Fic: Lies in Silence Ch 18
LIES IN SILENCE CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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 Eighteen): 3188
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, not gonna lie...little nervous about this chapter. (>_>)
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Silent Shattering of a Desperate Hope
My eyes snap open. My breaths are pants. My head is pounding, pain emanating from my forehead. I'm on a bed. The disgusting mattress in the same room at the whorehouse.
I shift, attempting to sit up. A sharp pain sears my forehead and I cry out, bringing a hand to my head. I feel a wet stickiness and pull my hand away.
My fingers are red with blood.
I gasp and struggle to sit up, but the pain is too much and I collapse against the stale mattress again. Looking down my body, another strangled gasp escapes my lips.
I'm nude.
Robau has removed my uniform and my underwear. Tears sting my eyes and my heart pounds in my chest. Because I know why. I can recall a fuzzy memory. Struggling again, I sit up, fighting the wooziness. I cast my gaze around the room, searching. Where is my clothing? Where is he?
A tear escapes.
I hear a clanging in the bathroom across the small room. And then the door swings open. Robau steps out, looking at me. He is half-dressed, zipping his pants back up. His chest is naked.
My eyes widen. And tears fall. My hands shaking, I bring them to my breasts, desperate to conceal my body from his eyes even though I know perfectly well it's a wasted effort. He's seen me. And God only knows what he did to me while I was unconscious. Because I know what he did when I wasn’t.
Why am I naked and he's getting dressed?
That question enters my mind though I already know the answer. But sometimes, the truth is so heartbreaking, so cruel that you try so hard to deny it, to ignore it. Even when you know you can’t. Because how could I forget this?
Without warning, I am thrust into a memory. The night Commander Spock discovered my secret. I stood there, utterly exposed and desperately trying to hide my body from his view. He approached me and felt me and fucked me. And I let him.
Then, I felt fear intermingled with a twisted sense of arousal.
Now, only fear floods my body.
Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision, and I drop my gaze to my lap. I hear him shuffling around the room. No doubt, he's finishing getting dressed. I don't say anything. I'm too scared to say anything. To do anything.
Where is Spock? I want him here. I have no idea why.
I fear what Robau may have done to me when I was unconscious and at his mercy, but I'm terrified of knowing the truth. He's not supposed to be this man. He's supposed to be different.
I don't think I want to know what he did.
He throws my uniform on the bed in front of me and I jump, surprised. My eyes move from the starched red clothing and slowly upwards to his. I don't know what I'm expecting to see in his eyes, but there's none of the kindness I've always known to be there.
"Get dressed." His voice no longer resonates the warmth I am used to hearing from him.
My hands drop from my breasts, exposing them once more to the coldness in the air, and fist the material of the uniform top. I drop my gaze again. "What did you do to me?"
He doesn't answer me. He sighs and seats himself in the chair across from me, much like he did when we first entered this room.
I wrap the top around my body, like it was a bed sheet. I'm desperate to hide my body from his view. "Did you r-“ I can't finish that question. Did he? Did the man to whom I looked up violate me while I was unconscious? I know he did when I was awake, fighting the dizziness, the sudden weakness brought on by the blow to my head. I know I fought him, I know he pinned me down. I look at him, tears trickling down my face. I bite my lower lip, drawing it in, trying to steady my wobbling chin. I take a deep breath. "Did you rape me?" I ask baldly. I can't not know. But I do know.
I'm terrified of his answer. Because it will make it real.
Silence reigns and I fear what's going through his mind.
Robau sighs, releasing a long breath. Then he shakes his head. "No."
I sob loudly, bringing a hand to my mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound. Because that is a lie. I nod my head, the movement jerky, and drop my gaze in my lap. I know I shouldn't accept his answer at face value, especially not when he came out of the bathroom in a state of undress, but I can't face the reality that he might have. I could accept Commander Spock, as an officer for the Empire, to behave so depravedly-and even then, I can't really do that either, not now-but not Robau.
"Then why am I-“
He sighs again. "I figured you'd be more comfortable."
