Prologue:

Jesse was close to an ordinary woman; with many friends, a great job, and a... decent enough boyfriend, she had her "American Dream." She couldn't say that she had dreamed of becoming a compound chemisist for the military when she was little, but it wa s a job – a good paying job, at that, and she wasn't very disappointed that she didn't become an astronaut of some kind, working for NASA and going into space on a regular basis to help with the crisises on space shuttles.

Instead, she was putting on a pair of slacks and a button up shirt and some nice flats to head into work. She lived in Flordia, so a thick jacket wasn't needed, but possibly a sweater. She grabbed a gray, button-up sweater from the closet and slipped into it, making sure she didn't wake her boyfriend, still sleeping, as she left the house. She had a nice house, which she paid for. Two stories high with new roofing and a remodled kitchen – two bathroom, two bedroom with a dining room and an extra room the basement. Decent. Very decent.

Trent – the boyfriend – didn't have a job, which explains why Jess had to pay for the house by herself. He went "job-hopping," as her friends liked to say it. Jesse didn't like it very much; she had kept her job so far for four years, running, and the longest job he had kept was one summer at Burger King when he was 15 years old.

He got fired from stealing his boss's pot.

The story made Jess dislike Burger King – and all fast food joints – immensely.

The weather was starting to get chilly; the hot summer days had passed, and it was now the middle of fall, now getting colder as the autumn colors set in to the fashions, but not the trees.

She closed the door, locked it, and hoped to god – or the cosmos, since she didn't believe in god – that she didn't come home to a drunk or drinking Trent.

Jess turned back to the stairs that lead to her parking space, where her decently-sized car was placed.

That was a word to describe her life; "decent." Though "plain" and "boring" also did the trick, when she wasn't on a case.

Happily enough for her, that wasn't the case. Her mahogany hair was pulled back into a messy bun as she swerved through the traffic of the military base; she stopped at the appropriate stop signs, flashed her badge, and headed into deeper levels of the base. Her boss, Doctor Iverson, a tall, blonde woman who looked more like she was meant to run than to melt down components of weapons or rocks, was on a roll when Jess had arrived. The only think keeping the tall woman from running was her addiction to pain medication because of a pinched tendon in her knee.

"What's happenin', Doc?" she asked sarcastically, slipping on her medical coat and walking into the white room, where Iverson was darting back and forth from computer to labratory, labratory to microscope, microscope to computer, and then back.

"Now now, Jess," Iverson growled, waving her hand at her as she positioned her chemicals at her lab station, working on what looked like a large chunk of metal. When Jess took a closer look at it, it was glowing an orange color with intricate designs. "... Neon. What the fuck?" the blonde woman hissed, sitting up, "I'm not looking for neon, damnit, I've already got neon!"

"How can I help?" Jesse asked, seeing the obvious frustration on Iverson's face.

The doctor looked at her, "Do me this;" she said in an angry tone, "Go to fucking Antartica and bring me the rest of ithis,/i" she pointed to the object on the table, "because those fucking Down's Sydrome retards can't do jack shit for me!" she shook her fist, making Jesse flinch; nothing that Iverson hadn't seen before. The blonde sighed,

Jesse's gray eyes looked at the object, watching it faintly glow, perpelxed that it could do just that – glow – without the help of electricity.

Iverson just sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, Jess, I'm just..."

"... Okay," she said quietly, looking at her overseer.

The doctor raised her hand from her face with utter frustrated confusion on her face; the fact that the deep rings around her eyes from lack of sleep and lack of taking her makeup off afte work didn't help. "What?" she said plainly.

"I'll go. I'll go to Antartica and try to find the rest of the... thing," she said quickly, not knowing exactly what to call it.

Iverson paused before heaving a laugh; "What the fuck? Jess, you really want to go to Antartica just because I'm a bit tired and jacked up on painkillers?"

"Why not?" Jesse answered, "I would be glad to go to extreme lengths for you; and what if we do find it? Then we can bring the entire thing back and do a complete report on it!" Jess looked ecstatic. There was no other word for the glint in her eye. Excited didn't fit, because that wasn't enough electricity of happiness flowing through the word; giddy wasn't going to cut it, because she wasn't giggly and bubbly, because that wasn't Jess; it was only ecstatic, the static-y happiness and excitement and giddyness combined together in one perfect stew.

