Time stops. Sound ceases. Movement slows.

Every part of me is fixed on the points of contact. Contact that shouldn't even be possible without my initiation. The hands are large, with long pianists' fingers that curve over my pelvis and dig into the dips of my abdomen. I'm pulled back into someone else's hips, their chest against my shoulder blades. They're taller than me, that much I can tell, with lean muscle that contrasts sharply against my giving curves.

"Riddle me this…"

Time unwinds at the whisper, the smug satisfaction that makes me cringe. Hot breath exhales and something digs into the side of my face, but I can't move my head away. I almost don't hear him over the influx of sound.

"Tired pleas, forgotten, diseased. Locked away, forever and a day."

I don't know the answer. Is there even an answer? I can't answer it, can't think over the rushing in my ears, the fear, and my newly discovered aversion to touch. Our bodies rock together in a false semblance of dance, his strokes mocking; grotesque. His grip is starting to hurt, hands tightening enough to leave bruises. It stings and I wish someone would just turn around and see.

I blink back tears, air shuddering in my lungs. My teeth clench.

And I shake my head.

He sighs, long and drawn out, disappointment and disgust lingering between breaths. His cheek moves, nose tracing a line on the skin between the shell of my right ear and my short, curling hair.

"Alright." He mutters, resigned. A hand slides up my waist to settle beneath my ribs, ready to snake out and hull me away. "I'll tell you."

A breath."It a-"

"Dead Man." I hiss, head snapping up, foot stomping down. The crunch of cartilage is sickening to one who's never heard it up close, and the shock of my heavy boot hitting his foot travels up my leg like an electric current. Edward yelps and releases me, swearing as he cups a bloody nose. That's twice I've gotten him with a head butt. You'd think he'd learn.

I dart away, slipping through the people in the crowd who are only now stopping to stare at the man making a spectacle of himself. I race to the backdoor, snatching up my coat and throwing it on as I barge out into the dark alley beyond. The door slams violently against brick, the sound stark, and suddenly the wind is knocked out of me, my body flat beneath a ridiculously heavy weight.

"We got her!"

"Hold her still!"

"Where's the Boss?"

I thrash, kicking and clawing. My eyes still haven't adjusted to the dim and I can feel something very wrong with the way I am breathing.

I'm lifted roughly, arms pined to my sides and fuck that hurts.

"God damn fucking idiot! Put me down! Ow!Fuck!"

They're dragging me to the end of the alley and is that a black van? Why is it always a black van? How obvious can you get?

"Fuck! Rape! Kidnappers! Ow! You little shit! Let me go!" I scream, trying to be as loud and noticeable as I can; because that's what they teach you, right? In rape class? Right?

"She's got a mouth on her, don't she? Maybe they'll let us put it to good use later?"

I don't know which one said it, but I suddenly find myself wanting to kick him in the balls so hard he pees blood for a week. The guy holding me answers by putting a gloved hand over my mouth and I bite down, hard, but the material gets in the way.

"Damn, didn't we bring anything for this? Chloroform, ether? Something?"

One of them opens the van doors and the space looms before me like a hungry mouth, all void and blackness. I grab hold of my kidnappers' thumb and twist back until he jerks in pain and I fall onto hard asphalt, slicked with snow and ice. The impact sends a sharp spasm across my ribs and I feel it through the adrenaline like a hot brand. My grey headband falls out of one of my coats' pockets, unnoticed and forgotten.

I inhale past the twinges of pain and let out a high, piercing scream, the likes of which you only hear in horror movies and operas.

Then something is jabbed into my neck and this weird rush of numbness washes over me like a nightmare, all sick with wrongness. There something on the floor of the van, stark against the beige carpet and I grab it as I try to stand, but everything's moving, and I find myself using the side of the car for balance.

I swing and the men jump back, hooting and cat-calling.

"Haha! This one's got fight!"

"Ooo! Yeah, baby! Just like that!"

"Just get her in the car already! Boss's gonna be pissed."

I look up from where my head has lulled, pulling the wooden baseball bat closer even though I can barely keep my eyes open.

"Fuck you." I spit, furious and terrified.

My narrowed eyes catch on something in the distance; a column of light that falls from the open doorway at the end of the alley. It's the back entrance and two people are standing there. One is a red-head with a black splotch down the front of his green vest, Nigma, and the other is…

Someone who's a greedy son of a bitch.

Money exchanges hands.

And I lose the battle for awareness.