Warning: This story contains swearing, violence, and mature adult themes. Read at your own discretion.
This isn't my first fanfiction, but it's definitely the darkest story I've written so far. Please review! They're helpful, and it's more motivation for me just to know that people actually care. If I get reviews, I'll add another chapter to wrap up the story.
Sincerely, The Ginger.
.~.~.~.
Haruhi had little in life to complain about.
True, her mother had long since passed on, but despite her initial grief, Haruhi had come to accept such circumstances. More than anything, the girl was thankful to have had so great a mother to begin with, for there are many who haven't been granted with such a blessing. Haruhi continued to miss her mother daily but was no longer lost in the infinite despair that she had experienced when the event was more recent.
The rest of her life was going just as well as Haruhi could wish. She was attending Ouran High School on an academic scholarship and was successfully maintaining high grades in all her classes. She had joined a group called the Host Club, and though the members' quirks far outweighed their normalities, she found that she rather enjoyed the people there.
Certainly, Haruhi's life was going well enough that she wouldn't have wanted anything to change about it, not yet anyway. Haruhi could have contentedly continued with her current lifestyle without a care in the world.
But fate does not hold our personal desires in high regard when determining where next to assail.
Haruhi would soon become the most recent victim of fate.
The date was the fourteenth, the fourteenth of April.
The Host Club's theme was medieval.
Tamaki wore elaborate robes that indicated a form of royal upbringing. Though he wore a crown upon his head, it wasn't clear exactly what role he was playing. King? Prince? Tamaki chose not to specify, claiming that the "mystery was what defined his character."
Mori and Honey were both knights, complete with armor and an antique sword, and the twins were dressed as jesters. Kyoya's role was more skewed; he wore a stately outfit that implied a level of prominence, but a level of interpretation was required to determine his exact role.
So what was Haruhi left with?
Looking back, she should have seen it coming. It was obvious really. Haruhi supposed she had simply underestimated the sheer absurdity that erupted from Tamaki's mouth.
Haruhi had been granted the utterly underwhelming role of peasant.
"Haruhi!" The girl distinctly remembered the moment when Tamaki had told her of the development. "Daddy's got the perfect role for you to play on medieval day!"
"What is it?" Haruhi had asked.
"You'll be our peasant!"
Haruhi sighed. These fucking rich people.
Tamaki noted her less than impressed expression and asked anxiously, "Or do you prefer pauper? We could make that work as well…" Tamaki had trailed off, murmuring about the costume changes he would have to make to accommodate the transfer of peasant to pauper.
"Tamaki-senpai..." Haruhi began, letting her cynical side deal with the older student, "Peasants and paupers are the same exact thing."
The revelation lit up his face. "Haruhi is so smart! Daddy's proud of you!" Tamaki pulled his arms around the younger girl in a suffocating embrace.
"Senpai, I can't breathe…"
And that was how Haruhi had ended up wearing rags in shades of gray and dark makeup to give her that "impoverished look." The twins had even concentrated dark blush in one spot on her cheek to suggest the existence of a bruise.
How poor do these idiots think I am? Haruhi wondered to herself, still a little miffed at being automatically cast into the role of the pauper. Or maybe peasant. Or was it serf?
Dammit, know I'm thinking like Tamaki. The thought was a worrying one that caused Haruhi to instantly change the subject of her thinking.
The girl-in-disguise turned her focus back to the guests.
"Haruhi, are you doing anything over the weekend?" inquired a shy redhead, with a slight blush upon her cheeks.
Haruhi had long since noticed that her clients were often more … normal than the rest of the guests of the club. They asked simple questions, made polite talk, and when it came time for the customary "Kyaah!" to be uttered, they were generally more refrained than the rest, making sure to never be the loudest of the group. Haruhi supposed that their more refrained personalities were why they were her regulars. Haruhi had neither Tamaki's eccentricity nor Mori's stoic disposition; she was known for simplicity, for relatability, hence she attracted the more "normal" of the customers.
The redhead's soft eyes gazed upon the host, awaiting a response. It was only then that Haruhi remembered that a question had been asked.
"Well, I have an important chemistry test coming up, so I'm mostly just going to study." Haruhi presented the girl with her best smile who blushed profusely, the hue of her feverish cheeks nearing that of her scarlet hair.
"Is that so…" The girl, despite her blush, seemed a little put out, as if she had been hoping for a different response.
"You're so studious, Haruhi! But you're so smart, I bet you'll pass that test no matter what." A brunette joined the conversation with an optimist grin in Haruhi's general direction.
Haruhi's hours working at the Host Club passed quickly. In one moment, she was discussing trivial bits of her life with a certain brunette and redhead, and the next, the final girl was reluctantly leaving the room, casting backward glances at the hosts as she did so.
The day was over, as quick as it began.
Haruhi found herself walking back home (hadn't she just came to school a few moments ago?). The streets were dark but for the scattered streetlamp bringing color to the otherwise monochromatic world. The girl could hear her feet against the pavement and nothing else, just the one sound repeating itself with persistence.
Clop…clop…clop…
The steady beat was enticing. Haruhi unconsciously timed her breathing, blinking even, to the constant articulation of her footsteps.
Clop…clop…
It was the one sound she could hear.
Clop…
Snap.
What?
It was distant, but there for sure, Haruhi was certain. There was another sound mingled in with the rhythm of her feet. Feeling exposed, Haruhi walked more quickly, aiming her path at a distant streetlamp. Proper capabilities of vision, Haruhi reasoned, would be beneficial if she truly was hearing something.
Snap.
Shit. It was louder this time. Feeling adrenaline testing the upper limits of her pulse, Haruhi quickened her pace. The "clop" of her shoes became sharper, more defined, as each foot rested only a bare moment on the ground before continuing on to another stride.
Haruhi was nearly jogging, hoping to reach that spot of lamplight up ahead, when she saw the man.
Snap.
He had a knife, one with a handle designed so that it could open and close. The man flicked the knife closed again with an ominous "snap." The hair of Haruhi's arms bristled against her jacket in a desperate attempt to stand on end, resulting in a nervous tingling down both her arms.
The man was standing in an alleyway far to Haruhi's left. His back leaned casually against the wall as if he had nothing better to be doing than lounging in dark alleyways in the middle of the night. His left hand held the knife, opening and closing the menacing object with a habitual flick of his wrist.
Snap.
With a quick movement, the knife opened. Haruhi walked faster.
Snap.
The knife closed.
Haruhi had no thought in her head but to leave. She was running now, running for the lamplight in the distance. If she could just make it that far…
He hadn't noticed her. Had he? God, she hoped not.
The lamp was so far away. Too far? No, dammit, Haruhi thought with decision, I'm gonna make it. I have to make it.
Snap.
The sound was right behind her.
Right behind her.
"Think you're gonna be able to get away?" murmured a low voice behind her, layered with pleasure at having found prey. "Think again, bitch."
An arm grabbed Haruhi roughly from behind, her thoughts falling into dismay. She was turned roughly to face the man, young with a distinct alcoholic odor about him, and her eyes instantly noticed the glint of steel in his left hand. The blade of the knife was poised at her, though the man didn't appear to want to use it anytime soon.
No, he had another weapon in mind.
He pushed the girl into one of the backstreets, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. Without another word, he claimed Haruhi's lips as his own, forcing her mouth to open by strategically tickling her thigh with the point of the blade.
"Don't make a sound," he whispered, releasing Haruhi's mouth for a second to give her the warning. To enforce the point, he let the blade pierce her thigh. The girl gasped – more out of shock than of pain, for the metal only breached the uppermost layers of her skin. But the action had the desired effect; Haruhi, in fear of what more the knife could accomplish, kept the loudest of noises from breaching her lips.
The man's tongue entered her mouth. She could taste the alcohol on it, sour with impurity, bitter with corruption.
His mouth pushed firmly against her own. To Haruhi, it felt more as if he was gnawing on a particularly tender cut of meat rather than engaging in intimacy with a fellow human being. The rough tips of his mustache hairs scraped around the entrance to her mouth as he attacked it, feeding off her terror.
Haruhi had never been more afraid. She barely resisted the assault of her mouth, for the whole of her attention was focused on the blade tracing circles on her thigh, awaiting permission to reenter her flesh.
The man's other hand went up her shirt. The fingers stretched to Haruhi's back, made quick work of the clasp on her bra, and then traveled back to her front to claim his prize. Haruhi's breasts, now free from support, formed almost eagerly against the man's fingers. He grabbed the right breast roughly and pinched the nipple.
Haruhi let out a yelp, but was instantly silenced when the knife's point was pressed against her skin, threatening to breach the surface.