Something only she could pull off. Iverson smiled, and reached over, clipping her chin with the edge of her finger; "Sometimes, kid, you're the one who gets me through the day."

Jess wasn't surprised at the comment. Instead she smiled and nodded, "I'll go ask the general if I can set up a squad to be sent up there with me."

Swiftly, she turned and left, leaving Iverson there to shake her head; "Poor girl doesn't even know what she's looking for yet..." the woman turned, looking at the metals on the table. "Hell, we don't know what we're looking for yet."

Jesse was anything but happy. She had been declined a crew of anyone but Iverson and herself, but was allowed to go. What was she going to do with no team? She had just hopped in her car and left without reporting back to the blonde doctor; the general was probably already contacting her and bitching her out on giving her a "stupid idea."

Jess had arrived home, only to realize that her work had just started. Her job was the fun part of the day. Now came the gross insults and making dinner, taking care of the garbage, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, vaccuming, and making sure that Trent had taken a shower; if he hadn't, she would make him, and clean off the couch. She shook her head, not wanting to arrive yet. She should have just stayed back on the base. The base was so much nicer - cleaner and didn't call her stupid or retarded.

Without another concious complaint, she unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out of the car. It was evening now, since most of her day was doing paperwork for Iverson in the back after she asked the general about her expedition. Jess just walked up the steps, unlocked the door and stepped inside. "Hello?" she called frailly. She hoped he wasn't here. Maybe she could sit and brood for a little while before he came home, let off some steam watching television, which he usually occupied.

With no such luck, he came from the back room, beer in hand; "Ah, baby," he smiled cheekily, "I've been waiting for you all day."

"I went to work," she said blandly, slipping off her shoes and hanging up her sweater in the closet. She walked inside, toes feeling the carpet beneith her feet. Anything was better than listening to him rant about how boring his day was, how there was nothing on the TV or radio, and reading was out of the question – Jesse didn't even know if he could read.

"Are you even listening to me?" Trent growled, shaking his hand at her face.

"Of course I am, dear," she said subconciously, working on collecting the dishes; "You took a shower, right?"

"No, I woke up an hour ago. Why would I take a fuckin' shower when I'm not going anywhere, bitch?"

Another low blow to her ego; she thought cleanliness was amazing. She hated feeling greasy and slimy and gross. She had to take a shower – sometimes twice a day if she was up for it. "Maybe you should take a shower. Since I'm off tomorrow, I can help you look for a job."

"I don't want no damn job," Trent growled, scratching his chin, "Jobs are for women, like you, who keep me fed and healthy and clean. Maybe you should get into the habbit of giving me a spongebath. Ha! Like one of those old-man nurses at the nursing home. You'd be hot in one of those naughty nurse's outfits, don't you think?"

Jesse wasn't listening anymore; she slipped past him, heading into the kitchen; "Uh-huh. Sure. I'm doing the dishes now."

"That's right, bitch, do those dishes. You know you love taking care of me." Trent smiled; something told her that he was being sarcastic, but really, he wasn't. He was being cold and cruel and she felt dead and kicked. She wouldn't be surprised if she got raped next. He would probably ask for sex later that night, and not let her fall asleep until he passed out from having the usually-premature throes of his orgasm, leaving her at least a little hot and bothered from his small "equipment." Maybe four and a half inches. Maybe five, if she felt generous enough to call him "average".

She shook her head; she wouldn't give in tonight. She couldn't. She didn't want to. So she wouldn't. Jess told herself that time and time again; but the question still popped up in a growling voice that she couldn't place a finger on; she suspected it to be her concious. "Why did a pretty girl like you get pinned with a douchebag like him?"

"I don't know..." she murmured, hand scrubbing the grime away from the dish.

"You don't know if you want to have sex?" Trent growled, "Babe, I'm huge; what dirty bitch wouldn't want to have sex with me?"

She looked back and gavehim an expectant look of "Go away." "I'm doing the dishes, Trent. Please, leave."

"I don't want to leave. Maybe I'll just take you on the counter right now."

"Trent," she growled, now fully turning her body, glaring this time; "Either leave me alone for the night or leave the fucking house."

