(6)

Bobbie had begged her sister not to go out. She'd pleaded with her, reminded her of the danger that she, and the men around her, would be in if Harry was still following her. But Monique had always been the rebellious one. When Bobbie wasn't looking, her sister had sneaked out of the house and left her with two servings of food on the table.

When Monique had called earlier in the day, asking for a place to stay, Bobbie had said no. It wasn't until Monique arrived at her doorstep, eyes red from having been crying and with a police escort at her side, that Bobbie let her inside, holding her close in an embrace meant to comfort her. It didn't. The moment the police officer left, Monique stepped out of Bobbie's embrace, running her hand through her dark hair, and seemingly turned into another person. Bobbie had seen this before; it was why she had said no in the first place. She might be her sister but Bobbie couldn't comprehend Monique.

One moment she was sobbing, tears running down her face and body shaking with fear and the next she was as cool and relaxed as if she'd just come back from grocery shopping.

When the cops arrive, three hours after Monique left, Bobbie shakes her head and tells them everything they want to know.

"She's probably somewhere with a lot of men," Bobbie scoffs. "She frequents places like that."

"Anywhere more specific?" the dark haired detective asks. "Did she mention a certain place she likes to go to more?"

"I don't know... those places where people drink and dance," she responses, "I don't know... Wait! She left something on her night table..." Bobbie hurries out of the room, going to the spare bedroom that Monique occupied. "A book of matches," she proclaims as she re-enters the living room. "I think it's from one of those places. Here. I hope it helps."

The Cellar was Monique's favourite hangout. The music, although a bit too loud sometimes, was the perfect beat to dance to especially after a day such as the day she was having. Being on the dance floor, eyes closed and letting her body move whichever way it wanted, was nothing but bliss. The sheer adrenaline that rushed through her body felt wonderful. The feel of someone's hands on her waist, moving her hips in time with the music and the rhythm of their hearts as they beat together was even better.

Roger, the man she was currently dancing closely with, had moves like a pro. His hands at her hips, their bodies swaying with the beat of the music above, and lips at her ear, they were in perfect sync. Monique let her loll back onto his shoulder, a small sigh escaping through her lips, as Roger began to place little kisses along her exposed neck. His moustache tickled her, making her giggle every once in a while.

When the song ended, Roger leads her back to the bar motioning to the bartender for two beers. Monique doesn't say anything, let's herself free be pulled along. Roger seems nice, she thinks, maybe this time Harry will see that I've found the right man. Maybe he'll be safe. But even as she thinks these words, she feels Harry watching her. Dark, cold eyes search hers out; she feels his disapproval in the air.

"The tape was running about ten minutes behind the action on the floor," Roger was telling her, his voice enthusiastic. "Twenty-six million shares..."

She stops listening, watching Roger's lips move and his eyes widen as he continues his tale but not taking in anything he is saying. Her body sways with the beat of the overhead music, her fingers tapping at the side of the bottle in her hand.

"You always talk so much?" She teases with a smile, stopping him half way through a thought.

"Not when there is something better to do," he replies, returning her smile. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Nothing," she answers, taking a sip of her beer.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Monique looks down at her hands, she knows what's coming, and she can practically hear the words form in the man's head.

"Well... are we just gonna hang out and make small talk or are we gonna..."

"What?" she asks wanting to hear him say the words, wanting to hear the need and want in his voice. "What are you suggesting?"

They go to her place, thankfully all the police tape has been taken down already, and as they head up to her apartment, she feels good about this. Harry hasn't appeared so far, only that brief feel as of someone was watching her, which had long since gone, and Roger seemed very nice.

Unlike the last man... maybe Roger will stay the whole night and maybe he'll call tomorrow and we'll go out dancing and have dinner. Maybe I'll-

"Nice place you've got here," Roger comments. "You live here alone?"

She nods.

