Luxury
Love is a luxury I can't afford,
Need and want take priority,
Everything else takes third and distant place.
I see blank and grey faces everyday,
Cold and drab in this misty world.
You're a bit of brightness in this dull hell.
The door slams in my face.
"Open the goddamned door!"
You ignore me.
Falling, falling,
How much I have fallen.
Running, running,
How much farther?
I don't know who I am anymore.
I only see a ghost in the mirror.
Sex and lust fills my veins,
Take me, ravage me, fuck me,
Use me all you want.
You take a part of me every time,
Give me back my innocence.
Fuck you.
Give me back my sanity,
Let me take you.
Desire, cravings, slake my thirst,
I need you, want all of you.
Love is a luxury,
That not even you can afford.
Part I: Puppet
Ichijouji Ken stared at the file, unable to believe his eyes. He blinked once, twice, but the photograph didn't change. Her hair was shorter, the glasses were missing, but it was her.
"I found her," he breathed. "I finally found her. Wait until everyone at home hears about this!" he crowed exultantly.
He glanced at the digital clock gleaming on his desk. It read, eleven thirty-eight pm. There would be enough time tomorrow, he decided. After all, he was in Tokyo and the other digidestined were in Odaiba. There'd be time enough. There always was.
Unable to contain his excitement, however, he picked up the phone and called back his house. After a few rings, his digimon picked up.
"Hello? Wormmon?" he asked.
"Hello Ken-chan. Why are you still at the office so late?" his partner asked, yawning sleepily.
"I found her."
Wormmon was instantly awake. "We finally found Miyako-san?" he asked joyously.
"She's here in Tokyo. She's using a false name. I have her address, phone number, office number…Wormmon, we found her!" Ken rejoiced. "The others will be so happy! I can't wait to tell them!"
Wormmon paused for a moment and Ken was immediately brought back to earth. When his partner grew quiet, Ken knew that he was mulling over something important.
"Are you sure you should tell the others?" Wormmon finally asked. "I mean, she might not want them to know."
"Why wouldn't she?" queried Ken, sounding incredulous.
"She probably had her reasons for running away, Ken. After all, after the incident…" and here Wormmon's voice trailed off.
"Wormmon, that was nearly nine years ago," Ken pointed out patiently.
"Nine years may sound like a long time but it's not. Besides, you know how she is. She's stubborn. She probably still hasn't come to terms with it," explained Wormmon in a calm voice.
Ken mulled over this information in silence for a few moments. "You're probably right," he finally said reluctantly. "But it's just that after years of searching, you don't really know what to think when you've finally found what you've been looking for."
"Just come back home, Ken-chan, and get some sleep," yawned Wormmon. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. I'll wait up for you," and without further ado, the insect digimon hung up the telephone.
Without skipping a beat, Ken grabbed his jacket and keys, locked his office and went home. There was always tomorrow, he told himself repeatedly.
I'll dance to your music,
Tuneless in its emotion.
I'm like a wooden puppet
Whose strings are controlled by your hands.
Your hands, slender and pale
Move carelessly in the air.
My feet prance
They dance
They flutter.
I can't stop them,
I hate what they do.
I hate you.
I need to run from you.
You're a monster,
You're a freak,
You make me want to scream,
You make me ill.
Excuses, excuses,
Leave me alone,
To die silently,
To die slowly.
Leave me in madness,
Leave me in sorrow,
Give me that luxury,
To cry alone.
Miyako woke up blearily, raising an arm instinctively to cover her eyes from the bright sun streaming into her room. The phone was ringing, and it sounded like it had been for a while.
"Who the bloody hell is calling so early in the morning?" she muttered to herself as she sat up and reached for the telephone. Picking up the receiver neatly, she cleared her throat experimentally before greeting her caller.
"Hello?" she said politely, aware of the annoyed undercurrent in her tone. There was no answer. "Hello?" she asked again. There was still no answer, and she slammed down the phone, thoroughly aggravated. "Damned telemarketers," she mumbled under her breath before heaving out of bed.
Taking a quick shower, she changed and styled her hair loosely. She checked her cell phone, just in case, but there were no missed calls. Putting the whole incident out of her mind, she left her apartment for work.
Pulling into the parking lot and parking the car with practice ease, Miyako headed straight for the elevator and her office on the thirty-sixth floor.
"Kimiko-san, do I have any messages?" she queried her secretary. Kimiko shook her head.
"No, Stewart-san."
"All right, thanks," Miyako said before sailing into her office with a lighter step.
But no calls came in, and on her lunch break, she left her office to grab a quick bite to eat from the cafeteria down below.
"So this is where you eat," someone said behind her after she had ordered.
Miyako jumped and spun on her heel. She felt herself turn pale at the sight of Ichijouji Ken, ex-Kaizer extraordinaire, and a fully beautiful specimen. "Excuse me, do I know you?" she managed to strangle out.
"It's nice to see you again too, Miyako-san. Or should I call you Keiko-san, since that seems to be the name that everyone knows you by?" answered Ken calmly.
"Fuck off," she said uncharitably, snatching her order. She walked away, but he followed her into the street.
"You can't just leave Miyako-san. I'll still find you; everyone at home misses you," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side.
"They can go screw themselves. I'm not going back," she snappishly replied.
"They don't know yet," admitted Ken.
"Good. Then don't tell them. Goodbye Ichijouji-san." It was nice getting slapped with the past, but that's all right, you never seemed to care anyways, she added mentally, getting ready to turn away from him again.
"Why so formal, Miyako-san?" queried Ken, ignoring the obvious dismissal. His grip on her arm tightened.
"I hardly think that it'd be appropriate for an adult to address someone that they had just met so informally." Just leave, she thought at him wearily. Leave and take my past with you.
"Come home, just once," pleaded Ken.
She gave him a hard look. "Look, I can't talk about it now. Why don't we have dinner at my place? I'm sure you have the address. If not, then look it up yourself." She smiled saucily. "I think you'll like what I have in store. I'll see you at eight tonight."
Ken knocked on the apartment door with a bottle of wine in his hand. He waited for a few minutes before knocking again.
Miyako opened the door. Ken's eyes nearly fell out. She was wearing an extremely low-cut dress, and it was very short.
"Hello Ichijouji-san," she greeted him calmly.
He gave her the bottle of wine. "Here. A present."
"Thank you."
Her apartment was huge. Tastefully decorated Ken immediately took in the layout. Typical really. Enormous, closed-off kitchen, which led to the dining area and a hallway that, he assumed, led to the private quarters. The sitting area was adjacent to the dining area, looking comfortable and spacious. The balcony was sandwiched in between the dining area and sitting area and provided a spectacular view. "You've a nice apartment," commented Ken.
"Thank you. Come sit down and eat dinner."
He looked at her uncertainly. She was definitely up to something, he thought to himself as she served him a sumptuous Italian meal. She had clearly taken the pains to set things up for him. There were lit candles on the table, and their places were already set. She'd told him to take a seat and served him dinner and drink, waving off his efforts to help her.
"No questions, no talking. Not until we're done eating. And I'll start the conversation," warned Miyako before she dug into her food.
She was different, thought Ken as he chewed, sipped and swallowed. Her hair, which she had previously worn long, was now around shoulder length, hanging neatly around her face. Her glasses were gone, and he wondered whether she had gotten laser-eye surgery, or if it was just contacts.
Finally, dinner was finished and dessert was pushed away. Miyako brought out a silver case, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Did you know that I used to love you?" began Miyako conversationally. She paused for a second, as if considering something and then took a puff from her cigarette. "I mean, really love, not one of those silly schoolgirl crushes."
"No, I didn't know that. I'm sorry," answered Ken, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Miyako shrugged nonchalantly. "It was a long time ago."
Ken hadn't changed much, she examined thoughtfully. His hair was blue as ever; it's locks glimmering faintly in the light. Since when was it fair for a man to have skin so translucent and fair? Who else had a mouth that luscious, utterly kissable in every respect? She decided that there was no other nose as perfect as his and it had to be a sin to have lashes that long and thick. Absently, she sucked on her cigarette again, enjoying the sensation as the smoke travelled down her throat. His eyes were confused, frightened. She exhaled.
"You know those things cause cancer," Ken said pointedly.
"Everyone dies sooner or later," she replied philosophically, taking another puff to prove her indifference.
She was wrong. Ken had changed. His body was no longer thin and lanky as she had remembered it. He was nicely muscled, toned to perfection and lean. That was it; he was lean. It was as if he didn't have a single ounce of flesh to spare for anything other than to add to his perfection.
"Miyako-san?" he finally queried, somewhat hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"What do you want?"
Miyako sucked on her cigarette again, throwing away another thirty seconds of her life nonchalantly. Exhaling, she leaned back into her chair to further examine him.
He had a nice posture, noted she objectively. He wasn't ill at ease, but neither was he slouching in the hard-backed kitchen chair. And he could dress. Damn, he had style. An Armani suit and tie, ironed and creased to perfection. His manners were impeccable. That was expected; this was Ichijouji Ken.
He arched a brow at her, and she inhaled once again, slowly blowing the smoke in his direction. He blinked a few times, but made no move to wave off the acrid stench. This said a lot about him.
"What do you want Miyako-san?" he asked again, beginning to feel irritated at the delay.
Miyako took one last puff before stubbing out the cigarette. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. Screw manners, she thought to herself. "Do you really want to know why I asked you up here Ken-kun?"
"Stop beating around the bush Miyako-san. If you don't want to tell me, then don't," he said, getting ready to push his chair back from the table. "But don't think tha—"
Miyako held up an authoritative hand and snapped, "Don't you dare move Ichijouji. I'm not done yet."
He stopped his movements to look at her, his cerulean eyes burning into hers, but not even the former Kaizer was a match for Inoue Miyako. He sank gracefully back into his seat.
"In all of my life, I have never known anyone quite like you," she began conversationally. She picked up her wine glass and sipped from it minutely. "In fact, you're the only Chosen Child that I've seen in years."
"I've been in and out of love a few times, had a few flings, and even got married once. But in each relationship, I always ended up comparing my partner to you. I don't know why; maybe I'd loved you then too."
"I'm…flattered," remarked Ken, unable to think of anything else to say.
"That question has haunted me for years. What was so special about Ichijouji Ken? Digimon Kaizer, and then loving partner of Wormmon, and now, the most fucked up asshole on this side of the hemisphere." She stood up then and moved to where he was sitting, pushing him back down onto his seat with a firm hand. "I thought that it might've been your appearance. Your hair, those thick long lashes, the gorgeous eyes, that perfect nose, kissable lips and impossible hands…they are undeniably beautiful." As she was explaining this, she was touching, caressing each part of his face with a feather-light touch. He sat still, struggling to maintain a calm expression. "Especially those hands; I used to imagine what they could do to me, sometimes with a lover, sometimes by myself." At this point, she stopped her explorations to run a teasing fingernail down the back of his neck, causing chills to travel down his spine.
Then, quite suddenly, she stopped moving. She just stood there and looked at him, her eyes growing dark with any number of emotions, the predominant being lust. Then without any warning, she moved behind him and pulled his chair back a few feet away from the table, ignoring the scuffmarks on the tiled floor.
She began to circle him, eyeing him as a vulture eyes its prey. "But it wasn't just that. And then I thought that it could've been your kind self, your loving and caring side that kept me attracted to you. But I've dated a lot of men and women that were kind and caring, and I've never been able to keep my attention on them."
"Miyako-san, what is it that you want?" Ken asked irritably.
Miyako glared at him. "Shut up and let me continue or else you're going to know what it feels like to have your dick twisted around your balls so hard that they'll fall off," she said fiercely. Ken subsided. She continued.
"And then I figured it out; it wasn't those hands or your impossible nature. It was you. You're a man in every sense of the word, I can tell. You'd be a great fuck, the best in every way possible. I know these things; I can tell."
She stopped her circling, standing squarely in front of him. Suddenly, she leaned over him, trapping him by placing her hands on the armrests and leaning her head against his. Her shoulder-length hair blocked out every trace of light. It encased them completely in darkness. "You asked me what I wanted," she whispered. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"I don't supposed I have a choice," he replied.
Leaning even closer, she whispered in his ear, "You. All of you." And then with every evidence of enjoyment, began to tease and lick the earlobe with a thoroughness that would've made any whore or prostitute beg the former Child to teach them her secrets.
"I've always wanted you, Ichijouji Ken. And now…I'm going to have you," she whispered into the same ear, blowing gently into it. He felt himself turn hot, then cold.
"Miyako-san, " he began, "I'm sorry bu—" he never got to finish his sentence because she kissed him.
Savagely, she penetrated his mouth and explored it thoroughly, enjoying the taste of wine and dinner all at the same time. Her hands were busy unzipping his fly and pulling out his shirt, and then sliding up under to examine the planes of his chest before moving to more interesting regions.
For a shocked moment or two, Ken didn't move. His sensible side took control for a brief second and he wrenched his mouth away from hers. "Miyako-san, I don't think that we should be—" she interrupted him again, pinning her mouth so savagely to his that he had no escape.
Finally, he could no longer fight her. He let his body control him and he realized that he was beginning to respond. Their mouths were locked frantically in a battle of tongues, his hand moved up her bare leg and under her dress, and found (not to his surprise) that she wasn't wearing underwear. She gasped, breaking contact with his mouth. This gave him the respite he needed.
"Miyako-san, I don't think we should be doing this."
She stepped back from him and gazed at him, her look disbelieving. Then, with an arch smile, she slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a bra.
He closed his eyes and turned away. "Ken-kun," purred Miyako, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he said, his voice sounding strangled. He felt her hand grasp his cheek and turn it towards her.
"Open your eyes, Ichijouji," she commanded.
Helpless to do otherwise, he obeyed. Her gaze captivated him. "Now kiss me," she ordered. "And don't fight it. Just…let go."
Feeling as if he was being led on, he did as she ordered. After all, he thought to himself when she started to pull down his trousers, he had no choice.
A few minutes later, he wasn't even able to think.
It was over too soon.
Miyako sighed, her head resting on his. His head was inclined gently on her breasts. She was straddling him, holding him prisoner. His shirt was unbuttoned, the tie still secure around his neck. His pants were a puddle on the floor, as was his underwear. They were both slicked with sweat, their hair plastered to their faces.
"You got what you wanted," he said finally. She shifted a bit and smiled lazily when she felt him rise in her.
"That's not enough Ken," she said, shifting her head so that she could look down at him. "I want all that you can give. I want all of you."
"I don't think I can give that to you," Ken quietly replied, meeting her eyes squarely. "You're asking for a lot."
Taking his chin firmly in her hand, she forced his eyes to meet his. "I'm not asking for love Ken. Love is a luxury that neither one of us can afford. I'm asking that you don't tell the others where I am. And in return, you get sex. Hot, dirty, and wild sex, and if that doesn't appeal to you then I don't know what does," she said firmly, shifting her hips again to prove her point.
"It doesn't," he stated flatly, his eyes boring into hers. She shook her head, denying his words.
"It does. I can see it in your eyes. How could it not? You're the most wild, primeval sexalicious man I've ever met or seen in my life; how could the offer of sex with no strings attached not tempt someone like you?" and to prove her point, she disengaged herself entirely, standing to face him.
"Tell me that you don't want this," she said, gesturing to herself.
Miyako may not be beautiful, but she had a gorgeous body, Ken had to admit. Curvy in just the right places, she was ripe for the picking, and offering herself to him. He'd be a fool to take her on, and an idiot to refuse her.
"I don't know," he finally admitted.
Miyako arched a brow in his direction. "There's no rush Ken-kun. Take all the time you want." She smiled lazily before leaning over to whisper in his ear, "but not too much time," and delicately licked the lobe. He shuddered.
"It's a win-win situation," persuaded Miyako.
"I can't. Nine years is not a short time. It's wrong, Miyako-san."
"No it's not. We're not allowing our emotions to get in the way, and we know exactly what we are getting ourselves into. We're not rushing into this blind. How can that make this wrong?" she asked him.
Ken shook his head. "I don't know."
"No strings attached, Ichijouji. Once you turn me down, I'm gone forever," warned Miyako. "And I'm not just talking about the sex."
That decided Ken. "Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.
Miyako nodded. "I'm sure. So…do you want me or not?"
Ken stood up and kicked off his pants, shrugged out of his shirt and was just about to remove his tie when she stopped him. "Don't," she told him. "It'll make things interesting," and then she seized his head to bring it down to hers, already hungry and savage.
Miyako was right; the tie did make things interesting.
Ken opened his eyes and stretched, wincing as his new bruises and scratches made them known to him. He was covered by a quilt and lying on the carpeted floor, a cushion pillow tucked securely underneath his head. His memory flooded back to him and he chuckled softly. Stretching his hand lazily, he reached for Miyako and encountered air.
Shifting so he faced the other way, he saw her standing outside on her balcony, thoroughly naked. She was smoking a cigarette already, and the sun was just beginning to rise. Rising himself, he gathered the quilt around him and quietly made his way to the balcony, closing the glass door quietly behind him. She glanced at him briefly when he stepped onto the space with her, and then returned her attention back to the sunrise. Her eyes were slightly obscured by the glasses that now adorned her face and smoke rose lazily from the cigarette in her hand. He noted clinically that she had circles under her eyes.
"Cigarette?" she asked, pointing to a pack and lighter on the ledge.
Shaking his head in a negative, he asked, "Aren't you cold?"
She gave him an amused look through her glasses. "Not particularly…unless you want to warm me up."
"You are the most sex-crazed nymphomaniac I've ever met," he remarked.
"And you don't like it?" she queried, her face taking on a hurt expression as she puffed away on her cigarette.
"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" he replied. He snorted ironically. "You know, it's strange; of all the Chosen—"
"Don't say it," she snapped suddenly, turning around fully to face him. "Don't you dare say it."
It was her eyes, he decided suddenly, that made her seem so different. Not the absence of her long hair, but the lost look in her eyes, as if she was still floundering, searching desperately for something. She couldn't hide that from him, not even behind those frames. "Say what?" he asked coldly, holding the quilt securely around him with one hand.
"I've put that part of my life behind me. You should too," she said finally, after a moment's silence.
"I can't. It's a part of me as much as it is a part of you. I'm the Child of Kindness and you're still the Child of Love and Purity, whether you like it or not."
"Shut up," she said. "Just shut up Ken."
"Why should I? You didn't hesitate to bring it up yesterday," he pointed out logically.
She sighed, defeated. "That was yesterday, and now it's today. Don't bring up the past, Ichijouji. It won't do any good."
Adhering to her wishes, Ken backed down gracefully, and she turned back to watch the sunrise. "We were wrong," she said suddenly, watching as the sun's golden fingers engulfed the city below her. "We had thought that our dreams made us who we are, but it's not our dreams, it's our actions that make and break us. We used to think that there was a 'happily ever after' for everyone who went for their dream, but in reality, there's no such thing.
"We were the unlucky ones. The Chosen I mean. We had so much responsibility placed on our shoulders, and as a way of coping, we delved further into our dreams, not realizing that the Digital World itself was our downfall. The Digital World encouraged us, influenced us into believing that there was a happily ever after for everyone.
"It's all fine and dandy for Hikari, Takeru, Daisuke and Iori; Daisuke especially. That boy never had anything go wrong, and had everything go right. I used to hate him for that; how is it that this boy could have it all? He still has his digimon; he was well on his way to his dream. It was because of him that I'd kept clinging onto this idea that dreams are people because he embodies his dream. He had a happily, ever after, and I didn't.
"And then I figured it out; we're only playthings to the Fates or the stars or whoever the hell is up there. And whoever He or She is, they're laughing at us, mocking us, taunting us by waving our hopes in our face and grasping them out of our hands." Miyako paused to take a puff from her cigarette again. The sun was hanging fully in the sky, casting brilliant beams on Tokyo. "Life's a bitch," she sighed, "and we're all living it."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're the most cynical nymphomaniac to ever walk on this planet?" queried Ken after a moment's silence.
She chuckled weakly. "What's with you and that word?" she asked, throwing away the last remains of her cigarette.
"It suits you," he replied.
Before he knew what was happening, she had him backed up to the glass door, her eyes intent and a lazy smile stretched across her face. "Really now? In what way?" she purred, busily working on prying his fingers from the quilt. He winced from her cold fingers.
"You're freezing," he said, and before she knew what was happening, enfolded her into the warmth of the quilt, letting her chilled body catch the warmth that emanated from him. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get it wrapped fully around her.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting contentedly on his chest. They were both completely naked. Neither of them minded. "You know, I've a better way to warm up," she said, a hand beginning to travel below his waist.
"I have to go home, change and get to work," he warned her, gritting his teeth against the sensations she caused.
"Don't worry, I'll be quick," she promised. Her other hand reached up to bring his head down so she could whisper, "Ever done it on a balcony?" His grip on the quilt loosened, ever so slightly.
"When did you take off your contacts?" he asked, aware of the slight rise in his voice.
She smiled lazily against his chest. Her glasses were pressed into his flesh, sending curious tingles down his spine. Her nails brushed against the crevice in his buttocks slightly. "Why do you want to know?"
