Post by Aeir on Aug 4, 2008 11:58:27 GMT -5
((Hurm...I don't know whether or not there is a character limit. Let's hope not.))
Chapter One
A Romantian Girl
The snow that blanketed the cold, frozen town was wet and heavy, the kind of snow that brought society to a grinding halt. It had been snowing for days, lighting the skyline with large snowflakes that clung perpetually to everything possible. It was beautiful, naturally. Beautiful, and deadly. Temperatures plummeted, freezing pipelines and waterways. Romantia had come to an unexpected standstill. The town's single plow truck had malfunctioned, locking the citizens hundreds of miles from the next civilization. Nobody seemed worried, though. This was normal for Romantian winters.
The tiny town sat in a small ditch between mountains. Isolated from the world even in summer, when the passes were clear, Romantia was self-sufficient. It had been for nearly three hundred years, when the first nomads found that the tiny valley had unusually rich, fertile soil, compared to the barren rocks of the bordering mountains. Mountain springs supplied a fresh supply of water, and didn't freeze over in the winter. The only downside to the valley was its sheer distance from the rest of the world. The nomads were stubborn folk, however, and the town remained loosely in contact with the neighboring cities. Three hundred years later, technology kept Romantia in tune with the world. Cell phones, Internet, electricity, and planes all contributed to the small town. But somehow, Romantia kept its own unique identity, and never seemed to be a part of the world.
It was of snow that the girl thought about that night, as she plowed her way through the heavy layer of the stuff. She was on her way home. Romantia had three bars that stayed open after midnight, and she worked at one of them. It was named Romantia Bar. No credit to the bar's owner for creativity. By the time the Bar's last patrons finally left, it was nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. This night, it was roughly 3:07 before the girl had been able to turn the lights off and lock up. As she plowed her way through the snow, she considered how ironic it was that all the might and power of mankind was so easily disabled by two days' bad weather. She was the only one on the street at this hour. The snow had finally abated, but with its departure, it had unleashed a howling wind. The wind sculpted the snow into drifts, forced windows to shudder in their panes and kept the rest of the citizens of Romantia huddled around their heaters and fires. All, but this girl.
Bundled in a heavy coat, tight blue jeans, gloves, and a scarf, her features were hard to distinguish. The coat was an evergreen color, padded with down feathers, with a fur-lined hood. Her gloves and scarf were white. Not nearly as white as the damnable, endless snow, she thought to herself, stopping a moment to readjust the scarf against the wind. Over sized black boots left a trail behind her. A sudden, deliberate gust of wind and snow knocked her hood down. Although she hastened to pull it back up, her face is revealed to the biting wind. Hers is a face of beauty. Round, softly curved, it is youthful and delicate. Large brown eyes scan the road ahead and blink snowflakes away. A small, well-proportioned nose was pink from the cold. Her lips, full lips, are chapped and cracking.
She paused for a moment to shake the snow from her red curls. The ringlets fall to her chest, giving the impression of a fiery waterfall. The girl is of average height, and slim build. She doesn't look imposing or deadly, just cold. Cold and vulnerable. The girl sighs, tucks the scarf around her tighter, and turns into a neighborhood alleyway. Here the wind is blocked by the ancient Romantian brick buildings, and the snow lays in an undisturbed sheet. "Almost home," she thinks, dreaming of her bed. Her cat, Sunny, would be keeping it warm for her. Soon enough, she pushes the door open to one of the small apartments. Her home was nothing spectacular, typical for Romantia. Second hand furniture, passed down through her family. The black television was ancient, and on its last legs. It was a one bedroom apartment, kept clean through her singular use. The girl's only companion, of course, was Sunny. And he didn't make much of a mess.
She throws her coat onto the couch and fusses over the cat, who patiently tolerates the treatment, all the while yowling for his dinner. As she sees to his needs, the girl yawns and shivers. The fire she had left burning had gone cold hours ago, and the living room and kitchen were both freezing.
"Randy still hasn't fixed our heater, has he, Sunny boy?" she comments to the cat, while throwing her efforts into rekindling the fire. She has a medium ranged voice, with a faint accent on her vowels that hint clearly at her Romantian heritage. It only takes a few minutes for the flames to grow, slowly eating away at the stack of firewood she had placed. Within a half hour, the entire apartment would be warmed by the fire. To pass the time, the girl opens her refrigerator, pulling out the milk and chocolate syrup. She settles down on the couch, wraps a blanket around herself, and sips her drink, watching the glowing flames and trying hard to not doze off. It's a futile task, and she soon nods off. But the girl doesn't sleep the night through. Every few hours, she would jolt awake and throw a new log onto the fire, keeping the house warm. Sunny curled up in her legs, purring the whole night. The wind outside continued to scream against the windows, driving to knock them loose, driving to get at the girl and cat inside.