Things with Roger did not go as planned, however. Soon after reaching the bedroom, all he wants to do is get physical. Monique lets him, letting her body go pliant under his rough touch. He grips her by the hair, pulling some strands from her scalp and making her wince. It doesn't stop his movements inside of her; in fact he seems to take pleasure in her sounds of pain. He continues to pull her hair before his hands move down to her throat, thick fingers wrap themselves around her as his hips keep thrusting inside of her, the sound of skin to skin resonate in the air along with his shallow breathing and her whimpers. She doesn't want this anymore.

When his fingers begin to squeeze down on her throat, leaving her gasping for air, Monique snaps. She pushes him with all the strength she can possibly gather, her hands claw at his fingers until they let go. His eyes, which had been previously closed, open wide with pain as she digs the heel of her foot into his back.

"What the hell, lady?" he exclaims pulling away from her. She is left free from his weight on top of her and takes the chance to move away from him. In the furthest corner of the bed, she pulls her legs close to her and rocks back and forth. Roger stands up, grabbing the bed sheet to cover himself. "The hell is wrong with you?"

"I-I don't that," Monique croaks out, still feeling his fingers around her throat. "I don't go for that."

"You looked like you did," Roger barks, reaching down to grab his pants. He begins to dress, not sparing a glance at Monique. "Girls like you like things like that."

"Just because you picked me up in a bar – " she starts to protest.

"I picked you up?" Roger interrupts, shaking his head. "What do you want? An engagement ring?"

"I don't want you to think-"

"Look, you're terrific."

"Then show me some respect," she yells getting off the bed. She grabs her bathroom, wrapping it around herself twice. "I deserve at least that, don't I?"

"Listen, uh, uh..." he trails off, looking at her for help.

"Monique," she snaps. "It's Monique, Roger."

He continues to change. She looks around, eyes wide. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I – I just thought I'd heard something." She looked towards the kitchen and sees Harry. He calls to her, his dark shadow luring her in. She turns to Roger and says, "I'll make you some coffee whilst you finish changing."

"Thanks," Roger replies, a bit confused at the change of mood. He shook his head and continued dressing as Monique stood up, leaving him in the living room. "Black, no sugar," he called out as she enters the kitchen.

For a second she thinks it was all in her imagination, just a shadow or a car passing by but then she hears it. She closes her eyes, trying to will him away but his voice continues, permeating through everything until it invades her mind, his voice echoing between her ears. Her eyes snap open, glancing around the room to locate him. Maybe she can convince him to go away... maybe he won't come out this time.

Monique... Harry calls out seductively. Monique...

"Harry? Not again, please!" She begs, looking around the kitchen trying to spot him. "Please, no more!"

You've been a bad girl, Monique...

"Harry, no, I'm sorry!" she apologises, going towards the sound of his voice. She leans over the kitchen sink in order to look out the window, sure that his voice is coming from outside. "I'll be good, just please go away."

You shouldn't like, Monique!

"No more, please!"

LET ME IN! Harry bellows, his voice getting closer and louder. She wonders briefly if Roger, being only a room away, can't hear him yell. He doesn't care, she reasons as Harry yells, LET. ME. IN. MONIQUE!

She staggers away from the kitchen counter, turning and walking mechanically out of the kitchen. His voice, his terrible, mean voice echoed in her mind, yelling at her with every step she took. He named all her past dalliances, telling her about each and every one of her sins, promised her redemption if she would just let him in.

Good girl... let me in and everything will be just fine.

Monique reaches for the doorknob, her hand tightens around it. She takes a deep breath, maybe Harry is right, and maybe everything will be okay after this time. She opens the door, waiting until her eyes adjust to the darkness to walk inside. Harry is there, waiting for her with a look of disdain on his dark, shadowy face.

"Harry, please. I'll never do it again, I promise. I'll get rid of him, okay? I'll make him leave."

You're trash, Monique. He doesn't respect you.

Monique looks away; Harry's angry gaze is too much. It's true, she knows it, and Harry knows it.

You're defiled. Impure, Monique.

Take off that robe, Harry orders. Take it off!

"No," she managed to choke out. "I don't want to!"

Do it!

Monique did.