Post "Rapist Anonymous"
Amanda
It's not as if I want to prey on her weakness. I wish selfishness would be the last thing from my mind. I wish my motives were pure, that I have no intention of lying to her; but even as I'm standing at her door, I must push down the the reeking stench of lustful greed and indulgence which seems to steep from my very fingertips, and the pores on my face. I must hide from her my sole motivation for dragging myself to her feet.
I'm here to drown myself in her; to chase away the demons that I have willingly run back to time and again. I'm here, at the end of my rope, when all other vices have used me up and dumped me upon the corner of her sidewalk. I'm standing here, spent and strung out on the last of my heathen abandon, praying she'll take the final, shattered pieces of me just one more time.
The last time we ended it she told me to go do as I pleased until I didn't want it anymore.
I can't help you, Amanda. She said, and I remember well the pain apparent upon every drawn line of her visage as if I had carved it into the very flesh of her. Just go. Do what whatever you want.
A whine rises on my lips as I resist the urge to knock again. I've already slammed my knuckles on the wooden barrier between us half a dozen times, punishing my raw flesh with the force of my pleading.
I don't want it anymore. I don't want it anymore. I repeat to myself, clutching the doorframe, just waiting for it to open, begging for it to open before my knees give way.
God, I'm a fucking mess, still half drunk. My hands are trembling. My stomach is turning. There's dirty cash in my back pocket, but she can't know that.
I barely managed to break even at the table tonight, and if I hadn't been so distraught, I might have foolishly continued; but then I had to remind myself the reasons I was there to begin with…. Lena, Nate… how I was caught in between, always a second choice. Olivia… how I've never even let myself be important to anyone who's ever truly mattered.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean harder on the door frame, repeating my carefully rehearsed lines to myself, the ones I've told myself she'll believe.
Please, please, please. I beg to the stalwart door and to the woman beyond. God, please…
Utter silence greets me with a disturbing buzz which fills my ears. It seems to laugh at me with a boisterous voice, taunting me with how pathetic I am.
It's commiserable that I am here with such intentions, but I know that she too doesn't want to be alone tonight. I know what the upcoming trial and Lewis is doing to her, and if I can offer her my company for even tonight, then maybe we can both wake up tomorrow without our hearts shattered at our feet. If she doesn't let me in out of love, then perhaps I will take pity.
And then, as if God above had been waiting for that wretched thought, I hear her footsteps. Heavy and quick, they converge upon me, and I gasp, my breath wavering from me.
It's late, and I've no doubt awoken her, but the clenching of my stomach at her reaction is something I can disregard. I can dampen her initial frustration with the tears that glimmer in my eyes, appealing to the tender part of her that once unfolded to my touch at a simple brush of my fingers.
I can hear the deadbolts turning, and I grab at my stomach with the other hand as my gut twists with apprehension. Despite all of my reckless reasoning, I'm terrified - terrified she'll turn me away, terrified that it will mean forever… if it isn't already.
Light spills out across my tear-stained, flushed face, searing my eyes with blinding precision. I've spent the better part of the night in dark, smoke-filled rooms with only my tears to water my vision. When I look up, the drunken part of me thinks about how angelic she is, shrouded in light.
"Amanda?" Her sharp, confused utterance shatters whatever delusion I have of her swooping down to rescue the last broken bits of my soul.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I squint back at her, clenching my jaw against the swirling of my tummy.
"Hey." I reply, my tone raspy, though I do my best not to slur.
Her face is full of shock, but I ignore that for the sight of her soft hair pulled back in a messy ponytail at her neck, stray hairs curling around her temples and jaw. There's no makeup on her face, darkness circling her eyes. Maybe neither of us has slept tonight, but I don't care how weary she looks. My throat is tight with her beauty.
"What are you doing here?" She demands as her surprise melds into frustration.
"I…. I need to talk to you…" I whisper.
Her brow tightens, and she glances back inside the apartment before stepping out into the hall. Wrapping her robe tighter around her body, she hides what flesh I might have sought to lay my eyes on. The door swings closed behind her, plunging us into a half lit darkness that pleases the unorthodox fantasies that are swirling through my brain.
"What do you want?" She asks in a quieter but tense tone.
"I- I'm quitting." I say, ducking my chin, though I know looking away is a sign of lying.
I can feel the air about me crackle with her tension, and out of the corner of my eye I notice her shoulders stiffening. She's silent for several long seconds, and my stomach swan dives. I'm not sure what I'll do if she doesn't believe me.
"I'm done." I whisper, glancing up at her quickly. "Nate… the gambling….I don't want it anymore…"
She's watching me, arms crossed, jaw taut and jutting. Her defenses are up, and I shouldn't blame her. It shouldn't be her responsibility to put me back together every time I come flying apart at the seams. She shouldn't have to witness the pathetic aftermath of me every, single time I crawl back to the same, old vices, yet here I am, expecting just that. I should be ashamed, but my damaged heart longs for her with an ache that I can't ignore.