Chapter Two
A Girl and a Bar
The next day dawned brightly, the sun shining so brightly, as if apologizing for its recent absence from Romantia. The girl slept through most of the sunny day, snuggling her head underneath the covers until her alarm went off. She groans, reluctant to move from her comfortable spot. She pulls her cell phone from her pocket and deactivates the nerve-grating beep. As per usual, she had fallen asleep and spent the night on the couch. The girl sighs, and forces herself to get up.
Thirty minutes later, she is showered, dressed, and finishing up her breakfast. It is about 7:30 at night. The sun had set two and a half hours ago, and Romantia was once again dark. She has work again, on this Saturday night. "Be good, Sunny. Don't get into the fish bowl again." The girl admonishes the cat, who ignores her completly in favor of cleaning himself. She kisses his furry head and departs from the apartment, locking the door behind her.
Thanks to the end of the blizzard, coupled with the weekend, the Bar is packed full. The girl serves her tables effortlessly, smoothly transitioning from one table to the next. The majority of the rush ends around midnight, when the sober-minded citizens, laughing and joking, made their way through the windy streets and back to their families. Those who stayed after midnight were the young, the drunks, and the hopeless.
"Waitress, another round, please." A newcomer to the bar says as the girl passes him by. She smiles at him and takes his empty glass. As she moves back to the kitchen, her tray loaded with empty glasses, she watches him. Tall and lanky, the man moved through the barroom with grace and fluidity. Each simple movement is a beautiful dance, and the girl can imagine the power in that grace. His dark complexion hints at an Italian heritage. Black hair mobs his head and teases into his eyes. His eyes were also dark, brown or black, she couldn't discern. The man's attire spoke of wealth. A simple white shirt sits like silk on his muscular frame. Blue jeans seem custom tailor to his slim waist. The stranger was attractive, which confused the girl. She knows almost everyone who lives in Romantia, and had never even heard of this stranger. It was none of her business, however, so she allowed the strange, attractive man to enjoy his own company.
The girl brings the drink back to him. He thanks her, and their eyes lock. For a split second, the girl feels weak, vulnerable, and afarid. She quickly breaks the gaze and smiles at him oddly. Bizarre, she thinks to herself. The girl wasn't easily shaken, and all he had done was look at her. She shrugs it off and focuses on closing the Bar down for the night.
As the last patrons are kicked out at 2:00 am. The girl leaves fifteen minutes later, exchanging some friendly words with her co-workers. Tired but smiling, she once again makes the cold, lonesome walk home. As she opens the door to her apartment, the girl groans. It is Saturday - trash night! "Just what I want to do after working all night." She grumbles to herself. Luckily, her single life only left one bag of trash per week. Tying the bag up, the Romantian girl swings the door shut behind her, and stomps through the snow towards the dumpster down the alley.
The night is silent, cold, and still. The snow leading to and from the dumpster is broken in the trails of her neighbors, taking out their waste hours before her. The slight breeze had filled most of these tracks in. The girl tosses the bag into the dumpster, and turns to leave.
She is unprepared, therefore, when the hands reach out from the shadowy corner of the dumpster, grabbing her around her neck. A rag, doused in some foul-smelling chemical, muffle her screams and quickly knock her out. So quickly, so effectively did this sudden kidnapping take place, it didn't even seem terrifying or dramatic. It is as though this happens every Saturday night by the snow-filled dumpsters of Romantia. But regardless of the brultality of the crime, it goes unnoticed by Romantia's sleepy citizens. The kidnapper is free to pull the senseless body of his victim into the dark, windy shadows.
Chapter Three
Captured
The girl awakes in a cloudy, confused haze. Her head hurts terribly, her throat parched and swollen. Moaning, she opens her eyes. A flood of information overwhelms her druged senses. She winces and closes her eyes again, giving the throbbing in her head a chance to settle back into a pounding rhythm. After a moment, the girl slowly opens her eyes again.
An unseeable source spews a yellow glow across what appears to be a bedroom. She's prone across a ragged couch, not bound or gagged. To the right of her feet is the door. "Locked?" The girl slowly lifts her head. The drug she had been given has sapped her strength. Each movement she made is a focused, delibrate action. Her arms and legs feel like lead weights - eliminating the need for her to be bound. She lets her head sink back down, trying to concentrate on her breathing, her heart beat, seeking to calm them. A futile task. Just as her pulse begins to return to a normal pace, the door knob shakes, wiggles, and turns.
Her eyes rivet onto the door, and a man slips deftly through the crack, closing and locking the door behind him. She follows his approach with her eyes, not aware that she had stopped breathing. Terror glues her mouth shut. Her heart jumps into her throat, and the pounding in her head grows deafning. As he moved closer, recognition clicked in the depths of her mind.
The man kneels by her head, coming eye level with her. He speaks calmly, even friendly.
"Hello, sleepy. You were out for quite some time! I was beginning to worry I had given you a bit too much. But it turns out that you were just not taking care of yourself. Never fear, though. You won't have to worry about that anymore." His voice, rich and honey laced, confirmed the man's identity - the stranger from the bar.
