Help, I'm Alive

I tremble

They're going to eat me alive

If I stumble

They're going to eat me alive

Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?

"No, Vi, you don't understand." He says quickly, pacing the cramped attic, and scratching at his head with the blunt side of the machete-like blade he used to threaten me up here. I couldn't die again; but I could sure as hell hurt.

"If I just let you go, you won't ever forgive me; you won't ever just stop and listen to me, because you're stubborn." He kneels down to my bound body, strapped to a psych ward-esque mattress placed on the floor. Cuffs attached to the bed secure my ankles and wrists, allowing some movement, but forcing me to lie on the mattress. Where does he get this stuff anyway?

"You've gotta understand, Violet, I have to make you see." He says, his black eyes glittering with tears, even as they harden.

"Do you even hear yourself? You're crazy, there's nothing to understand because you don't make sense!" I exclaim, trying hard not to raise my voice too much. I'd tried screaming when he first strapped me down, and I think he actually broke my windpipe for a moment before it stitched itself back together.

My words bring the tears he was holding back streaming down his face, and for a moment I feel like a horrible person. Then I remember I'm strapped to a bed.

"NO. You don't mean that, I know you don't, you love me!" He sobs. I don't say anything because it's true, at least on some level, I still loved him. He wipes his face with his too-long sleeve and stands up to pace.

He stretches and runs his hand through his blond grunge locks, trying to calm down it looks like. He stares at the blade in his right hand for a moment and he sighs, turns around, and walks toward me.

When he reaches my side he perches himself on his feet, bending at the knees. "Violet," He murmurs, and his voice is eerily calm. His hand pushes strands of hair away from my forehead, ghosting my skin. "I need you to stay very still, okay? If you move you could get hurt." The glint of the blade flashes out of the corner of my eyes.

I tremble, and bite my tongue hard to fight the urge to scream.

Tate leans his body over the mattress, placing a hand on either side of my head. His face burrows into my neck and I feel his lips brush against my skin before he places a soft kiss there. Shivers roll down my body and I feel him smile against my neck before he pulls away.

"Tell me, Vi," he says, staring at my arm. "What is this?" He slides his fingers down my skin, tracing the Goosebumps there. Is he serious?

"T-Tate, I'm fucking terrified." I grit out, and he stares me dead in the eyes. "Maybe." He shrugs, and replaces his fingers with the sharp edge of the blade, tracing the pattern he made. My breath hitches in my throat. He drops his head to my right ear. "But. I think, it's also something else… I think I excite you."

He pulls back to study my reaction. His eyes are like obsidian, hard and lifeless. My heart is beating like a hammer and I squeeze my eyes shut. His eyes… I don't expect it when his lips collide with mine, pressing hungrily, fighting for a reaction. It was strange, like kissing a ghost of a memory. My mind pulled me back into the night on the beach, back when I had no idea of the horrors he committed, I just cared that he was dark, darker than I ever could be. All I wanted was for him to touch me, to never stop, and even to take my virginity. All I wanted was him.

But that's not now, and as I snap back into reality I'm not sure if my momentary trip to Lala Land resulted in me kissing him back. But by his inflamed passion, I could assume I had. My eyes fly open and I start shaking my head, breaking the kiss and hiss "Get OFF of me!"

Tate does completely the opposite, and instead heaves himself up, swinging his right leg over my body, now straddling me. He grabs my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. They're orbs of oil, slick and poisonous. I freeze.

"Good, that's my sweet girl." He purrs. He leans in and nips me on the ear, and I choke out a partial groan before I can stop it. "Just stop fighting it, Vi. Please..."

My head spins as he takes my earlobe into his mouth and sucks gently, and then bites down hard, eliciting a gasp from me. He trails kisses down my throat and his hand grasps the hem of my long heather grey dress. He brushes my cardigan down off my shoulder and teases the skin there with his teeth. His left hand is gripping my leg just above my knee, and his other hand is gripping the knife, trailing it up and down my right arm, absentmindedly.

His left hand roams my body until it comes to my breasts. He grabs one through my dress for a moment before he impatiently shoves the cups upward, exposing my breasts. His mouth crashes back to mine, and he guides my mouth open with his, letting his tongue inside. He pinches a nipple roughly, causing me to moan loudly into his mouth.

It feels as if my body is on fire, and it's difficult to think straight. Our mouths feel like one, and I can't help the little moans that escape when he presses his jeaned cock into my body or bites my bottom lip so hard he draws blood.

He breaks away to pull his shirt over his head, and I whine at the absence. His body is more built than he looks in his clothes; it takes me by surprise, just like the first time. My blood is on his lips, making them a vibrant red; he looks happy, and despite all he's put me through, it warms my heart. He grins down at the expression on my face, and the way he shifts the hand holding the blade reminds me that I'm supposed to be scared. Panic remembered, I try hard to buck him off, struggling against my bonds.

