Looking back I realize it was rape, more than anything.
Sure, I had deluded myself into thinking I had wanted it; maybe not asked for it all the time, but wanted it all the same. My epiphany doesn't come with shame over the act, or anger towards the man; I know it's done and over with and no emotion now could stop it from having happened then.
I used to pass off his roughness and always being taken from behind as being a part of his nature; he was an animal in battle, it only made sense that he'd be the same in bed. Memories rose of the sex we had, where only half the time I'd be able to get off without the help of my own hand. Not once did Victor ask me if I'd enjoyed it, or offered to do anything more.
I knew what I was getting into it, and it's not like I never had a choice in our arrangement. I could have told him 'no' to begin with and never had him so much as look at me for longer than a few seconds. But I agreed, thinking, I suppose, that I would be able to make him feel more than just a want to kill. I was a real woman about it, actually, subconsciously believing that with patience and offerings of willing sex I'd be able to tame him. Victor isn't the kind to allowing himself to be tamed by anyone, not even broken.
It was the only time we really interacted with each other -- during sex --, which I admit, was all for the better as I know that if we spent any more time together than what we already had, I would have had more wounds than war gave me. Our separation was aided by our differences, he was a weapon and I was a tool; similar enough to share shed space, but not nearly on the same level.
As it was, though, the bruises and welts I had suffered from our sporadic coitus were enough to turn a few of our teammates' heads. Thankfully the worst were hidden under my clothes, but in the shower I got to see my body as it was - a painting made by the hand of a nutter. Blue-black covered my hips; creeping into yellow-green across my lower stomach; and dark red speckled my sides, shoulders, and nape. After sex, the water ran red and angry.
But none of that mattered now, I told myself. I might have changed because of it, but I was happy with who I have become despite it, so it doesn't matter. I really don't care anymore.
AN: I just got a very "past abusive relationship" vibe when Victor showed up at Bradley's place. Nothing more to say, really. P: