Cold

by: FieryRedHairedKitten

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story. I simply own the imagination behind this revamp of a DC Comics story. All of the characters mentioned are from Batman a comic book published by DC comics. I do not own any of the place or the names in this story. Any description similarities between the descriptions of the characters and any real people are completely coincidental and unintentional, if such is the case then please be happy that you look like a comic book character. :)

Chapter One: Freezing

*Huff Huff*. Two very heavy breathes ambush my face – the smell of incredibly strong coffee and tobacco molest my nostrils. My wrists are being dug into by very thick and coarse rope; cutting deeper and deeper into my fair alabaster skin. I force my eyes open to which they are assaulted with the presence of a cloth, preventing me from seeing anything. The cloth smells of cat piss, cigarette smoke, and vomit. I writhe in the, what feels like, leather seat, away from the footsteps that are coming nearer to me. My naked ass has been forcefully plastered to the seat. My legs are bound with; I'm assuming duct tape, seeing as the pull of the adhesive. Scared shivers travel down my body and cause the leather to squeak against my bare back, revealing my anxiety.

An ice cold hand hesitantly violates my exposed chest. It pauses for a brief moment, causing a flicker of incredible hope to surge through me, "please," I softly beg. The hand disappears from my skin. I know what's going to happen. I hiss as a way to prepare myself, to no avail. The hand returned with a loud smack and the painfully surreal sting ignites across my left cheek. I let out a small, almost completely inaudible whimper. Both of his hands return to my delicate chest, savagely pulling at my breasts.

The sadistic abuse that is happening causes me to involuntarily shake. Freezing cold air hits my face and I'm immediately nauseous and vomiting. The disgusted grunts echo around the room I am being held in. That means at least two people are in this room with me. The menacing hands of the scum bag are back. He wipes at my skin, cleaning me. He runs a rough rag over all of my body. And then a wet rag hits my skin, the coldest water humanly possible for the middle of the summer, especially in Gotham City, runs down my body, causing me to silently cry out at the feeling of a thousand needles pricking my skin beneath the cloth.

"I'm getting real tired of hearing your pitiful whimpers." He said as the sound of duct tape being pulled from the roll sounds in my head. "Stupid little bitch." His hand slapped my mouth and the bitter and industrial taste of the tape infests my taste buds. Tears soak the cloth covering my face as the reality of my situation sets in. Deep and dark chuckles fill my ears as I feel the man's rough hands on me again. Anger surges through me; why would anyone do this to me? Why me? What have I done to deserve this? More tears break the barrier of my eyelids and rush down my face, the cloth being too damp to hold anymore.

His breathe appears on my neck, coming in sharp, shallow gasps. I feel his hands on my thighs and his hips in between my legs. His hands travel down my thighs and then back up them. The sound of a loosening belt resonates. The belt makes a forced screech of resistance against his belt loops. Old leather whines as his hand clutches the belt, the buckle shaking and fills the air with metallic anticipation.

"If you're going to make any noises, you might as well be screaming," excitement spewing from his voice. The swishing of wind away from my face causes me to tense in preparation. Leather is brought strongly down upon my thigh, instant pain causing a numbing sting through my leg. As badly as I wanted to scream and cry, I kept my mouth shut, firmly in a line that felt cold and uncharacteristically menacing. "Now that's a look I like to see on your face," he laughed mocking me.

A vibration starts deep in my lungs; it hits against my rib cage and I hear this terrifying growl of disgust and I realize it is coming from me. I allow it to seep through the room and continue its resonating from my throat. My small act of defiance is responded to by a hand across my face. The growl stops and I re-administer the ice to my features. I turn my head to the left and remain as stoic as possible.

A low chuckle penetrates my ear as the tobacco infected breathe hits the lobe. I twitch away from it only to be jerked back to him. I feel him take his rough jeans off, they scrape against my bare knees. Now his naked legs are pressed against mine. I cringe away from the foreign and unwelcomed ambush of skin. He laughs again, deep and throaty, he then pops his knuckles…

I awake hastily gasping for air; the flashback of a nightmare ringing fresh in my mind. My usual dream had invaded my almost pleasant slumber to send me rolling in a manic-depressive state of self loathing. I roll out of the ocean of black satin that caress my bare legs. Stumbling I make it to the ever-pleasant, dimly lit kitchen. The refrigerator refuses to allow my headache to subside by exploding light into my eyes. The always wonderful fire that smothers my mind slides down my throat, numbness isn't completely un-enjoyable. The little red lights on my microwave read 3:01 a.m., 'the witching hour,' how ironic. My thoughts drift back into the memories of my adolescence. The numbing took effect on my emotions but not my bumbling idiot of a mind. I have my first day as an intern at Arkham Asylum in four hours. That as a motivator I stumble back to bed, yet the images of that night continue, unwelcome, into my mind.