"Easy, Violet." He says softly, swiftly bringing the blade up to rest at my throat. I continue for a second too long, and it nicks my throat. The stinging pain causes me to cry out, and I'm shaking as Tate dips his head down to drag his tongue across my wound. I practically convulse it feels wrong, so intimate, so good.

"Mmm…" He hums, pulling back up to gaze at me. He licks his lips deliberately and I swallow the instantaneous lump in my throat and try to squeeze my legs together subconsciously. I can hear that I'm panting and my face burns in shame.

"You weren't supposed to move." He says, pointing the tip of the knife in my direction. My heart twitches painfully in fear. He smiles suddenly, and it's too inspired to be reassuring.

He positions the knife carefully at the middle of my chest, just below the collarbone, and at first, I fear he's going to 'kill' me for my indiscretion only to have me come back minutes later. But he lowers the knife to my skin and presses hard, dragging it all the way down to the deepest part of my cleavage. The pain causes fireworks to explode behind my eyes, and I start to scream but he clamps his other hand over my mouth.

He lowers his head to kiss up the bloody line, smearing it over my torso. It must not have been as deep as it felt, because when he tongues this wound, it feels mostly gone already, and his mouth just leaves a dull ache of pain and pleasure in its wake.

What is wrong with me?

His mouth returns to mine, and the taste of my own blood is not repulsive, as it should be, but erotic. His hands push my dress up and he claws at my backside as he grinds into me again. His mouth moves down to my breasts, and he licks around a nipple before taking it into the warmth of his mouth and biting down gently with his teeth. Then he moves to the other one.

Fuck it, I've lost my mind.

When his mouth comes back to mine I kiss back with all I've got, considering my situation. He seems to notice immediately, and for the first time since this all started, Tate moans, loud and rumbling in his chest.

We kiss violently for what feels like a long while before he backs off and uses the knife to cut the binds holding my wrists. We grasp at each other wildly and I hear the knife clatter to the floor. My legs move of their own volition to wrap around his waist, but naturally, they can't. "The other one too, Tate." I say, breathing heavily, and he looks wary for a moment before he kisses me so hard on the mouth it hurts, pressing his body into mine. He then leans over and grabs the knife, quickly cutting the remaining bindings before discarding it and moving back to me.

He drags my panties down my legs slowly and then tosses them across the room. His lips are on mine when he slips two fingers into me, pumping them in and out slowly as I make strangled groaning sounds. I feel his thumb move around to rub my nub, and I grunt, making my ears burn with embarrassment. His mouth shifts temporarily to your ear to whisper, "Violet, you're soaked."

I whimper as he continues the thrusting of his fingers, and delicate stroke of his thumb. He picks up the pace and I can feel my pleasure building, but suddenly his hand is gone completely. "Tate—" I start, unreasonably pissed with his stopping. He merely chuckles and pulls my dress, cardigan, and bra over my head in one foul swoop and returns his hands for another minute.

Then he pauses to take off his jeans and boxers. I sit up on my elbows to look. I'm fascinated by the large smear of blood on his chest, now dried. His dick looks larger than I remember, and it's pink and strained looking. He holds it in his hand and rubs it roughly against my opening. He moans and I squirm. He does it several more times before I blurt out, "Tate, please."

"Please what?" He replies cheerily, repeating the motion.

Dick.

"Fuck me, Tate, please!" I plead.

He thrusts into me swiftly, and we both cry out. He leans over me for a moment, his hair tickling my face. He kisses me softly on the mouth, whispers that he loves me, and then he begins thrusting, in, and out, building up his pace.

It's rapidly built up to a violent rhythm, and he's gripping me so hard I know I'll have bruises—at least for a minute.

I lose all conscious thought and simply thrust up to meet him, fucking out all the pain of my past, our past, and we're a tangle of limbs, moans, and quickly healing nail-dug bloody scratches.

Impossibly, he speeds up and starts fingering my nub again. I writhe and moan, pushing against his hand and cock. The tidal wave of pleasure formed deep within my body to a crest, and I hover there a moment, feeling like I'm floating.

God, fuck me I'm alive.

Unexpectedly, he twists my nub with his thumb and forefinger and everything crashes, again and again. I cry out, and hear him follow soon after, still pumping slowly for a second.

We just lie there for a moment, panting, his head resting against mine, damp from sweat. Tate groans and pulls out of me, moving to lie at my side. He pulls one arm behind his head and a lazy grin spreads across his face. Tate Langdon, buck ass naked, not a care in the world.

He pulls me close and I let him—because really, what is that compared to all the wrong that just happened?

It takes a while, but I'm the first one to talk—

"Tate?" I mumble.

"Hmm?"

"This can't happen again."

"Sure Violet, whatever you want…"

AN: This is a oneshot for now, though I could be convinced otherwise, as this was riveting to write.

Edit: Lol, jk, I caved, next chapter is going up.