"Why are you telling me this?" She asks, austerely, at last.
I falter, my mind turning over. I can't just tell her that I want things as they were, when we'd find ourselves in bed together, a mess of arms and legs and desire. I can't simply tell her that I'm here for the comfort of her body, and the knowledge that she once cared for me more than anyone else ever has - but she must sense it.
"You said I should go do what I want." I remind her, biting at my lower lip.
She nods, slowly, glancing away, and I catch the incredulous look in her gaze before the loose strands of hair fall across her cheekbone.
"Right." She murmurs with a scoff.
It's dismissive of my whining and coaxing, and of the much deeper needs that she must understand, even now. Despite the doubt that her attitude pummels me with, I try once more to draw out the passion that once burned in her gaze when she looked at me.
"You said I should go do what I want until I don't want it anymore." I repeat, desperately. "So I'm telling you I don't want it anymore."
"I know what I said." She finally replies, tone sharp and biting as she turns a narrowed gaze back upon me. "But that wasn't a promise that we'd be together."
"B-but…"I begin, tearing away from the wall and rushing to her. "You said maybe then…."
She purses her lips, gazing down at me with guarded eyes that cause me to wither instantly. There might as well be a steel wall surrounding her because I feel so far from her.
"Do you expect me simply believe you?" She asks, at last, and I see the first tremble of emotion on her lips. "Why should I listen to your words when all of your actions have told me otherwise?"
I swallow hard, my heart racing, my stomach turning. I know she's right, and that I have no place to stand here and demand a second chance, but I have to find some way behind her armoured heart because I need her so badly.
"Why are you doing this?" I whimper, clutching my hands in front of me as my chest aches with the weight of her rejection.
Her eyes flash in the dim lighting and she shakes her head, turning away to skim her hand over her tired expression.
"This isn't some sort of punishment, Amanda." She says at last, her tone low and strained. "This is just the point where I have to protect myself now. You are not the only person in this equation."
I sink back against the wall once more as her words suck the air from my lungs. It's hurts even more to know that what she's said is true. She has put her own neck on the line so many times to give me a second chance, and I have taken her grace again and again until we have reached this moment - this moment where that tender well of mercy has run dry onto my ever wanting tongue.
A long silence fills the hall, resonating with the dying echoes of my pleas. I sag against the wall, watching her blur through my vision.
I imagine dragging myself home to my empty, cold bed. I imagine the utter loneliness that will fill me once the buzz has worn off, and the burn of her rejection has faded. Here the harsh hand of truth chokes me. There's no path towards redemption without her. I am not so righteous as to follow that narrow trail alone, yet I've found myself here in the dark of my own accord.
Finally, she shakes her head, her mouth tightening against the emotion.
"I have to prepare my testimony with Rafael tomorrow morning." She says at last, her tone a raspy whisper. "Please leave."
Her words sear me, but when she turns towards the door as if to end this conversation before it's even begun, an impetuous jolt of desperation runs through my veins.
I'm not certain of much, but this I do know - I want her back, and in the deepest part of me, I know that I need her.
Foolishly, I rush closer to her and put a hand on her, clutching her arm to stop her. The silk of her robe is slippery beneath my fingers, her skin warm beneath. It ignites the fiery sensation of vivid memories, of tearing away that very material from her flesh in search of a deeper connection.
She halts, staring down at my trembling fingers with a look I can barely discern. Whether it's desire or disgust, I cannot say. All I know is that I've kept her next to me for now.
"Please." I whisper, staring back at her as tears sprout against my lids, burning me with their sudden intensity.
I'm trying not to think about the past, and to shove all of my desire into this single moment; but, God, it's hard to forget when she's in front of me, soft and vulnerable. I came here for the pure, hedonistic fulfillment of another human body, but even the most base desires inside me are wrapped up in the love she once so willingly gave me.
"Olivia…" I barely manage to whimper past the chokehold of desire and desperation. "Please, I'm hurting...I just need someone...you…"
For a moment, I see the emotion simmer in her gaze, a tiny crack in her armour that I want to squeeze myself through, but then she's pulling away from me in better judgement, letting my heart free fall towards the ground.
"I can't do this tonight, Amanda." She says, quickly, grabbing the door handle, ready to leave me outside in the cold.
"Please, I'm not expecting anything." I beg, rushing after her, grabbing her arm once more.
I just can't keep my filthy fingers away from the soft, pure curves of her. I've left her with dirt smeared across her face so many times, walking away, spitefully, even as she cleans her own wounds. I don't deserve to be here, but I want to take it so badly. I want my fingerprints on her flesh, more than I've ever desired my freedom. It's a fleeting concept when I'm shackled with heartbreak and debt; when she's standing in front of me, real and raw.
"You don't have to forgive me or anything." I plead, grasping her hip with my other hand.