It is still too dark, a part of her mind observes coldy, to distinguish the color of his eyes. They blend into his pupils, altering the feel of his eyes into dark, dark mirrors. Seeing herself reflected in them, the girl finds her voice.
"Is this some kind of sick joke? Who are you?" Despite her stomach clenching fear, the girl's voice remains steady
.
"No, silly girl. No joke. As to my name, heh, that's my own business. Giving you that would give you a power over me, and we don't want that, do we? You see, names are powerful things," He whispers, his hand reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear, "They give classification and identity to someone. Neither of which you can have for me. By the same hand, I can take this from you. Your name gives you a sense of self. An identity, a link to your past. By taking your name, I take those as well. Which is ideal, for you don't need a name anymore, my girl. You don't need a past, or an identity. You need know only one thing," he moves closer to her, whispering into her ear, "You. Are. Mine."
There is no mistaking the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes. He is serious, horrendously and brutally serious. He moves back to gauge her reaction, and her eyes follow him. The girl's throat works, swallowing hard.
"You're insane." She breathes. The stranger smiles slowly, and rolls his shoulders. Suddenly, he leaps at her, twisting her onto her back and wrapping his large hand around her slim neck. He leans his face down close to hers, the tips of their noses barely touching, as he throttles her. She struggles vainly, the paralyzing effects of the drug still slowing her movements. Finally, she gets her hands wrapped around his wrist. But his grip is vice-like and she was too weak, and the angle too awkward, to even begin to budge him. He applies a bit of extra pressure, and her struggles cease. The world swims around the edge of her vision. The girl concentrates on her breathing, wanting to block the terrifying man from her vision, trying to ignore the way he pressed into her thigh. They hung there, suspended in time, the only disruption the steadily weaking weeze of the girl.
"Insanity. How dare you insult me such!" He finally says, venomously spitting the words into her ear. His grip strengthens again, and she blacks out for a moment. His hand relaxes, he chuckles softly. "Perhaps I should be more forgiving. It's not your fault you're still confused from the drug, is it?" She shakes her head, defiance overcoming terror.
"I'm not-" Again, the man moves, sinking his teeth into her neck viciously. She cries out in shock and pain, trying to dislodge him. Her body bucks, ramming up into his. This motion eggs him on, and he bites again, his free hand running down her chest and squeezing hard. The motion clicks in the girl's mind. Her eyes flash open and roll to the side, locking onto his face. Anger and defiance run hot in her blood, giving her the strength to fight back. Whipping her head around, the girl knocks her assailant loose. She digs her nails into his back and sinks her teeth into his upper chest. He laughs, grabbing her hair and wrenching her head back. The man doesn't even seem to feel the nails drawing thing lines of blood. "Is that all you have, silly girl?" he taunts, tracing the exposed contour of her chin and neck. "Is that the best you can offer?"
She growls, and snaps her leg up, effectively kneeing him in the crotch. He groans, rolling to the side. Although he was still on top of her, his back was against the back of the couch, and it was simple for the girl to swing her legs onto the floor and make a dash for the door. Only the dash was more of a stumble, dumbed by the last traces of the drug's effects. As she reached the doorknob, he came at her again. Their bodes crash against the wooden door, his larger weight pinning her small frame. A knife presses against her throat. The intelligent girl freezes, determined not to provoke him while the smiling curve of the blade threatened to slice into her throat. "Don't be like the others. Don't be a foolish mistake. You are much too beautiful to die." The girl shudders, a quick though flashing through her fear fogged mind. "Others?"
"What do you want from me?" she whispers. In response, the man guides her back to the couch, pressing the knife against her as an extra motivation. He motions for her to sit facing the armrest. As she complies, he shoves her forward, forcing her to lean over the armrest. The girl is quickly pinned between the furniture and the man, who takes the opportunity to again lean against her. The knife never leaves her throat. Breathing heavily with fear, she shudders at the sound of his voice, and trembles uncontrollably at his words. "I want you to make me feel. I want you to be different from all the others, and make my body filled with the sensations lost so long ago. I want you, my girl, to please me and obey me until the end of your time."
"Why me?" She whispers. He grins and leans closer to her, breathing into her ear.
"I think you know the answer to that."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He laughs, and rather than answer, strips her of her clothing, forcing her to face him. His dark eyes rove over her flesh. She squirms self-conciously under his gaze, her initial feelings of terror again ebbing into outrage. The knife pricks a small droplet of her blood, which trickles down her throat.
The man kisses her neck, staining his lips with her blood. Loosening his own pants, he prepares to rape the helpless, pinned girl.
But she is stronger than she looks.
Less scared then she looks.
More determined than she looks.
Quicker than she looks.
Snaking her hand up, the girl wrests the knife away from her neck. The both lose their grip on it, and it clatters onto the wood floor. She knees him repeatedly in the stomach, trying to drive the wind out of him. Life before, she nails and bites at him. Unlike before, the man gets increasingly frustrated. "Quit fighting, you stupid girl! You're mine!" She spits in his face.