He shut his eyes. His breath started to come faster. "Just curious," answered he. Silence. "And I have," he added.
"Have what?" she asked.
"I have done it on a balcony before."
"Ah," she murmured, her right hand working busily in the quilt. "There's always second and third helpings Ken-kun," she told him, her left hand firmly placed at the nape of his neck.
He let the quilt drop. "I suppose there is," he answered.
Ken left after promising to pick her up for dinner. "I've some files at the office to look at," he said while dressing.
"Come pick me up after work then," said Miyako, who was now wrapped in the quilt. "We'll go out for dinner." Ken pulled on his pants and socks.
Ken flushed. "Thank you for dinner. It was delicious," he said, belatedly remembering his manners as he shoved his feet hastily into his shoes.
"Anytime you want," answered Miyako, deliberately using the tip of her tongue to trace her lips. "You were delicious too."
If possible, Ken turned even redder. "I'll pick you up at around seven tonight," he replied, unlocking the door. A hand pushed down the door. He blinked.
"Be on time," breathed Miyako. Her other hand was situated at a very delicate position. "Or else," and she gave him a good squeeze. Suddenly, she released him, and stared at him with unblinking eyes. "Get to work now; don't want you to be late."
He let out an explosive breath. "I guess I should. See you tonight Miyako-san."
She winked at him. "And tomorrow," she added.
He left, closing the door behind him hastily. Chuckling under her breath, Miyako loosened a hand to lock it. "That was interesting," she said aloud.
She took a quick shower, wrapped herself in her favourite robe and when she came out, she checked the clock quickly. "Damn," she muttered under her breath. Picking up her cell phone, she dialled a number quickly, and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Hello? Kimiko-san? It's Keiko. I won't be coming in today. Headache…uh huh…tell the boss that I'll have everything done by tomorrow. Yeah…don't worry. All right…thanks." She ended the call and headed straight for the master bedroom.
She didn't even take time to look around her, only fell onto the bed and hoped for a temporary respite. She hadn't slept all night. She never slept when she had someone over. It just wasn't in her capacity to do so. Only with one person had she ever slept and—breaking off the chain of thought, she rearranged herself in the bed, shedding her robe and pulling the covers over her. She closed her eyes and waited patiently, knowing with her innate knowledge that sleep wasn't far off.
They were in a car, watching the stars blossom lightly over their heads. From the chest up, they were visible, but their hands and legs melted in the darkness. He turned to her, intent.
"I love you."
She stared at him for a few moments, shocked beyond belief. "I-I-I don't know what to say," she finally stuttered.
"Say that you love me too," implored he, his fingers resting upon her invisible knee ever so casually. His fingers felt cold and cruel..
"I-I-I-oh dammit, I don't know."
"Say it. Please. I know you feel the same."
"What makes you say that?" she queried angrily, her eyes starting to flash.
He leaned in close to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. "Because you want me. I can see it in your eyes, the way you act, the way you move. You're begging for me…you know you want me, and if that's not love, then what is it?"
She pushed him away. "You're scaring me. I want to go home."
"Say it," he commanded, his tone demanding.
She felt her ire rise higher. "I don't love you. You're a great guy, but I think it's time that we ended things."
He was silent for a few moments. "You don't mean that, do you?"
She gazed at him steadily. "Yes I do," answered she strongly.
"Take that back, bitch," he hissed suddenly, leaning in closer to her.
She backed away as far as possible, her fingers scrambling for the door handle. "No, I won't."
He held up his hands, his eyes black with murderous intent. She very nearly screamed at the sight of them; they weren't hands, they were scissors. "Say that again, why don't you?" he ordered pleasantly.
"If you think that you can frighten me into declaring my undying love for you, you have another thing coming," she said with as much courage as she could muster. The door opened and she would've leapt out had one of the hand-scissors blades slash cruelly at her throat.
"Close the door bitch."
Frightened, she did as he ordered. With a malicious smile, he drew her legs out so that she was lying fully on the seats and he began to snip away at her clothing. "Now, where were we?"
"I don't love you."
"Say that again, why don't you?"
"I hate you," she cried, kicking him as hard as she could, but to no effect. He was as hard as steel it seemed. It was like kicking futilely against a brick wall.
"Try again. I'm giving you one more chance," he said, now fully lying on top of her.
"I don't love you."
He glanced at her pityingly before the cruel gleam came back. "Wrong."
She screamed.