Bleakly, Claire blinks her eyes open, scrunching her small nose in pain. Her head kills. And the Pixar-mascot-like lamp shining down above her isn't helping. She feels as if she's being interrogated by one of those detectives you see on CSI. She tries using her hand to shield away the light, feeling a long piece of plastic jab at her wrists. Her hands are bound with a stethoscope, feet clamped together with the same device. She struggles, snapping her head around the room, trying to make sense of everything. Her breath hitches in her throat, realizing where she is. Trent's office.
She's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
The seven months they've been together seemed to focus on sex, especially now since their wedding's drawing close. That's all he'll talk about. And he wants it. With Claire. It doesn't help she's a virgin, it probably excites Trent even more when he learned how inexperienced she was.
"Quick and easy," he'd said, probably on the Starry Night Festival. It was hard to place when and where, since he insisted on it so often. On a date, in public, at Claire's house... where her bed just stared at them.
"It'll feel amazing," he told her, pouring what seemed to be his fifth glass of wine. Claire flushed, rubbing harder at the stains on the dirty dishes she was soaking in the sink. Trent watched her, a glint twinkling in his dark eyes.
"You could rub something else like that too." He came up to her ear, his words a whisper, biting her earlobe. She shivered, chewing the bottom of her coral lip, enough common sense to know what he was talking about. She focused her eyes at the dull dishwater, squirting soap in her hands. It were so blue... they looked like the irises of Gray's eyes. She tried to focus on something else.
"Are you even listening to me?" He leaned on the counter, gulping the last bit of his wine. He reached for the bottle, but Claire snatched it away quickly, placing it firmly in his fridge.
"Yes," she said quietly. She bit down harder on her lip, shuddering as Trent squeezed her butt. She knew she should have just worn her boring overalls, not an extravagant tight little dress. "You know I can't"
"Oh c'mon baby. Just 'cause the bishops made ya swear on your parents grave not to fuck before you're married? Gimme a break." He drained his glass, until every purple drop was gone. "Live a little. What're you, a prude?"
She looked at him sharply. "The nuns made me swear not to. And no, I'm not a tight little Quaker girl, but I made a promise to God. I don't go to church everyday, I don't shove my Religion down your damn throat, and the least you can do is respect that I'm staying pure."
Trent rolled his red-nerved eyes. "There is no God, Claire. I told you that." His speech became more slurred.
"And if you believe that, then fine. I'll respect that. But I swore." Claire sighed, massaging her temples. Trent stood so close to her, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. He seemed to intake it more and more often. "Now, how about we just watch a movie. No Chick-Flicks. You get to pick. It's Christmas. I'll… uh, I'll even make popcorn." She smiled at him, his bloodshot eyes piercing through her, imagining her wearing nothing.
"I have some lingerie," he said seductively, throwing her a devilish grin. She groaned in frustration.
"Did you even hear what I said, or is your skull too thick to comprehend these things? N-O. No." She exhaled loudly, shaking her head, walking to his cupboards. He grabbed her wrist, pinning her harshly against the wall. She let out a painful cry.
"They might be a bit too tight, but that'll be even sexier." Trent grinned again, ignoring her glare. She told her conscience to remain cool, trying to calm down his excitement. He licked his lips, and she grinded her teeth.
"You know what?" She struggled against his tight grasp. "Let's just kiss. I love you." She smiled at him warmly, pressing her lips to his. She felt his member poke her thigh, from all his excitement, but he seemed more serene now, not at all like Quagmire anymore. She tried not to think about his hands roaming all around her body, and guided him to the couch, his tongue rolling around hers. He looked so tired, that after ten minutes of kissing, he shut off the lights, drifting to sleep. His head leaned on her breasts. She sighed in relief. If she could keep him like this for as long as she could, then the relationship would be fine. That was her. Pleasing everyone as best as she could.
Claire tries breaking free of the bondage, her head pulsing harshly. She winces, hating the examination room even more than she already does. She shivers, just realizing all she's wearing is her red bra and matching underwear. The door clicks open, and Trent waltzes in, wearing only his grey boxers. His well-toned abs look pale. He walks in anything but a straight line, nearly tumbling into the wall. He notices her, smiling at her, propped up on the examination table.
"Here I am," he whispers, holding her face gruffly. He's drunk. Claire jerks her head away, glaring at him.
"Where are my clothes? How did I get here?" She thinks about how she's half naked, dizzy, and alone with Trent. She wonders what he did to her while she was out cold.
"Remember?" He twirls a piece of her hair, yanking it softly, then harder. She winces, hiding her hands behind her back, trying to undo the bondage. "We were making plans in the Inn. I had a few beers. Slipped somethin' in your drink." He throws her a wink, going into his medicine cabinet. Pill bottles fall to the ground, the contents inside clattering loudly.
A tear warbles down her cheek. "What did you do to me?" She tried breaking the stethoscope with her hands, pulling them apart, the plastic scratching her skin till it's raw. Trent strides over, wearing his stereotypical doctor white coat, diving his hand into the inside of her panties. She screams, kicking him off as best as she can. He laughs.
"You want it rough? Alright then... rough it is." He jumps onto the table, pushing Claire down onto her back, sliding his tongue down her throat. She screams again as he throws off his lab-coat, revealing his naked self.
"TRENT!" Claire shrieks, trying to push him off. There's no use.
"Babe, I didn't do anything to you," Trent tells her. His erection prods her. And she doesn't want to look at it. "I didn't rape you, didn't even touch you. Jus' took off your clothes. That's all. What's the fun in fucking if you're unconscious? You won't give me the release I need." He notices her looking away from him, and he grins, pushing her head in the direction of his manhood. "Big isn't it? Ever seen one?"
"Trent please just stop." She feels more tears prick her eyes. Her eyes are forced to look at his perfect body. She glances at... "it" and quickly looks away. She's terrified.
"I know you want me," he mutters. "I'll make you happy."
"Stop."
"I'll make you scream." He fondles her body.
"Stop."
"I'll make you cu-"
"STOP!" She frees her legs, the stethoscope broken in two, kicking at his chest. He falls to the ground with a loud thud. Recovered, he jolts up, taking his hand, dragging it across her cheek. The slap echoes off the walls. All is quiet. Tears spill down her face, rolling along the wound, stinging. Trent seems to snap out of his drunken haze, caressing her cheek.
"Babe," he mumbles. He doesn't look her in the eyes. "Claire, I'm so sor-"
"I said no," she whispers. She clenches her fist. "I SAID NO. I CAN'T."
"Baby I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted you so bad-"
"One week," Claire says, pushing him off of her. She fixes herself up, visibly shaking. "We're getting married in one week." Her voice cracks, and she feels like crying again. "Then you can have me. Okay?"
Trent stares at the ground. He seems to be fully sobered up. "Claire-"
"Okay?" She repeats herself because there is nothing else to say. She finds a thin coat, wrapping it around her disheveled self.
"Okay."
Claire walks out of his office, feeling a rush of wind blow through of the cold spring midnight, nearly taking the coat off her body. She runs home, tears freezing on her cheeks, stopping in the middle of the road. Like her body is paralyzed. She widens her eyes. And a vision flashes before her. She sees her on her wedding night. Trent drunk. Trent roughly slapping her, in the sexual way. But it doesn't feel good. He shoves himself inside of her. She cries out. It doesn't feel good. She sobs. He's on cloud nine. He groans, she cries. She sees this the next ten years happening. Just angry sex. No love. She sees no children in her future. She sees Gray. Alone. Cold. Dead.
And she falls to the stony ground, sobbing.