"I'd rather die than be your slave!" Wrenching his wrist free of her grip, he slaps the girl across the face, splitting open her lip.
"You'll regret those words," he promises. His hand finds her chin and jerks her head backwards. His teeth sink deep into the soft patch of skin. Her hands grip his hair, trying to pull him off. He ignores her, his teeth brusing her throat.
Inevitably, the stronger man wins. Forcing his way into her, the girl's struggles grow more desperate, less thought-through. He ignores them entirely, intent on the rape. After a while, she weakens, responding to his rough treatments with only a defiant stare. This seems to annoy him, though. He rolls her onto her side, smothering her face into the back of the couch. His body thrusts forward, pinning hers painfully. She forces enough room to turn her head, coughing for fresher air.
"You're a stubborn little <Censored For Good Reason> for not knowing if you're even going to live when I'm done," he snarls to her. She stares at him, and sneers. The man shoves his hand against her head, pressuring the awkward angle of her neck. "No, that's what you're hoping for, isn't it? A quick and easy release from me. That's what they all wanted. None were willing to even give me a chance...but you, heh, you. You won't find me killing you off so soon...No, my defiant beauty, you'll be here for quite a long...long time." He laughs again, wrapping his hands around her delicate hips and slamming into her. She cries out, defiant visage starting to crumble.
"You won't get away with this!" She groans. He grins, flashing a row of remarkably white, almost pointed teeth to the back of her head.
"I already have."
Chapter Four
Captivity
The days creep by slowly for the girl. Each morning, she would wake, and a cold breakfast would be carefully laid out on the floor. Her imprisoner would be gone all day. The doors and windows stayed locked. The girl would devour the meal, defiant mind incapable of overcoming her body's demands. Then, she would sit listlessly, staring out the window. Her view was limited - a winter-scarred tree and the blue sky. The landscape was otherwise barren - rolling, snow covered plains stretched as far as she could see. The bedroom offered nothing else. There was a bed behind the couch, under the window. The closet door was locked. The walls were bare, the floors cold. Nothing for her to use to pry the locks, or even to keep her entertained. The only door not locked was to the plain bathroom. She was trapped, hopelessly and entirely trapped.
When night settled, he would return. The fighting would begin fresh, as if it was a repeat of the first terrifying night. She'd fight him tooth and nail, trying to break free and run away, trying to deter him from his brutal, vicious rape. Eventually she would grow too exhausted to fight on, and he'd have his way. From spitting curses, she would laspe into silence, eventually cracking to show the pain and fear inflicted onto her. He learned and abused this pattern freely, reinstating her position to him as soon as she cracked. After a week, he could tell it was beginning to imprint on her. Later, when he was finished, he'd leave her bloody, broken body to fall into an fatigued slumber, and disappear from the room before dawn grew too near.
And then, one day, when he slipped into the room with his usual grace, she was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked up to her chin. Unusual, he noted. She was usually already fighting him, struggling to break past him and into the hall. He sits down next to her rigid form. "Where's my fiery girl today?" His voice, for once, lacks menace or sarcasm. Her eyes shift to him, seeming to only have just registered his presence. Tears - another first for the strong willed girl - brim her eyes and overflow onto her cheeks.
"This is all real, isn't it? I'm really going to spend the rest of my life dirty and bruised. I'm never going to breathe fresh air or take a walk in the summer woods again. Winter is almost over, your tree is budding. My family has to think I'm dead by now. My life is over." The last words are chocked out around a sob, and the girl buries her fact into her legs, sobbing uncontrollably.
The man watches her mental breakdown wordlessly. Once she gets the worst of it out, he scoops her into his arms. She closes her eyes, numb and uncaring what he would do to her. The man carries the girl, for the very first time, outside the ratty bedroom. He walks down the hallway, holding the girl with ease, and opens the door to a second bathroom. He gently, uncharacteristically, sets her down on the sink counter and turns on the shower. When the water temperature is just right, he turns to her. "Go ahead."
The girl slowly stands and strips, no longer self concious of her naked body in his presence. Her eyes never leave his as she passes by him, clearly expecting a foul trick. He smiles crookedly and takes her spot on the counter. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he comments to her. "Please, enjoy yourself." The girl bites her lip, clearly confused, but blocks him out.
No shower in her life ever felt so good. The hot water became a complete release for her. The tension from captivity, abuse, and stress is massaged from her back. She tilts her head back, letting the pressure of the water clean away the dried blood and dirt that had acculmated. For this moment, she was free again. Her eyes closed, losing herself in the water.
He watched her unknowningly. Truly beautiful, he thought, seeing like he never had before. Without fear or pain to cloud her face, he was able to fully apperciate the gentle curves and angles. He smiled softly, enjoying her enjoyment. He starts, seeming to catch himself.
But the damage is already done. Had been done since the moment he had first laid eyes on the girl. The cruel irony twisted in his heart, which refused to admit the truth. He was falling in love.