She's rigid beneath me, one hand clenched around the knob, the other flat against door, trembling. She lowers her head, and I press in closer until my body is against her back. I can smell her hair, feel the smallest quiver.
"Liv…" I moan, my fingers twisting in the material of her gown.
I want so badly to plunge my hands beneath the silken gown and pluck the ripened fruit of her soft flesh, but her consent has been taken from me, and all I can do is pitifully beg her for it once more. I should be humiliated with myself, but all logic has been abandoned in this vile pursuit.
"You can hurt me if you want." I whisper into her neck.
The sadistic appeal is blasted in heavy pants across her flesh, rising in intensity as I reach the breaking point of desperation.
"I don't care. I'll be whatever you want. A dirty slut, a -"
She spins around, abruptly, in the middle of my offering, shoving me, forcefully, away from her body. I stumble back, searching for my footing. I'm reeling as our eyes clash, hers full of anger and desire, sadness and loathing. I'm frozen in the sudden waves of emotion rolling off of her, but then, suddenly, she's upon me.
She grabs my face, her grip trembling, nails biting. I'm backed up against the wall, cowering beneath her as she hovers over me, her darkened, conflicted face bare inches from mine, so close I can feel her breath. My heart thunders in my chest, warmth spilling through my core with liquid, surging heat. The force of her anger, the threat of physical violence against me, should've frightened and horrified me, but all I can do is quiver beneath her, my body nearly begging for some kind of brutality - anything to soothe this wretched need inside me.
For several intense moments I can feel her wavering on the edge, at the brink of her emotional limits, and in the midst of my desire, I hate myself even more for pushing such a tender soul as herself to this edge.
At last, her fingers lose their tremble as she buttons the gushing emotions back up behind a layer of solid self control.
"Stop." She rasps the single word at last, her tone biting and clipped.
I whimper, sinking against the wall, hoping that perhaps she'll shove me down to her feet. I would beg for her until my knees ache and my throat is raw with screaming. I would do whatever I have to.
She pants above me, pulling in heavy, measured breaths as she lowers her head. Her fingers clench down on my jaw, pushing my head back, and I willingly open my neck to her teeth. I quiver beneath her, waiting for her to tear into me, but I can feel her hesitation, the part of her which clings to logic and good judgement. I want to push her. I want to beg her; but I am terrified of breaking this moment where she is on the edge of her own volition.
Excruciatingly long seconds drag by, leaving me whimpering and squirming beneath her until finally, she pulls back. Her hands draw roughly down my shoulders and arms before pinning me there against the wall. She stands back from me, holding me at arm's length from herself, though I can feel the magnetism between us, the desire that I have thrown a flame upon.
Still, she states, her tone choked, "I asked you to leave."
"And deny us both?" I whisper, canting my head back to stare at her from beneath heavy lids.
My pulse chugs in my neck with throbbing persistence, reminding me of the alcohol lacing my blood. I wonder if she knows. I think she must.
"Amanda…" She breathes out in a warning tone, shaking her lowered head. "I'm asking you to please…."
I listen to her strained tone trailing away into nothing for a tense moment, as if she is afraid to speak it, as if her denial will betray her; but the quiver in her body has already done just that.
"Please what?" I murmur, lifting a hand to touch her.
My fingers reach for her stomach, sliding upwards towards the low neckline of the robe. The V of the hem is barely held together by the silken belt just beneath her breasts, and when I reach that slice of flesh, she's as soft as the material itself. I release a quiet groan, but she's already snatching my wrist.
"I said stop!" Her voice nearly rises to a shout in the quiet hallways, echoing back to my ear with a desperate tremble.
I can feel her fingers quaking around my wrist. She's ducking her head to hide the tears scintillating in the darkness, yet for a long moment, she doesn't move. I can scarcely breathe, and I remain still beneath her, my heart knocking in my chest with fear, though I wish it were indifference.
I came here to fuck her, to dive into the comfort of another warm body - and still she's managed to twist my every convoluted intention with the mere sound of her voice, and emotion hiding behind her dark eyes. It hurts more knowing that even as she dangles me from her own marionette strings, I've failed to find some way back to her.
By the time she releases me, I've lapsed against the wall, deflated and weak. I watch her as she turns away, dragging one hand quickly over her face.
"Go." She whispers before marching, quickly, back to her apartment.
I don't have the strength to go after her, but when the door slams behind her, tolling against my ear with finality, I crumple. Sinking down against the wall, I collapse into a huddled position, my head cradled in my arms. For a long, strange moment I can't even cry.
I came here with the cruel contrivance of lying my way into her arms, but sitting here alone on her doorstep, crushed and dejected, I begin to wonder if I could scrounge up enough faith in myself to truly leave behind all the vices that have torn us apart.
The tears don't come until I realize I'd only be fooling myself. She's given up on me, and I might as well do the same.