Comfortable. Does he mean comfortable in that my uniform appeared too restrictive in my unconscious state and he wished for me to be comfortable? Or comfortable in that I am whore, a man's plaything, and therefore not worthy of clothing? I am not a man, I am less. Is that what he means?
Robau reaches sideways to the crummy little nightstand and grabs a dermal repair kit. He tosses it on the bed in front of me. "Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up. You're bleeding all over the place."
I grab the kit with one hand and tighten my grip on my uniform with the other. I turn my body and gently set my feet on the cold floor. I stand slowly but am overwhelmed by a wave of vertigo and collapse on the mattress. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then rise again. I still feel dizzy, but it's not as bad. And I want out of this room. For the first time since meeting him, I want away from Robau. The dull ache between my legs tells me what I already know. That he lied to me. And if I don't get away from him, I will crumble.
There's nothing I can about it. I can't run to the authorities and beg them to help me. I'd be arrested first because of my placement within the Academy and because I am no doubt wanted for murdering the Admiral. And women are the property of men, right? You can't rape your own property. But which man do I belong to? Robau? Or Commander Spock?
It's a small relief that I was unconscious for the most part this time. Since I don't have any solid memory of him holding me down, hovering above me, thru-I stumble in my own mind-thrusting into me, I can pretend he told me the truth. I can pretend he didn't do it.
I can continue believing he is my shining knight.
I need to.
I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me, locking it. The quiet click gives me more comfort, more security than I've felt since arriving here to meet him.
I place my uniform and the kit on the bathroom counter and step back to look at my nude body fully in the mirror. The angry gash on my forehead stands out, red and swollen, against my dark skin. It's a deep cut. Blood seeps out. I reach up and trace the wound gingerly with a finger. It stings sharply and I gasp, dropping my hand to my side.
I look at the dermal kit sitting on the counter. It needs to be mended. But I need to see the rest first.
The rest of my body seems uninjured. Except for two fresh bruises on both sides of my hips. Bruises shaped like fingers. Tears flood my eyes. Commander Spock, even at his roughest, has not marred my flesh in a long time, not since the incident at the Wall. He has taken to be gentler when he fucks me, even as he grows ever more distant. I have not bore his mark in weeks. These belong to Robau.
Tears fall. I let them.
There is another way, albeit unscientific, to tell if Robau's prick has been inside of me, while I lay disoriented, maybe unconscious, and bleeding on the stinking bed. I'm just scared of finding out. But I must know the truth. Even though I already know the truth.
A shaking hand drifts between my legs. Where it should be dry, my hand comes away sticky with semen. I stifle a sob-I don't want him to hear me-and reach for the faucet, turning it on.
He lied to me. He said he didn't do it. He lied. Or maybe, he didn't. Because in the eyes of the twisted fucking Empire, he didn't do anything wrong. He didn't do that of which I accused him. He cannot be prosecuted for what he has done to me. But, I thought, he was against the Empire and its laws. If I asked him if women should have the same rights and liberties as men, he'd say 'yes.' Right? Or would he look at me and laugh before telling me to get down on my knees?
God, I was so naive, so desperate to believe him.
I stick my hand under the running water and feverishly scrub it, desperate to rid myself of his unwanted expenditure.
I need to take a shower.
I turn around and reach into the stall and turn the water on. Blast it on full heat. I step in, sliding the stall door closed behind me. The scorching water burns my skin. It sears the wound on my forehead but I don't care. I want the physical pain of the scalding water, because I can withstand that so much more than I can the emotional pain. The emotional pain of my savior violating me. Raping me.
I believed him. I believed in his plan. His dream.
My tears fall and I allow myself the solace in the cascading water and let them. I sob, knowing the water will help to conceal my sorrow, my horror from his ears. I don't want to imagine what he'd do if he could hear me. Would he break down the door and storm in here? Would he grab me by the neck, slam me into the nearest wall and rape me again? Would I be conscious this time?
