A/N: this fic wasn't supposed to turn out so dark, or so…vulgar. But the idea came and I couldn't ignore it.

Torture Me

"Hate me,

Do it, do it again"

I. Stockholm

She was his voodoo doll.

He had stuck pins in every which way; her arms, legs, eyes, back, head. Nothing she had ever heard could even come close to what she was experiencing.

She hated how she liked it.


The first time, she begged for him to stop. She screamed and shouted. They fell on deaf ears. He pinned her wrists behind her back and bit her neck, watched her bleed. Her legs flailed about, trying to kick him away.

"Stupid bitch," he said through gritted teeth, landing a foot casually on her kneecap, shattering it. She screeched in pain, cursing him off.

He just stared at her with those icy, ruthless cobalt eyes of his, like she was a piece of garbage. "That's what you get."


The second time was when it got out of hand.

He slashed her arms with a knife, smearing blood all over her legs, clothes, face. She didn't protest, just whimpered weakly as he smirked against her lips.

What scared her the most, however, was how she didn't mind.


She couldn't explain why her heart raced with excitement and fear when he was with her. Moreover she didn't understand why he was doing this. Was he desperate?

If she even briefly gave herself the satisfaction of kissing him back, he'd go insane. Well, more insane than he already was. He didn't want to think that he no longer had power over her.


"No, no, please, anything but that…"

That was the first time he took things farther than she would ever want to go. It had been inevitable, but that didn't mean she didn't plead for him to stop, even when it was too late and she was being held against his hip.

His eyes didn't say anything. They were completely emotionless, but even so, they looked into hers and she melted at the core.

Something was wrong.


II. Lima

He was sick.

There was no other way to break her. She had already stopped her beseeching. She even moaned every now and then.

He did not wince when she dug her fingernails into his back, she didn't cry when he hurt her.

His ego had been bruised.


He was a misogynist.

He viewed women as only good for sex.

She was there only to punctuate his beliefs.


He got a rush out of her. He didn't know what she was going to do; look away or look at him.

She tried to back away once. Where she had gotten that courage, he had no idea. He kicked her and roared, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He grimaced when she started sobbing. Getting sick of it, he lifted her up by the collar of her shirt and broke the space between them just to shut her up.

III. Addiction

She was addicted to him.

She relied on him to make things interesting, to keep her company. If there was something more perverse than that, she didn't want to know what it was.


He was addicted to her.

He wanted her day and night. She was the stuff of his thoughts, the one thing that got him electrified. He relied on her to boost his self-image, to reinforce the fact that he was better than her, but most importantly he needed her to remind him that he was not normal by any standards.


A/N:

Wow. Even I didn't think that I was capable of writing something so dark. If you think the rating should be upped, please let me know, because I've got my suspicions. I didn't want to rate it higher because…I'm sort of only a teenager myself. But reviews make me happy as always.