Bruised and Hurt
Author's Note: The show and the characters aren't mine, so please don't sue, but what would you get anyway. I'm rating this M so anyone who reads this is to blame him/herself. It doesn't get more graphic than in other stories, though, so please enjoy.
Mr. Raines gestured the nameless sweeper towards her. The big man obeyed and hit her right across the face, twice, with more force necessary to just impress her. Only seconds after, blood began to trickle, flow, from her lips that were pressed together in pain, both upper and lower.
Everybody in the room seemed to be waiting for the red liquid to apear on her skin and move – slowly, faster then – towards her chin and drop to the floor just after the soft rounding of her face. A sign of what two of them could only suppose was to follow.
Jarod had noticed right after he had been pushed into his old centre "appartment" that this assembly of centre staff was not the usual procedure. From the very time that Miss Parker had, unknowingly, led the centre to his present lair, he had painfully been confronted with the unnaturally high capacites of his own brain, telling him, ceaselessly, that this time there would be a change to the ever-lasting running-chasing-catching-breaking-out-routine.
For too long, maybe, he had played around with the centre, had made his importance to them more than obvious over the last six years.
Again, Raines, even more confident and self-sufficient than usual, due to the army of armed goons at the door, gave the sweeper a brief sign. Again, he slapped her, harder maybe than before. Still, it didn't seem to affect her to a degree that had been intended.
Indeed, what was troubling Miss Parker much more was her own neglectiveness, which had let them both, Jarod and her, into captivity. Hers, not quite sure, for she didn't understand what was happening, maybe refused to connect the signs. His, certain.
He had called her. More out of curiousity, maybe even interest, she had tricked, sweet-talked him to give her a clue as to his whereabouts, had tricked herself and him, had sweet-talked their way into the centre. Only seconds after he had stopped listening to the sounds of a suddenly disconnected call, a team of big armed men had closed in on him, had left him chanceless. But what was she doing here, he wondered. What was being done to her, he feared.
On cue, the big sweeper moved towards her a third time, this time closer than the mere length of an arm. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her towards Jarod's old bed at the far end of the room. Pressing against her, he carelessly and controllingly started to undo the bottons of her shirt. Not until this point, at least Jarod seemed to realize what kind of treatment the centre's variety of sick minds had come up with.
He had called her, as usual, he had given her a clue, like always. And some time later, unexpectedly, the news of Jarod's capture hat hit her in the face. No time to think how ironic it all was.
Later, a smugly smiling Lyle backed up by a team of horrid looking sweepers had called on his twin sister. Here she was.
Quickly now, the sweeper pinned her arms against the wall and with his free hand took turns unhooking her bra, slapping her across the face, taking off her skirt and slip, hiting her head against the wall and eventually unzipping his own pants.
She didn't scream. Jarod screamed for her, instead of her, at her. There was no point in fighting back, they could both see that, though.
Jarod's hands were cuffed to the wall in a most uncomfortable manner. Jerking his head, he could see Lyle and Raines, a uniting smile on their faces. In horror, he watched, tried to move. Attempting any of this, however, a gun was pressed to his head and the sweeper signed to cause – once more – Miss Parker's face to be stained with blood.
She had known from the start that she didn't have a chance of fighting the big man. With her arms pinnned onto the table and his whole weight lying upon her, she could but let it happen.
Faster and even faster, he started thrusting into her, leaving behind only the pain and an unexplainable numbness to occupy every single part of her body.
Silent tears escaped her burning eyes.
He was done soon. She didn't realize when. From the time he had started to thrust into her, she hadn't really realized anything anymore.
In her watery vision she had only perceived Jarod who had seemingly been forced to watch. She hated him staring at her in her moments of utmost pain and humiliation.
Indeed, the pretender had been forced at gunpoint to keep his eyes on what was happening.
When the sweeper stepped back, he could see her lying on his bed, fragile, hurt, crying silently. Be stared at by her ever-smiling blood-relations.
Jarod couldn't think. He couldn't believe the centre would hurt her in order to demoralize his spirits, in order to torment him.
Lyle stepped forward and with a snap ordered the sweeper to join his colleagues at the door. He reached into his pocket and took out his gun. He turned around and stared at the pretender, aiming.
"You know, labrat: I think my sister always liked you. So – in my endless brotherly affection – I thought: why not let her have you, little wonder boy? I'm sure you can also do some magic trick with her."
And with that, he turned again and aimed his gun at his sister, adding:
"Just in case she changed her mind."
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