Tears mingling with water, I grab the loofah hanging from the shower-head. It's rough to the touch, but I don't care. I have to get the sticky remnants of his presence off my skin. I slather an ample amount of soap onto the loofah and run the thing across my body. Down my chest, my abdomen until I reach my pussy. I scrub violently, rubbing the delicate flesh between my legs raw. It hurts. But I don't care.
I need him gone.
I trusted him.
That trust is obliterated.
After the worst of my sobs are through, and the area between my legs raw, I turn the water off. I step out of the stall, water dripping from my body.
If it had been anyone else...
I wouldn't feel this way. I wouldn't feel like my world imploded, leaving me to pick up the shattered remains. Because, if it had been any other man-a stranger, perhaps-that’s how it's supposed to be. (I staunchly ignore my breakdown with Commander Spock after the Wall incident. Yes, that’s how it is supposed to go. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still break a part of me inside.)
But it did happen. And I do feel that way.
I wish I knew where Commander Spock is. I wish I knew when I grew to prefer his presence and when I grew comfortable in his presence. Since when did Spock become safe, comfortable? He shouldn't. God knows he shouldn't. He forced me into that sexual relationship with him because I fear the wrath of the Empire far worse than I do his. He came close to raping me when he found me going through his desk that one time so long ago.
But he didn't.
But unlike Robau, he stopped before he did it. I am ever so grateful for that. Even if I never tell him so, because if he had gone through with it...
I don't even want to think about it.
He held me when I succumbed to my tears. No man had ever held me like that before.
I need to hurry. Robau will grow impatient. And I don't want him to come in here. I don't want him near me.
I grab a towel from the rack near the shower. It's stiff and scratchy, but it will have to do. This is a whorehouse, after all, not a four-star hotel. The towel irritates my already sensitive skin, but I don't care. I don't stop drying myself, running the towel across my body, between my legs.
Dried, I drop the towel to the ground and approach the mirror. I grab the dermal kit and lean forward, inspecting my wound. It's red and angry, but I think the dermal kit will repair most of the damage.
I use the kit, staring at myself in the mirror, watching as the wound slowly heals. Tears sting my eyes again. When will my agony end? I think I understand why so many women, trapped as they are, decide to end it all. Because what good is it to suffer endlessly when there is no shred of hope, of happiness for us in this Empire? There is no kindness without it being used as a manipulation device. There is no love. I don't even know what love is. It's some abstract idea that makes no sense to me.
There is no hope.
There is only so much the kit can do for the gash on my forehead, but it has reduced it enough.
I set the kit on the counter and grab my uniform. I put it on, desperate to hide my bruised flesh from my view. With clothing on, I feel significantly better, my tattered dignity having been restored somewhat. It's not enough to heal my internal wounds completely-I don't think anything will be enough for that-but it's a start.
I stare at myself once more in the mirror. Dead eyes stare back at me, framed by ashen features. I look horrible. But there's nothing I can do about it.
And there's no point in continuing to delay the inevitable. I will have to go back out there; I will have to face him again and pretend that everything’s all right. Because it is. According to him.
I exit the bathroom slowly, head down and arms folded in front of me. He stands and approaches me. I struggle not to back away from him. I struggle to remind myself that he thinks he has convinced me that he did not violate me while I was unconscious.
It's difficult. If not impossible.
Robau grips my chin and lifts my head up. I tentatively meet his gaze; I'm scared of what I might see in his eyes. How quickly I have become terrified of him.
He looks at my injury. "It looks better."
I nod slightly, acknowledging his statement. It's true. It does look better.
He leans down and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I fight the urge to gag. It's unwanted, but there's nothing I can do to stop him. He might hurt me again if I give into temptation and bite the tongue thrusting into my mouth. So I don't do anything. I am utterly unresponsive as he kisses me. If it upsets him, I have no way of knowing. Unless he chooses to let me know.
This is what he's been preparing me for. Gaila was right. He wants me for himself. I don't know why. I still don't know why he gave Gaila up-and I’m absolutely certain he did-and I'm not sure I want to know.