Chapter One
A Romantian Girl
The snow that blanketed the cold, frozen town was wet and heavy, the kind of snow that brought society to a grinding halt. It had been snowing for days, lighting the skyline with large snowflakes that clung perpetually to everything possible. It was beautiful, naturally. Beautiful, and deadly. Temperatures plummeted, freezing pipelines and waterways. Romantia had come to an unexpected standstill. The town's single plow truck had malfunctioned, locking the citizens hundreds of miles from the next civilization. Nobody seemed worried, though. This was normal for Romantian winters.
The tiny town sat in a small ditch between mountains. Isolated from the world even in summer, when the passes were clear, Romantia was self-sufficient. It had been for nearly three hundred years, when the first nomads found that the tiny valley had unusually rich, fertile soil, compared to the barren rocks of the bordering mountains. Mountain springs supplied a fresh supply of water, and didn't freeze over in the winter. The only downside to the valley was its sheer distance from the rest of the world. The nomads were stubborn folk, however, and the town remained loosely in contact with the neighboring cities. Three hundred years later, technology kept Romantia in tune with the world. Cell phones, Internet, electricity, and planes all contributed to the small town. But somehow, Romantia kept its own unique identity, and never seemed to be a part of the world.
It was of snow that the girl thought about that night, as she plowed her way through the heavy layer of the stuff. She was on her way home. Romantia had three bars that stayed open after midnight, and she worked at one of them. It was named Romantia Bar. No credit to the bar's owner for creativity. By the time the Bar's last patrons finally left, it was nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. This night, it was roughly 3:07 before the girl had been able to turn the lights off and lock up. As she plowed her way through the snow, she considered how ironic it was that all the might and power of mankind was so easily disabled by two days' bad weather. She was the only one on the street at this hour. The snow had finally abated, but with its departure, it had unleashed a howling wind. The wind sculpted the snow into drifts, forced windows to shudder in their panes and kept the rest of the citizens of Romantia huddled around their heaters and fires. All, but this girl.
Bundled in a heavy coat, tight blue jeans, gloves, and a scarf, her features were hard to distinguish. The coat was an evergreen color, padded with down feathers, with a fur-lined hood. Her gloves and scarf were white. Not nearly as white as the damnable, endless snow, she thought to herself, stopping a moment to readjust the scarf against the wind. Over sized black boots left a trail behind her. A sudden, deliberate gust of wind and snow knocked her hood down. Although she hastened to pull it back up, her face is revealed to the biting wind. Hers is a face of beauty. Round, softly curved, it is youthful and delicate. Large brown eyes scan the road ahead and blink snowflakes away. A small, well-proportioned nose was pink from the cold. Her lips, full lips, are chapped and cracking.
She paused for a moment to shake the snow from her red curls. The ringlets fall to her chest, giving the impression of a fiery waterfall. The girl is of average height, and slim build. She doesn't look imposing or deadly, just cold. Cold and vulnerable. The girl sighs, tucks the scarf around her tighter, and turns into a neighborhood alleyway. Here the wind is blocked by the ancient Romantian brick buildings, and the snow lays in an undisturbed sheet. "Almost home," she thinks, dreaming of her bed. Her cat, Sunny, would be keeping it warm for her. Soon enough, she pushes the door open to one of the small apartments. Her home was nothing spectacular, typical for Romantia. Second hand furniture, passed down through her family. The black television was ancient, and on its last legs. It was a one bedroom apartment, kept clean through her singular use. The girl's only companion, of course, was Sunny. And he didn't make much of a mess.
She throws her coat onto the couch and fusses over the cat, who patiently tolerates the treatment, all the while yowling for his dinner. As she sees to his needs, the girl yawns and shivers. The fire she had left burning had gone cold hours ago, and the living room and kitchen were both freezing.
"Randy still hasn't fixed our heater, has he, Sunny boy?" she comments to the cat, while throwing her efforts into rekindling the fire. She has a medium ranged voice, with a faint accent on her vowels that hint clearly at her Romantian heritage. It only takes a few minutes for the flames to grow, slowly eating away at the stack of firewood she had placed. Within a half hour, the entire apartment would be warmed by the fire. To pass the time, the girl opens her refrigerator, pulling out the milk and chocolate syrup. She settles down on the couch, wraps a blanket around herself, and sips her drink, watching the glowing flames and trying hard to not doze off. It's a futile task, and she soon nods off. But the girl doesn't sleep the night through. Every few hours, she would jolt awake and throw a new log onto the fire, keeping the house warm. Sunny curled up in her legs, purring the whole night. The wind outside continued to scream against the windows, driving to knock them loose, driving to get at the girl and cat inside.