She made not another sound when reached the knife down into the hem of her skirt and ripped the garment apart in one simple motion.
Vulnerable.
That's how she felt. Though Haruhi was still technically covered – both her panties and shirt remained on – she could have felt more exposed if she was bare naked and standing in the middle of a city street. Adrenaline was being secreted into her body at a personal record, making her respond to every touch with a flinch, a start. She had at least learned to keep her mouth shut. That was, until her assaulter went one step further.
With no forewarning whatsoever, Haruhi's panties were pulled down to her knees, and pain erupted in her core as a force pushed into her.
Haruhi screamed.
The man pulled out and thrust in again, harder this time.
The pain mixed with the fear was too much. Without realizing, Haruhi released salty tears from her eyes. They instantly dampened her face as the drops clung persistently to her skin.
There was pain everywhere.
It hurt everywhere.
The man created a pace, fast and vicious. It was near a game for him: how fast could he go, how deep could he enter? Haruhi didn't want to know the answer.
It hadn't been long, certainly not in a universal sense, but to Haruhi it could have been forever; her entire life she could have done nothing but suffer the pain of an experienced dick forcing itself inside her virgin core. The question "When will it end?" was not one on Haruhi's mind. Rather, "How could it get any worse?" And yet it continued to do so with each second that passed.
Pain.
That was what she was under.
Fear.
That was what she experienced.
Death.
That was what the dismal abyss in her mind forecasted with certainty. Death. You're going to die, murmured the abyss, you're going to die.
The man's penis pulled nearly completely from the girl's vagina only to return at full force. He was reaching his peak, but Haruhi either did not care or did not notice.
She screamed again, knowing that no one could hear but giving in to her primal instincts of fear.
Pain.
Fear.
Death.
The force left the girl, but the pain did not. It continued to wear away her insides, clawing at Haruhi's inner organs.
"You liked that, didn't you, you fucking whore." It was not a question; it was a statement, or a taunt rather. Haruhi didn't reply, knowing that she wasn't meant to. No, all she was supposed to do know was gather herself as he left.
God, was she wrong.
He wasn't done with her yet.
"You know, I've learned," he muttered, almost as if speaking to himself, "You bitches do nothing but talk. You're just gonna go back home and squeal to your daddy. You're gon' make a shit load a problems for me." He smirked down at the girl who stood shyly against the wall, whimpering and half-naked.
"You know what I'm gon' do 'bout that?"
The man held a closed knife in front of Haruhi's face. Her eyes were trained upon it, mesmerized.
Snap.
The knife opened.
Haruhi ran.
It was her last chance, and she knew it. No, Haruhi had no great plan – there hadn't exactly been time to figure one out – except to run. To leave. To abandon her fear behind her and never look back.
There was a moment of near ecstasy when she dared to hoped that she had caught him off guard and left the man behind in her dust, but after less than ten staggered steps, Haruhi was tackled from behind.
"Running? Like hell you are." The man whispered the word's in her ear threateningly. He pulled out the knife and dug it fully into Haruhi's thigh, just as the blade had promised to do earlier in the night.
Haruhi screamed. God, she was done for. The abyss in her mind grew larger, tackling her consciousness with ominous messages. You're going to die. Haruhi, you're going to die.
The knife twisted in the man's hand, and he forced it up Haruhi's vagina.
Pain.
All she knew was pain.
Her screams left her throat in jerks as they tried to fight past sobs and spasms. They weren't the high-pitched horror movie screams; Haruhi's shouts were low and primal, gasping with forced breaths.
The knife was forced into and out of Haruhi multiple times, the man getting off on it just as easily as he would if the knife was his own appendage.
The man shoved the blade up with finality before pulling it back out for the last time.
A small voice in Haruhi's head inquired, "Is it over?"
It's never over, answered Haruhi's abyss.
Sure enough, the man stabbed Haruhi in the gut, repeating the action twice more for good measure. He couldn't have his prey telling stories, could he?
Satisfied, the man left.
Haruhi lay on her back in the street. Her blood stained the pavement in scarlet, forming a ring around her body somewhat akin to a halo.
The pain is gone, Haruhi thought to herself. How can that be? For a moment, she wondered if she was somehow cured. Immediately throwing away the outrageous possibility, she vaguely wondered if she were dead. It was certainly more realistic.
Even if I'm not dead, I certainly will be soon.
The thought was somehow comforting.