Eventually, he stops and I am thankful. He steps away from me and my gaze returns to the ground. It's really quite filthy. Dirt, grime and God only knows what else stain the hardwood floors.
I want out of here. But I must wait.
"I shall give you more time. I shouldn’t. But I will. And only because I like you, Nyota. You should hope that Commander Spock returns soon."
"Why did you lie to me?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and I immediately shirk away from him, waiting for his wrath.
He laughs quietly. I dare to look at him.
"I have never lied to you, Nyota."
I shake my head and tears sting my eyes. No. That's not true. "No. You raped me. I know you did. And you told me you wouldn’t hurt me. Remember?"
He grips my chin harder. "I did what was necessary to remind you that you are not the one in charge. You seem to have forgotten, caught up in your little affair with that Vulcan."
I release a harsh sob.
"Listen to me, Nyota. I will not tolerate any more blunders on your part. When Commander Spock returns, you are to gain his confidence and get him talking. I don't care how you do it. Give him the best blowjob he's ever had. Let him stick it in your ass. Let him tie you up. Tell him you love him. I don't care. You're a clever girl; I'm sure you can think of something. But I want to know what he knows about the Emperor’s accommodations when he’s in town."
"The Emperor?"
"Yes." That was all he said. He dropped his hand from my chin and turned to the door.
"And if he's dead?" I ask, thinking of the blood in Commander Spock's bedroom and sink.
"You better pray that he's not. Because if he's dead, then I have no further use for you."
My return to campus and my undercover identity went without incident. No one saw me. No one cared. I fought the urge to hope that Commander Spock would suddenly appear behind me in the xenolinguistics building, just as he had so many weeks ago. I don't know why I kept hoping for that, but I did, as I stood in front of the desk upon which he fucked me for the first time. At some point during my twisted, fucked up relationship with him, Spock has come to represent a sort of comfort. He could be unpredictable, but still, I managed to derive comfort in that unpredictability. I don't know why. I don't know how.
He didn't show up, of course.
This upsets me more than it should.
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 Eighteen): 3188
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, not gonna lie...little nervous about this chapter. (>_>)
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Silent Shattering of a Desperate Hope
My eyes snap open. My breaths are pants. My head is pounding, pain emanating from my forehead. I'm on a bed. The disgusting mattress in the same room at the whorehouse.
I shift, attempting to sit up. A sharp pain sears my forehead and I cry out, bringing a hand to my head. I feel a wet stickiness and pull my hand away.
My fingers are red with blood.
I gasp and struggle to sit up, but the pain is too much and I collapse against the stale mattress again. Looking down my body, another strangled gasp escapes my lips.
I'm nude.
Robau has removed my uniform and my underwear. Tears sting my eyes and my heart pounds in my chest. Because I know why. I can recall a fuzzy memory. Struggling again, I sit up, fighting the wooziness. I cast my gaze around the room, searching. Where is my clothing? Where is he?
A tear escapes.
I hear a clanging in the bathroom across the small room. And then the door swings open. Robau steps out, looking at me. He is half-dressed, zipping his pants back up. His chest is naked.
My eyes widen. And tears fall. My hands shaking, I bring them to my breasts, desperate to conceal my body from his eyes even though I know perfectly well it's a wasted effort. He's seen me. And God only knows what he did to me while I was unconscious. Because I know what he did when I wasn’t.
Why am I naked and he's getting dressed?
That question enters my mind though I already know the answer. But sometimes, the truth is so heartbreaking, so cruel that you try so hard to deny it, to ignore it. Even when you know you can’t. Because how could I forget this?
Without warning, I am thrust into a memory. The night Commander Spock discovered my secret. I stood there, utterly exposed and desperately trying to hide my body from his view. He approached me and felt me and fucked me. And I let him.
Then, I felt fear intermingled with a twisted sense of arousal.
Now, only fear floods my body.
Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision, and I drop my gaze to my lap. I hear him shuffling around the room. No doubt, he's finishing getting dressed. I don't say anything. I'm too scared to say anything. To do anything.