Chapter Two
A Girl and a Bar
The next day dawned brightly, the sun shining so brightly, as if apologizing for its recent absence from Romantia. The girl slept through most of the sunny day, snuggling her head underneath the covers until her alarm went off. She groans, reluctant to move from her comfortable spot. She pulls her cell phone from her pocket and deactivates the nerve-grating beep. As per usual, she had fallen asleep and spent the night on the couch. The girl sighs, and forces herself to get up.
Thirty minutes later, she is showered, dressed, and finishing up her breakfast. It is about 7:30 at night. The sun had set two and a half hours ago, and Romantia was once again dark. She has work again, on this Saturday night. "Be good, Sunny. Don't get into the fish bowl again." The girl admonishes the cat, who ignores her completly in favor of cleaning himself. She kisses his furry head and departs from the apartment, locking the door behind her.
Thanks to the end of the blizzard, coupled with the weekend, the Bar is packed full. The girl serves her tables effortlessly, smoothly transitioning from one table to the next. The majority of the rush ends around midnight, when the sober-minded citizens, laughing and joking, made their way through the windy streets and back to their families. Those who stayed after midnight were the young, the drunks, and the hopeless.
"Waitress, another round, please." A newcomer to the bar says as the girl passes him by. She smiles at him and takes his empty glass. As she moves back to the kitchen, her tray loaded with empty glasses, she watches him. Tall and lanky, the man moved through the barroom with grace and fluidity. Each simple movement is a beautiful dance, and the girl can imagine the power in that grace. His dark complexion hints at an Italian heritage. Black hair mobs his head and teases into his eyes. His eyes were also dark, brown or black, she couldn't discern. The man's attire spoke of wealth. A simple white shirt sits like silk on his muscular frame. Blue jeans seem custom tailor to his slim waist. The stranger was attractive, which confused the girl. She knows almost everyone who lives in Romantia, and had never even heard of this stranger. It was none of her business, however, so she allowed the strange, attractive man to enjoy his own company.
The girl brings the drink back to him. He thanks her, and their eyes lock. For a split second, the girl feels weak, vulnerable, and afarid. She quickly breaks the gaze and smiles at him oddly. Bizarre, she thinks to herself. The girl wasn't easily shaken, and all he had done was look at her. She shrugs it off and focuses on closing the Bar down for the night.
As the last patrons are kicked out at 2:00 am. The girl leaves fifteen minutes later, exchanging some friendly words with her co-workers. Tired but smiling, she once again makes the cold, lonesome walk home. As she opens the door to her apartment, the girl groans. It is Saturday - trash night! "Just what I want to do after working all night." She grumbles to herself. Luckily, her single life only left one bag of trash per week. Tying the bag up, the Romantian girl swings the door shut behind her, and stomps through the snow towards the dumpster down the alley.
The night is silent, cold, and still. The snow leading to and from the dumpster is broken in the trails of her neighbors, taking out their waste hours before her. The slight breeze had filled most of these tracks in. The girl tosses the bag into the dumpster, and turns to leave.
She is unprepared, therefore, when the hands reach out from the shadowy corner of the dumpster, grabbing her around her neck. A rag, doused in some foul-smelling chemical, muffle her screams and quickly knock her out. So quickly, so effectively did this sudden kidnapping take place, it didn't even seem terrifying or dramatic. It is as though this happens every Saturday night by the snow-filled dumpsters of Romantia. But regardless of the brultality of the crime, it goes unnoticed by Romantia's sleepy citizens. The kidnapper is free to pull the senseless body of his victim into the dark, windy shadows.
Chapter Three
Captured
The girl awakes in a cloudy, confused haze. Her head hurts terribly, her throat parched and swollen. Moaning, she opens her eyes. A flood of information overwhelms her druged senses. She winces and closes her eyes again, giving the throbbing in her head a chance to settle back into a pounding rhythm. After a moment, the girl slowly opens her eyes again.
An unseeable source spews a yellow glow across what appears to be a bedroom. She's prone across a ragged couch, not bound or gagged. To the right of her feet is the door. "Locked?" The girl slowly lifts her head. The drug she had been given has sapped her strength. Each movement she made is a focused, delibrate action. Her arms and legs feel like lead weights - eliminating the need for her to be bound. She lets her head sink back down, trying to concentrate on her breathing, her heart beat, seeking to calm them. A futile task. Just as her pulse begins to return to a normal pace, the door knob shakes, wiggles, and turns.
Her eyes rivet onto the door, and a man slips deftly through the crack, closing and locking the door behind him. She follows his approach with her eyes, not aware that she had stopped breathing. Terror glues her mouth shut. Her heart jumps into her throat, and the pounding in her head grows deafning. As he moved closer, recognition clicked in the depths of her mind.
The man kneels by her head, coming eye level with her. He speaks calmly, even friendly.
"Hello, sleepy. You were out for quite some time! I was beginning to worry I had given you a bit too much. But it turns out that you were just not taking care of yourself. Never fear, though. You won't have to worry about that anymore." His voice, rich and honey laced, confirmed the man's identity - the stranger from the bar.
