject her. God, no. But he has her cornered. No, no, no. She starts to slide out from under him, trying to go somewhere, anywhere. But he wants no part of this. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You're not putting that in me," she says, backing away from him, her tone like ice. But she has to do what she can to try. Even if it doesn't make a difference. In a few giant steps, he's already caught up to her and he grabs her wrist again, yanking her arm out in front of her. She tries to wrench her arm free, feeling her shoulder straining against the tension. But she just doesn't have the strength she used to have. With a hard yank, he pulls her close and her shoulder pops painfully. "No. No, no, no!" she cries. Almost with an expert touch, he sticks the needle in her arm and pushes the liquid in. And then he leaves.
Jen sinks to her knees, bent over, arms wrapped around her middle. "No..." it's just a whimper, the fight is gone. If she loses the baby, he may as well just kill her.
And then the light goes out again, plunging her back into pitch black.
[words 1354]
It's dark as she wakes up. Even as she slowly opens her eyes, there's not a single ray of light in the room. She has no idea where she is or how long she's been there. The last thing she remembers is...leaving the coffee shop. As she sits up--or pulls herself into a position that should be sitting up--her head starts pounding and her jaw aches. She must have bit her tongue at some point because her mouth tastes like blood. It doesn't help with the nausea.
What the hell happened? How long was she unconscious? Jen groans as she gets to her feet, feeling woozy and wobbly. She really can't even see the hand in front of her face and she's hesitant to go feeling around in the dark without having any idea what kind of space she's in. It's damp and cold. Maybe it's a basement. As she stands there, hoping her eyes adjust to the darkness, she rubs her hand over her belly.
It's then that she realizes why she's so cold. Her clothes are missing. And now fear sets in. What did he do to her while she was out cold? She has no way of knowing.
"Oh God," she says softly into the darkness. She has to get out of there before whoever it is comes back. With her arms outstretched in front of her, she walks slowly forward, looking for a wall or a door or something, anything solid. Eventually, she bumps into cold, damp bricks.
But she's too late.
The overhead light flicks on--a single, naked lightbulb on a cord. Jen turns over her shoulder and slams her eyelids closed against the pain of suddenly being thrust from pitch black into light. Still, the silence is deafening, and no other sighs of life appear. Her eyes adjust again and she looks around the room.
Her heart sinks.
Turning around, she faces into the center of the room. It can't even really be called a room. No windows. Only a, solid, smooth, solitary door, locked from the outside. Four cinder block walls with water seeping through. It's a cell. A prison. And now with the light on, she feels exposed and vulnerable. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to regain a little bit of her modesty. It doesn't really help.
"When I get out of here, I will make sure you don't live to see another sunrise," she shouts into the room. Her voice bounces around the walls and she wonders if there's even anyone listening.
Before she can say anything else, the door swings inward and a tall, broad-shouldered man stands there, framed in the light from beyond the cinderblock walls. "Ah, beautiful Jenny," he says with a thick French accent. Of course he knows her name; he has her wallet. He also knows where she lives. Was Jethro here, too?
"Jethro!" she shouts, but is she hoping for a response or not? Silence. She hopes he's safe. She hopes he's looking for her.
The man in the doorway starts laughing as he enters the room. He pushes the door closed behind him. No way out. "He is not here. I am only interested in you, Jenny" he says, advancing on her. Jen stands her ground, but she's defenseless against him, completely naked and vulnerable. But she hasn't come this far to meet her ending here when she still has so much to live for. She vows to fight.
"Mmm still so much spirit," he adds, continuing to advance on her, forcing her to start backing up. There's a hungry gleam in his eyes and he grabs her wrists, pulling her arms away from her chest. His eyes rake over her body, taking in her curves and her scars. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, trying to block out what's happening. Her body is for her husbands eyes only and it took her a long time to get to even that point. But now, this disgusting man was raping her with his eyes. He backs her up against the wall and pins her wrists above her head. He's so much bigger than she is. His hand is easily able to pin both of her wrists together, freeing up one of his hands. She's at his mercy.
But she can at least try.
Jen opens her eyes and brings her knee up. It connects with his groin and she spits, "Do not touch me."
He growls and shoves her knee down and presses into her with his hips. His face is so close, she can smell his breath and it makes her gag. She turns her face away as he gets in closer, whispering, "That was a mistake, dear Jenny." He has every intention of touching her. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they glide over her skin, starting at her collarbone. He slides one finger down over the scar between her breasts and again, Jen screws her eyes closed. This isn't real. This isn't happening. She's safe at home with a man who loves her.
Her breath catches in her throat as he grabs her sore, aching breast. "Do you know what it's like to be loved," he whispers, sliding his fingers over the most sensitive part, "and then to find out that love was never real?" She doesn't answer. He doesn't need her to. He just wants his words to sink in. It's a message to pass along. He smiles and pulls back completely. Jen doesn't move, doesn't open her eyes.
"Stay put," he says, though she has no where to go. He turns on his heel, unafraid to turn his back on her and leaves the room. Jen remains against the wall and slowly pulls her arms in, wrapping them around herself--one across her chest, the other across her middle. Silent tears drip down her cheeks. What did she do to deserve this? She knows what he did while she was unconscious. And she's never felt more disgusting, like the floor of the cinderblock cell.
Jenny doesn't notice when the door swings open again and he captor returns. He comes over to her, clearly pleased that she didn't move from where he left her. In one hand, he carries a small fabric pouch and she watches as comes over. "I don't know about you," he says conversationally, unzipping the pouch, "but when I was in college, the drug of choice was LSD."
His words catch her attention and her eyes flick to the pouch in his hand. She watches in transfixed horror as he pulls out a medical grade syringe and a small vial. She can only assume the unlabeled substance is LSD. "But I bet you didn't know," he continues in that same conversational tone, "LSD can cause uterine contractions?" He loads up the syringe and tests it.
She cannot let him inject her. God, no. But he has her cornered. No, no, no. She starts to slide out from under him, trying to go somewhere, anywhere. But he wants no part of this. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You're not putting that in me," she says, backing away from him, her tone like ice. But she has to do what she can to try. Even if it doesn't make a difference. In a few giant steps, he's already caught up to her and he grabs her wrist again, yanking her arm out in front of her. She tries to wrench her arm free, feeling her shoulder straining against the tension. But she just doesn't have the strength she used to have. With a hard yank, he pulls her close and her shoulder pops painfully. "No. No, no, no!" she cries. Almost with an expert touch, he sticks the needle in her arm and pushes the liquid in. And then he leaves.
Jen sinks to her knees, bent over, arms wrapped around her middle. "No..." it's just a whimper, the fight is gone. If she loses the baby, he may as well just kill her.
And then the light goes out again, plunging her back into pitch black.
[words 1354]