Where is Spock? I want him here. I have no idea why.
I fear what Robau may have done to me when I was unconscious and at his mercy, but I'm terrified of knowing the truth. He's not supposed to be this man. He's supposed to be different.
I don't think I want to know what he did.
He throws my uniform on the bed in front of me and I jump, surprised. My eyes move from the starched red clothing and slowly upwards to his. I don't know what I'm expecting to see in his eyes, but there's none of the kindness I've always known to be there.
"Get dressed." His voice no longer resonates the warmth I am used to hearing from him.
My hands drop from my breasts, exposing them once more to the coldness in the air, and fist the material of the uniform top. I drop my gaze again. "What did you do to me?"
He doesn't answer me. He sighs and seats himself in the chair across from me, much like he did when we first entered this room.
I wrap the top around my body, like it was a bed sheet. I'm desperate to hide my body from his view. "Did you r-“ I can't finish that question. Did he? Did the man to whom I looked up violate me while I was unconscious? I know he did when I was awake, fighting the dizziness, the sudden weakness brought on by the blow to my head. I know I fought him, I know he pinned me down. I look at him, tears trickling down my face. I bite my lower lip, drawing it in, trying to steady my wobbling chin. I take a deep breath. "Did you rape me?" I ask baldly. I can't not know. But I do know.
I'm terrified of his answer. Because it will make it real.
Silence reigns and I fear what's going through his mind.
Robau sighs, releasing a long breath. Then he shakes his head. "No."
I sob loudly, bringing a hand to my mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound. Because that is a lie. I nod my head, the movement jerky, and drop my gaze in my lap. I know I shouldn't accept his answer at face value, especially not when he came out of the bathroom in a state of undress, but I can't face the reality that he might have. I could accept Commander Spock, as an officer for the Empire, to behave so depravedly-and even then, I can't really do that either, not now-but not Robau.
"Then why am I-“
He sighs again. "I figured you'd be more comfortable."
Comfortable. Does he mean comfortable in that my uniform appeared too restrictive in my unconscious state and he wished for me to be comfortable? Or comfortable in that I am whore, a man's plaything, and therefore not worthy of clothing? I am not a man, I am less. Is that what he means?
Robau reaches sideways to the crummy little nightstand and grabs a dermal repair kit. He tosses it on the bed in front of me. "Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up. You're bleeding all over the place."
I grab the kit with one hand and tighten my grip on my uniform with the other. I turn my body and gently set my feet on the cold floor. I stand slowly but am overwhelmed by a wave of vertigo and collapse on the mattress. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then rise again. I still feel dizzy, but it's not as bad. And I want out of this room. For the first time since meeting him, I want away from Robau. The dull ache between my legs tells me what I already know. That he lied to me. And if I don't get away from him, I will crumble.
There's nothing I can about it. I can't run to the authorities and beg them to help me. I'd be arrested first because of my placement within the Academy and because I am no doubt wanted for murdering the Admiral. And women are the property of men, right? You can't rape your own property. But which man do I belong to? Robau? Or Commander Spock?
It's a small relief that I was unconscious for the most part this time. Since I don't have any solid memory of him holding me down, hovering above me, thru-I stumble in my own mind-thrusting into me, I can pretend he told me the truth. I can pretend he didn't do it.
I can continue believing he is my shining knight.
I need to.
I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me, locking it. The quiet click gives me more comfort, more security than I've felt since arriving here to meet him.
I place my uniform and the kit on the bathroom counter and step back to look at my nude body fully in the mirror. The angry gash on my forehead stands out, red and swollen, against my dark skin. It's a deep cut. Blood seeps out. I reach up and trace the wound gingerly with a finger. It stings sharply and I gasp, dropping my hand to my side.
I look at the dermal kit sitting on the counter. It needs to be mended. But I need to see the rest first.