It is still too dark, a part of her mind observes coldy, to distinguish the color of his eyes. They blend into his pupils, altering the feel of his eyes into dark, dark mirrors. Seeing herself reflected in them, the girl finds her voice.
"Is this some kind of sick joke? Who are you?" Despite her stomach clenching fear, the girl's voice remains steady
.
"No, silly girl. No joke. As to my name, heh, that's my own business. Giving you that would give you a power over me, and we don't want that, do we? You see, names are powerful things," He whispers, his hand reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear, "They give classification and identity to someone. Neither of which you can have for me. By the same hand, I can take this from you. Your name gives you a sense of self. An identity, a link to your past. By taking your name, I take those as well. Which is ideal, for you don't need a name anymore, my girl. You don't need a past, or an identity. You need know only one thing," he moves closer to her, whispering into her ear, "You. Are. Mine."
There is no mistaking the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes. He is serious, horrendously and brutally serious. He moves back to gauge her reaction, and her eyes follow him. The girl's throat works, swallowing hard.
"You're insane." She breathes. The stranger smiles slowly, and rolls his shoulders. Suddenly, he leaps at her, twisting her onto her back and wrapping his large hand around her slim neck. He leans his face down close to hers, the tips of their noses barely touching, as he throttles her. She struggles vainly, the paralyzing effects of the drug still slowing her movements. Finally, she gets her hands wrapped around his wrist. But his grip is vice-like and she was too weak, and the angle too awkward, to even begin to budge him. He applies a bit of extra pressure, and her struggles cease. The world swims around the edge of her vision. The girl concentrates on her breathing, wanting to block the terrifying man from her vision, trying to ignore the way he pressed into her thigh. They hung there, suspended in time, the only disruption the steadily weaking weeze of the girl.
"Insanity. How dare you insult me such!" He finally says, venomously spitting the words into her ear. His grip strengthens again, and she blacks out for a moment. His hand relaxes, he chuckles softly. "Perhaps I should be more forgiving. It's not your fault you're still confused from the drug, is it?" She shakes her head, defiance overcoming terror.
"I'm not-" Again, the man moves, sinking his teeth into her neck viciously. She cries out in shock and pain, trying to dislodge him. Her body bucks, ramming up into his. This motion eggs him on, and he bites again, his free hand running down her chest and squeezing hard. The motion clicks in the girl's mind. Her eyes flash open and roll to the side, locking onto his face. Anger and defiance run hot in her blood, giving her the strength to fight back. Whipping her head around, the girl knocks her assailant loose. She digs her nails into his back and sinks her teeth into his upper chest. He laughs, grabbing her hair and wrenching her head back. The man doesn't even seem to feel the nails drawing thing lines of blood. "Is that all you have, silly girl?" he taunts, tracing the exposed contour of her chin and neck. "Is that the best you can offer?"
She growls, and snaps her leg up, effectively kneeing him in the crotch. He groans, rolling to the side. Although he was still on top of her, his back was against the back of the couch, and it was simple for the girl to swing her legs onto the floor and make a dash for the door. Only the dash was more of a stumble, dumbed by the last traces of the drug's effects. As she reached the doorknob, he came at her again. Their bodes crash against the wooden door, his larger weight pinning her small frame. A knife presses against her throat. The intelligent girl freezes, determined not to provoke him while the smiling curve of the blade threatened to slice into her throat. "Don't be like the others. Don't be a foolish mistake. You are much too beautiful to die." The girl shudders, a quick though flashing through her fear fogged mind. "Others?"
"What do you want from me?" she whispers. In response, the man guides her back to the couch, pressing the knife against her as an extra motivation. He motions for her to sit facing the armrest. As she complies, he shoves her forward, forcing her to lean over the armrest. The girl is quickly pinned between the furniture and the man, who takes the opportunity to again lean against her. The knife never leaves her throat. Breathing heavily with fear, she shudders at the sound of his voice, and trembles uncontrollably at his words. "I want you to make me feel. I want you to be different from all the others, and make my body filled with the sensations lost so long ago. I want you, my girl, to please me and obey me until the end of your time."
"Why me?" She whispers. He grins and leans closer to her, breathing into her ear.
"I think you know the answer to that."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He laughs, and rather than answer, strips her of her clothing, forcing her to face him. His dark eyes rove over her flesh. She squirms self-conciously under his gaze, her initial feelings of terror again ebbing into outrage. The knife pricks a small droplet of her blood, which trickles down her throat.
The man kisses her neck, staining his lips with her blood. Loosening his own pants, he prepares to rape the helpless, pinned girl.
But she is stronger than she looks.
Less scared then she looks.
More determined than she looks.
Quicker than she looks.
Snaking her hand up, the girl wrests the knife away from her neck. The both lose their grip on it, and it clatters onto the wood floor. She knees him repeatedly in the stomach, trying to drive the wind out of him. Life before, she nails and bites at him. Unlike before, the man gets increasingly frustrated. "Quit fighting, you stupid girl! You're mine!" She spits in his face.
