Author's note: Reviews/constructive criticism are much appreciated. I don't own anything (unfortunately).
The surrounding darkness was a welcome comfort, as if it allowed her a hiding place where nothing could touch her. Turning to scrutinize herself in the mirror, she winced at the sight that met her. Deep pink slash marks marred her richly tan back. The lines ran all the way from her shoulders to vanish beneath the waist of her jeans. Unwelcome hot tears stung her eyes at the memories.
Silver blades flashed in the sunlight as they bit into her flesh. Her body lay heaved on the floor, crimson streams flowing from a hundred biting gashes. Her interrogators had long since stripped her of any scrap of clothing. She painfully sank her teeth into her lip to stop the flood of building tears and forced herself to swallow a scream. Not from the pain. That wasn't the worst. It was what they had done.
Ziva let out a choked sob as Salim began to slide the knife slowly down her thigh. Starting with the inside, he let the blade trail after his fingertips as they worked admiringly over her skin. Golden desert sunlight poured in through the tiny windows. It was a deceptively beautiful evening; it almost always was. He spat out a name in Arabic that made Ziva wince internally. The man loomed above her, his gaze taunting, teasing, mocking. Wanting. He laughed lightly. A rough shove with his foot turned her onto her back again, the toe of his boot digging into her bruised and fractured ribs. When she looked up, a painfully familiar sadistic smirk met her, dripping with lust.
Cold air rushed into her lungs as her eyes snapped open again. Her recollection still remained far too strong. Each time she let her eyelids fall closed, her torturer was there, staring back at her. Taunting her. Playing with her.
Her back looked as if a cat-o-nine-tails had been taken to it. Except her skin was still in place. She shook her head roughly in an attempt to dispel the horrifying, nightmarish memories. They were still unbearably strong. For a moment longer, they left her frozen as her mind slowly worked back to the present. The feeling of being used, the filthy dirt that seemed to penetrate her soul crushed her, stole her breath if she allowed herself to linger on them for too long. No matter how hard she'd tried, nothing could wash them away.
On the outside, it appeared as if nothing had changed. But Ziva had been trained to lie convincingly, given the ability to make anyone believe whatever she wanted them to. On the outside, she was perfect. On the inside, scars remained that might not ever fully heal.