The rest of my body seems uninjured. Except for two fresh bruises on both sides of my hips. Bruises shaped like fingers. Tears flood my eyes. Commander Spock, even at his roughest, has not marred my flesh in a long time, not since the incident at the Wall. He has taken to be gentler when he fucks me, even as he grows ever more distant. I have not bore his mark in weeks. These belong to Robau.
Tears fall. I let them.
There is another way, albeit unscientific, to tell if Robau's prick has been inside of me, while I lay disoriented, maybe unconscious, and bleeding on the stinking bed. I'm just scared of finding out. But I must know the truth. Even though I already know the truth.
A shaking hand drifts between my legs. Where it should be dry, my hand comes away sticky with semen. I stifle a sob-I don't want him to hear me-and reach for the faucet, turning it on.
He lied to me. He said he didn't do it. He lied. Or maybe, he didn't. Because in the eyes of the twisted fucking Empire, he didn't do anything wrong. He didn't do that of which I accused him. He cannot be prosecuted for what he has done to me. But, I thought, he was against the Empire and its laws. If I asked him if women should have the same rights and liberties as men, he'd say 'yes.' Right? Or would he look at me and laugh before telling me to get down on my knees?
God, I was so naive, so desperate to believe him.
I stick my hand under the running water and feverishly scrub it, desperate to rid myself of his unwanted expenditure.
I need to take a shower.
I turn around and reach into the stall and turn the water on. Blast it on full heat. I step in, sliding the stall door closed behind me. The scorching water burns my skin. It sears the wound on my forehead but I don't care. I want the physical pain of the scalding water, because I can withstand that so much more than I can the emotional pain. The emotional pain of my savior violating me. Raping me.
I believed him. I believed in his plan. His dream.
My tears fall and I allow myself the solace in the cascading water and let them. I sob, knowing the water will help to conceal my sorrow, my horror from his ears. I don't want to imagine what he'd do if he could hear me. Would he break down the door and storm in here? Would he grab me by the neck, slam me into the nearest wall and rape me again? Would I be conscious this time?
Tears mingling with water, I grab the loofah hanging from the shower-head. It's rough to the touch, but I don't care. I have to get the sticky remnants of his presence off my skin. I slather an ample amount of soap onto the loofah and run the thing across my body. Down my chest, my abdomen until I reach my pussy. I scrub violently, rubbing the delicate flesh between my legs raw. It hurts. But I don't care.
I need him gone.
I trusted him.
That trust is obliterated.
After the worst of my sobs are through, and the area between my legs raw, I turn the water off. I step out of the stall, water dripping from my body.
If it had been anyone else...
I wouldn't feel this way. I wouldn't feel like my world imploded, leaving me to pick up the shattered remains. Because, if it had been any other man-a stranger, perhaps-that’s how it's supposed to be. (I staunchly ignore my breakdown with Commander Spock after the Wall incident. Yes, that’s how it is supposed to go. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still break a part of me inside.)
But it did happen. And I do feel that way.
I wish I knew where Commander Spock is. I wish I knew when I grew to prefer his presence and when I grew comfortable in his presence. Since when did Spock become safe, comfortable? He shouldn't. God knows he shouldn't. He forced me into that sexual relationship with him because I fear the wrath of the Empire far worse than I do his. He came close to raping me when he found me going through his desk that one time so long ago.
But he didn't.
But unlike Robau, he stopped before he did it. I am ever so grateful for that. Even if I never tell him so, because if he had gone through with it...
I don't even want to think about it.
He held me when I succumbed to my tears. No man had ever held me like that before.
I need to hurry. Robau will grow impatient. And I don't want him to come in here. I don't want him near me.
I grab a towel from the rack near the shower. It's stiff and scratchy, but it will have to do. This is a whorehouse, after all, not a four-star hotel. The towel irritates my already sensitive skin, but I don't care. I don't stop drying myself, running the towel across my body, between my legs.
Dried, I drop the towel to the ground and approach the mirror. I grab the dermal kit and lean forward, inspecting my wound. It's red and angry, but I think the dermal kit will repair most of the damage.