He threw up his hands in surrender, "Fine; be a moody bitch. See if I care." He walked off, leaving her in the waves of victory. She had finally won. She didn't have to have sex with him, and he would obviously sleep on the couch. Jess turned back to her dishes, and continued on with them with a new vigor.

... And that's when it hit her.

A fist had hit her in the skull, and Trent was there behind her, struggling to hold her down to the counter. Jess squirmed, his greasy hand finding her mouth and covering it with a rag. Nothing was on it, surprisingly, but it was to keep her quiet.

"Shut up and enjoy it," Trent hissed, pulling down the back of her pants and her underwear, kicking the tight jeans to her knees while fumbling with his stained sweatpants and boxers. Jess just closed her eyes, trying to focus on the soap smell coming from the dishes before her. She couldn't even turn off the water with her body being pushed over the counter, pinning her arms between her and the expensive granite.

He rubbed against her folds, trying to make her make any sound; any sound to turn him on. A crack would do, but that would be counted as abuse. What fun would that be? Trent pushed himself inside her, not stretching her by much, but it was enough from his chode thickening from the heat she constantly radiated.

Jesse whimpered, not understanding why he was doing this. "No!" she cried from behind the cloth; "I don't want this!"

"I know, babe, tell me how big I am..." he said breathily, pumping into her sex like it was the only heavenly thing on earth. There were a lot more heavenly things than Jesse's sex. Trent just didn't want to explore far enough to find them.

Jess shook her head, trying to get her point across. Obviously, he wasn't watching, or paying much attention.

"Y-yes!" he cried, shooting his seed inside of her. He did this often, only because he wanted another reason for her to let him stay: a child would be the perfect excuse.

The entire act may have lasted five minutes. Seven at most. Jess often counted because nothing would pleasure her enough to get lost in it. It was just embarrassing to watch him and all of his gross, sweating body ache and arch. It made her want to look away and imagine something else; maybe if she had more time, she could get into an affair with something more satisfying. Hell, anything would be more satisfying than this slob.

He pulled his now flaccid penis from her sex, and stored it back where it blended in most with his flaccid body. "Now wasn't that nice?" he asked, pulling her up to a standing position, watching as the seed he had spilled into her, spilled out onto the floor and on some of her pants. She wasn't even crying. It hadn't hurt physically, just emotionally. Not even the punch had physically hurt her. It might have cause some bruising, but, if anything, it just stunned her when she wasn't looking to be jabbed in the head with a fist.

The wall of realization that she had just been raped by her boyfriend hadn't hit her yet. She knew it happened; she knew it was probably going to happen again; but she didn't care yet. Not yet.

"Now finish the dishes, bitch," Trent grabbed a beer out of the fridge and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her with her pants down, seed drying on her folds. She felt cold. Not tired or anything, just cold. She pulled up her pants and underwear, and resumed the dishes.

Jess didn't know how it came to be that Trent was coming with her to Antartica. It was her and Trent. Just her and Trent, and a few guys she had asked to help out with transportation and recording data. But it was her and Trent, practically, at all times. He was far too overprotective of her; both of the people escorting them and recording were men. Trent thought that they were threats, and kept on threatening them with glares and glances. When one started too long at her, he stepped in front of her and blocked their line of sight.

Seclusion. She hated being alone with Trent. Though he was nicer in public, she was starting to feel grossed out by his incessant attacks on her pride. Calling her "bitch" and other nasty words when the others weren't listening or looking – or at least when he thought them not to be.

She hopped onto a snowmobile with her coworker, and then was just as quickly pulled off of it; she looked back to find Trent grabbing her hood and holding her back away from the other man. "I'll take her on that snowmobile."

"You don't even know how to start a snowmobile, Trent. Let Luke take me, and Peter will take you," Jesse said, pulling her hood away with a shoulder to his hand.

"No, Je-"

"Trent," Jesse growled, "I'm going with Luke. I'd rather not crash and die." She straddled the seat to the snowmobile, holding onto Luke's jacket before he took off, leaving Trent behind in the snow dust. She looked back to see him having a temper tantrum, and swing his fist at Peter – a big burly man with dark brown hair – who dodged agilely. Peter took him down, probably telling him to calm down or to stop being a baby. With a roll of her eyes, she looked to the head of the vehicle again; she wasn't going to look forward to spending more time with Trent when he showed up.