A/N: This is the graphic version of chapter eleven of my story "When the rain comes down" mind the rating guys there is a reason I wrote a second less graphic version.
The haze of hell came back with so much clarity that Ziva sobbed. The room was dark, it always was. He didn't want her to know how long she had been with him. Didn't want her to know that her life was passing away as certainly as the sun was rising and falling behind the black walls of the hell he had made her.
The smell of dried blood, sweat, and vomit, saturated her, turning her already twisting stomach over and over. She tried to steady her breathing and prayed that she wouldn't throw up again. Her stomach had been emptied countless times since waking in this place, hundreds of times for three simple reasons, pain, result, reaction.
There is only so much pain a body can endure before it begins to rebel against itself. She had lost count of the endless beatings, and her back and legs where numb now from the endless slashes he had made into her skin with the riding whip. The room would be unbearably hot when he doused her in ice water. The result was always the same; she would throw up and go into shock. How many times had body tried to surrender for her? How many times had they been forced to bring her back? What she wouldn't give for a simple bullet to the head, and the peace of knowing it was over.
The voice shouting voice of one of the medics had rung in her ears, giving her the hope that she would die soon and be free of this place forever.
"You must slow down. You're going to kill her before you get the answers you are looking for."
"That is your job," His voice growled. "Keep her alive and responsive."
"That's what I'm telling you, I'm not certain I can."
He slammed his hand against the wall and it echoed loudly dancing and bouncing off the wall s of her cell as he muttered a string of curses in Arabic, the door slamming left her alone in the darkness. Alone with her nightmares and dreams.
Perhaps that was why she had been alone so long, but no, she had to believe it was almost over. Had to believe he would end it, because as much as she wished she could, Ziva knew she would never have the chance to end it for him. Her restraints were to strong, and her guards to watchful. He would have to be the one to kill her, and God she hoped he would do it soon.
Her entire body ached. The familiar haze of unconsciousness danced across her mind briefly before moving on. Perhaps this time when she passed out she would be lucky, maybe this time she wouldn't wake up.
The rope around her wrists dug deeply into her bloody and broken skin bringing an ever present reminder of every second of her past and the promise of her future with him. The infections from her cuts was spreading through the bruises on top of bruises She had come to judge his visits as nightmares different only in the sense of a nightmare and hell itself.
Even through her one usable eye, Ziva could still see the outline of her last round of torture. Her blood was sprayed across both the walls and floor, and she suspected the ceiling also, but she couldn't raise her head to see. The physical pain was nothing; she had come to hope for it. Pray for it, because she would rather the beatings than the feel of him inside her.
Heavy metal dragging against metal interrupted her silent hell. Ziva closed her eyes and began to mentally shut down.
She could hear his voice whisper in her ear. Could feel the touch of his hands on her broken body, but she blocked it out. Focused on the walls she had built in her mind to block the pain, the grief, and the overwhelming sickness that always came when he was there. She distanced her mind from her body even as his cold laughter danced across her skin and the pain began again with rough kisses that promised things she wished she couldn't give.
Her ragged clothes had been subjected to his treatment so many times that they fell apart in his rough and wanting hands.
He always stripped her before taking her. He enjoyed the sight of her broken and naked body shivering in the cold of the room. The marks he had left on her always glimmered in the darkness. It was hard to see the endless bites he had left on her bare flesh through the cuts and bruises he had covered her in, but he knew they were there, and so did she, and that was enough to turn him on.
He pulled her from the chair roughly her hands still bound behind her. She kept her eyes closed as he threw her to the floor and climbed on top of her. She knew it was coming a second before he thrust himself into her. She wasn't ready for him, she never was, and that was how he liked it.
She uttered a yep of pain, but didn't fight. Instead she lay deathly still as he pounded himself into her deeper and deeper until he felt his release as he came inside her.
He lay still for a moment shifting his weight on top of and inside her.
Her eyes were still tightly closed and he could feel her shaking beneath him.
"Pathetic coward," he hissed into her hair.
He wanted her to fight. She was so much more when she fought, but it had been to long since she had last. He remembered the first time he had taken her. Ziva had fought him every second, and he had come away looking it, but he had never enjoyed a woman as much as he had her. He loved the fight, the struggle, and finally his victory. He felt himself grow hard again inside her as he remembered the countless times he had taken her before, and began his thrusting once again.
She never moved more than a little, and only when he caused her pain.
He left her wet and naked on the dirty floor. Someone else would clean her up, or he would return and take her again, but for the moment he was spent, and she was worthless.
Ziva heard the clip of metal and knew she was alone. It was only then that she pulled her legs against her chest and cried, she would never let him see her like this, not willingly, but when he was done there was nothing else she could do, except pray that next time he would beat her instead of rape her.
It's her own sobbing that pulls Ziva back from her nightmare. Her blankets are thrown across the floor and she shivers as the chill of the night brushes across her sweaty skin.
Almost instantly she rushes to the bathroom to empty her stomach several times.
Her body shakes as she sits with her head on her knees on the cool tile floor. Slowly she struggles to her feet and turns the shower on.
The water is to hot, and it burns her skin but she doesn't turn it down. Ziva scrubs at her body trying to make it clean but knowing that it never will be. After a hundred tries what is left of her rational mind knows that it's clean. After a thousand scorching showers she knows that his touch has been washed away, but she can still feel it, can still feel his body against her so she scrubs harder making the skin turn an angry red.
A combination of the heat, pain, and nausea makes her dizzy. Shutting off the water she leans against the cold tile wall. It feels like ice against her skin as she sinks to the floor. Ziva sits there cold, naked, and wet sobbing into her knees until there is nothing left to cry. All her tears have been spent, and her chest aches from the lack of oxygen.
She drags herself up onto shaky legs and dries her chilled body.
Jackson's voice rings in her mind, "Talk to him kid. He will forgive you if you don't, but you might not be able to forgive yourself if you don't."
The sky outside was still to dark, and her nightmare to fresh. Ziva knew she couldn't sit alone in the darkness.
She hesitates outside his door. Its three am he is probably sleeping, but she has made it this far. She knocks softly, hoping he will answer and praying that he won't.
Tony opens the door too quickly, and she had knocked to softly. There was no way he had been asleep. He doesn't seem surprised to see her. In fact he looks relieved.
"We need to talk…" she says softly.
He steps aside silently and allows her in, knowing that he was finally getting the answers he wasn't sure he wanted.