I use the kit, staring at myself in the mirror, watching as the wound slowly heals. Tears sting my eyes again. When will my agony end? I think I understand why so many women, trapped as they are, decide to end it all. Because what good is it to suffer endlessly when there is no shred of hope, of happiness for us in this Empire? There is no kindness without it being used as a manipulation device. There is no love. I don't even know what love is. It's some abstract idea that makes no sense to me.
There is no hope.
There is only so much the kit can do for the gash on my forehead, but it has reduced it enough.
I set the kit on the counter and grab my uniform. I put it on, desperate to hide my bruised flesh from my view. With clothing on, I feel significantly better, my tattered dignity having been restored somewhat. It's not enough to heal my internal wounds completely-I don't think anything will be enough for that-but it's a start.
I stare at myself once more in the mirror. Dead eyes stare back at me, framed by ashen features. I look horrible. But there's nothing I can do about it.
And there's no point in continuing to delay the inevitable. I will have to go back out there; I will have to face him again and pretend that everything’s all right. Because it is. According to him.
I exit the bathroom slowly, head down and arms folded in front of me. He stands and approaches me. I struggle not to back away from him. I struggle to remind myself that he thinks he has convinced me that he did not violate me while I was unconscious.
It's difficult. If not impossible.
Robau grips my chin and lifts my head up. I tentatively meet his gaze; I'm scared of what I might see in his eyes. How quickly I have become terrified of him.
He looks at my injury. "It looks better."
I nod slightly, acknowledging his statement. It's true. It does look better.
He leans down and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I fight the urge to gag. It's unwanted, but there's nothing I can do to stop him. He might hurt me again if I give into temptation and bite the tongue thrusting into my mouth. So I don't do anything. I am utterly unresponsive as he kisses me. If it upsets him, I have no way of knowing. Unless he chooses to let me know.
This is what he's been preparing me for. Gaila was right. He wants me for himself. I don't know why. I still don't know why he gave Gaila up-and I’m absolutely certain he did-and I'm not sure I want to know.
Eventually, he stops and I am thankful. He steps away from me and my gaze returns to the ground. It's really quite filthy. Dirt, grime and God only knows what else stain the hardwood floors.
I want out of here. But I must wait.
"I shall give you more time. I shouldn’t. But I will. And only because I like you, Nyota. You should hope that Commander Spock returns soon."
"Why did you lie to me?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and I immediately shirk away from him, waiting for his wrath.
He laughs quietly. I dare to look at him.
"I have never lied to you, Nyota."
I shake my head and tears sting my eyes. No. That's not true. "No. You raped me. I know you did. And you told me you wouldn’t hurt me. Remember?"
He grips my chin harder. "I did what was necessary to remind you that you are not the one in charge. You seem to have forgotten, caught up in your little affair with that Vulcan."
I release a harsh sob.
"Listen to me, Nyota. I will not tolerate any more blunders on your part. When Commander Spock returns, you are to gain his confidence and get him talking. I don't care how you do it. Give him the best blowjob he's ever had. Let him stick it in your ass. Let him tie you up. Tell him you love him. I don't care. You're a clever girl; I'm sure you can think of something. But I want to know what he knows about the Emperor’s accommodations when he’s in town."
"The Emperor?"
"Yes." That was all he said. He dropped his hand from my chin and turned to the door.
"And if he's dead?" I ask, thinking of the blood in Commander Spock's bedroom and sink.
"You better pray that he's not. Because if he's dead, then I have no further use for you."
My return to campus and my undercover identity went without incident. No one saw me. No one cared. I fought the urge to hope that Commander Spock would suddenly appear behind me in the xenolinguistics building, just as he had so many weeks ago. I don't know why I kept hoping for that, but I did, as I stood in front of the desk upon which he fucked me for the first time. At some point during my twisted, fucked up relationship with him, Spock has come to represent a sort of comfort. He could be unpredictable, but still, I managed to derive comfort in that unpredictability. I don't know why. I don't know how.
He didn't show up, of course.
This upsets me more than it should.