"I'd rather die than be your slave!" Wrenching his wrist free of her grip, he slaps the girl across the face, splitting open her lip.
"You'll regret those words," he promises. His hand finds her chin and jerks her head backwards. His teeth sink deep into the soft patch of skin. Her hands grip his hair, trying to pull him off. He ignores her, his teeth brusing her throat.
Inevitably, the stronger man wins. Forcing his way into her, the girl's struggles grow more desperate, less thought-through. He ignores them entirely, intent on the rape. After a while, she weakens, responding to his rough treatments with only a defiant stare. This seems to annoy him, though. He rolls her onto her side, smothering her face into the back of the couch. His body thrusts forward, pinning hers painfully. She forces enough room to turn her head, coughing for fresher air.
"You're a stubborn little <Censored For Good Reason> for not knowing if you're even going to live when I'm done," he snarls to her. She stares at him, and sneers. The man shoves his hand against her head, pressuring the awkward angle of her neck. "No, that's what you're hoping for, isn't it? A quick and easy release from me. That's what they all wanted. None were willing to even give me a chance...but you, heh, you. You won't find me killing you off so soon...No, my defiant beauty, you'll be here for quite a long...long time." He laughs again, wrapping his hands around her delicate hips and slamming into her. She cries out, defiant visage starting to crumble.
"You won't get away with this!" She groans. He grins, flashing a row of remarkably white, almost pointed teeth to the back of her head.
"I already have."
Chapter Four
Captivity
The days creep by slowly for the girl. Each morning, she would wake, and a cold breakfast would be carefully laid out on the floor. Her imprisoner would be gone all day. The doors and windows stayed locked. The girl would devour the meal, defiant mind incapable of overcoming her body's demands. Then, she would sit listlessly, staring out the window. Her view was limited - a winter-scarred tree and the blue sky. The landscape was otherwise barren - rolling, snow covered plains stretched as far as she could see. The bedroom offered nothing else. There was a bed behind the couch, under the window. The closet door was locked. The walls were bare, the floors cold. Nothing for her to use to pry the locks, or even to keep her entertained. The only door not locked was to the plain bathroom. She was trapped, hopelessly and entirely trapped.
When night settled, he would return. The fighting would begin fresh, as if it was a repeat of the first terrifying night. She'd fight him tooth and nail, trying to break free and run away, trying to deter him from his brutal, vicious rape. Eventually she would grow too exhausted to fight on, and he'd have his way. From spitting curses, she would laspe into silence, eventually cracking to show the pain and fear inflicted onto her. He learned and abused this pattern freely, reinstating her position to him as soon as she cracked. After a week, he could tell it was beginning to imprint on her. Later, when he was finished, he'd leave her bloody, broken body to fall into an fatigued slumber, and disappear from the room before dawn grew too near.
And then, one day, when he slipped into the room with his usual grace, she was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked up to her chin. Unusual, he noted. She was usually already fighting him, struggling to break past him and into the hall. He sits down next to her rigid form. "Where's my fiery girl today?" His voice, for once, lacks menace or sarcasm. Her eyes shift to him, seeming to only have just registered his presence. Tears - another first for the strong willed girl - brim her eyes and overflow onto her cheeks.
"This is all real, isn't it? I'm really going to spend the rest of my life dirty and bruised. I'm never going to breathe fresh air or take a walk in the summer woods again. Winter is almost over, your tree is budding. My family has to think I'm dead by now. My life is over." The last words are chocked out around a sob, and the girl buries her fact into her legs, sobbing uncontrollably.
The man watches her mental breakdown wordlessly. Once she gets the worst of it out, he scoops her into his arms. She closes her eyes, numb and uncaring what he would do to her. The man carries the girl, for the very first time, outside the ratty bedroom. He walks down the hallway, holding the girl with ease, and opens the door to a second bathroom. He gently, uncharacteristically, sets her down on the sink counter and turns on the shower. When the water temperature is just right, he turns to her. "Go ahead."
The girl slowly stands and strips, no longer self concious of her naked body in his presence. Her eyes never leave his as she passes by him, clearly expecting a foul trick. He smiles crookedly and takes her spot on the counter. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he comments to her. "Please, enjoy yourself." The girl bites her lip, clearly confused, but blocks him out.
No shower in her life ever felt so good. The hot water became a complete release for her. The tension from captivity, abuse, and stress is massaged from her back. She tilts her head back, letting the pressure of the water clean away the dried blood and dirt that had acculmated. For this moment, she was free again. Her eyes closed, losing herself in the water.
He watched her unknowningly. Truly beautiful, he thought, seeing like he never had before. Without fear or pain to cloud her face, he was able to fully apperciate the gentle curves and angles. He smiled softly, enjoying her enjoyment. He starts, seeming to catch himself.
But the damage is already done. Had been done since the moment he had first laid eyes on the girl. The cruel irony twisted in his heart, which refused to admit the truth. He was falling in love.
