Pain
She could feel her knees weaken as the door slammed shut.
She wanted to go with them, but she was afraid. Not of whatever they were going to face, that was no problem. So it was gooey, or horny, or green and covered in slime. Who cares? It was being outside. Out in the open that she didn't want. Out where other men would be...
Oh, why couldn't one of them have stayed?
Alone. The part of her job Cordelia hated the most. She hated being alone. She despised being alone. She... feared being alone.
Because being alone meant having no protection. Protection from... the memories.
Her legs started to tremble with the effort of holding herself upright.
Control... control... control...
Her eyes started to burn and water as she strained to hold them open. Behind her lids, she knew she would have no where to hide.
Focus on the door. Examine the wood grain. Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes don't close your eyesdont'closeyoureyesdon'tcloseyoureyesdon't...
She blinked. In the brief moment of darkness, the images flashed by, taunting her.
Her lips trembled with unshed emotion and her legs finally gave out from under her. She sank down onto the floor, the images no longer flashing by but going in slow motion, so she could see every moment of her pain.
Don't remember, don't see. Don't remember, don't see; don't remember, don't see don't remember don't seedon'trememberdont'seedon'trememberrememberrememberremember...
Finally her eyes burned too much and she had to close them.
The images were there, waiting for her. That was one of the nice things about her visions, they caused so much pain and were so overriding that they kept the images from coming back, they kept the memories at bay.
But now, with the vision and her friends gone, she was all on her own to deal with them.
And she couldn't deal with them; she'd found that out long ago after the first time.
She put her hands to her eyes, trying to block out the images, but they were with her... they were behind her eyelids. There was no escaping them. At least when the others were around, she could focus her mind on their banter, on their talks, on their many arguments. But when she was alone, there was nothing to focus on, nothing to distract her from herself.
"No," she whispered, when she remembered taking Wilson to her bed, to have a fun evening. But what happened after that was anything but fun. He'd used her, and then tossed her aside when he was finished with her. It was a perversion of all she knew.
"No," she repeated, louder this time, trying to banish the memories with her voice rather than her hands. It had as much success.
She jerked as she felt those hands on her shoulders again, holding her still, restraining her. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she pulled her legs up to her chest, remembering struggling in their grasp, but they were too strong, too strong too strong toostrongtoostrongtoostrong...
She clamped her arms around her legs, feeling their hands on her head, brushing aside her hair. Her knuckles turned white with the force she gripped with, the skin of her legs bruising under the pressure.
She remembered feeling him open his mouth, opening himself, and putting himself against her.
The tears came faster and she gripped harder as she remembered understanding his intent, that he meant to force her.
Her nails gouged ruts in her skin through her clothing when she remembered him ignoring her pleas of piety, her pleas of freedom.
Her teeth clamped down her lip hard enough to draw blood when she remembered him laughing at her as that... that... THING was driven into her body, laughing at her screams of pain.
Cordelia Chase was in her office, curled up on the floor, remembering being violated in the most cruel of ways, feeling her captor's hands on her shoulders and laughing when she screamed, praying that it would be over soon and someone would save her...