A/N: So I know I said two chapters a week, but since this one's the lenght of three chapters combined, I think it'll be enough to last you guys until I get back home :) Once you've read this, you'll officially know all about Laura's past! Congrats! But don't worry, that doesn't mean the story's anywhere close to being over; Irene's still dead at this point for goodness sake!
Laura began by telling him everything she'd told Sherlock, taking in the way John's face transitioned from wary to horrified as her story progressed. Once she'd finished relaying the events of that first day, she began to explain all that happened afterwards.
"Sebastian came by the house often after that," she began, and John's expression darkened.
"I really don't like where this is going," he muttered as he scooted closer to her and she allowed him to drape his arm over her waist.
"It only gets worse," she assured him quietly, and he ran his fingers through her hair.
"I spotted Jim rarely at first, although his visits increased as time went on, but Sebastian was a regular visitor. He would always be there waiting for me when I returned home from school, and would arrive at all hours of the night at my window on weekends. At first he was romantic, bringing flowers and continuing the shy, cautious routine that I eagerly ate up. I was genuinely convinced that Sebastian was kind and gentle, and that the way he'd treated me in my room on that first day had just been a result of his inexperience. I'd overwhelmed him, I told myself; I forced myself to ignore the sense that he was dark and dangerous, and told myself that there was nothing more to it than that."
"It's times like these when a TARDIS would be very helpful," John muttered, and Laura offered him a weak smile. "If I could go back in time and stop him, I would," he continued, and when Laura looked up into his face she saw that he was being completely serious.
"I don't care what kind of damage it would do to the space-time continuum or whatever. I would do anything to keep him from doing what he did, from hurting you. I would stop him before he could ever lay a hand on you," John said, his voice tight with a deep, honest anger.
Laura tightened her grip on his hand, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. He looked significantly calmer afterwards, and Laura felt she could continue on with her story without having to worry about John attacking a pillow in a fit of rage.
"He was a pretty good boyfriend at first, but after about a month or two, things changed. The romantic gestures dwindled and then stopped altogether, and he no longer spoke to me with the same sweet, almost reverent tone. He expected me to allow him to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, and he even began to treat me like his property, completely ignoring my requests, wants, and most of all fears."
John was biting down on his bottom lip, his expression a strange mix between ager, worry, and self-loathing. "I wish there was some way I could have stopped this, kept him from doing these things to you," John exclaimed, his voice so vehement Laura considered ending her story for the night.
"John, it isn't your fault," she told him gently, and he sighed in agitation.
"I know, but…" he trailed off and shook his head in frustration. When he didn't continue, Laura picked up where she'd left off.
"Sebastian had wanted to have sex often from the very beginning of our flawed relationship, but had settled for violating me only once a week. But once he'd given up on pretending to be a decent man, he shagged me whenever he bloody well pleased, and with such ferociousness that I was often left with various scratches and bruises. I hated what he did to me but I was convinced he loved me, that he couldn't help what he did, and that I should just let him do it because that's what you did when you loved someone. At least that's what he'd told me—everything I knew about love I learned from him."
John let out a grunt of displeasure, his face twisted and upset; but he didn't speak, and so Laura continued.
"Irene was well aware of what was going on. At first I thought she was just incredibly naïve, not noticing the bruises on my wrists from being pinned down, or the awkward way I walked on Sunday mornings and winced whenever I sat down. But one afternoon I caught her watching me as I cleaned a particularly nasty cut I'd gotten when Sebastian pushed me up against the edge of a windowsill, and the look on her face made it clear that she knew."
"I expected her to confront Sebastian in the way that I was too terrified to, to tell him to stop hurting me, to stop killing me—because I was sure he would be the death of me. But life continued on as usual, and eventually I realized Irene wasn't going to do anything about the way Sebastian was treating me. I had no way out. And that's when I started cutting myself. At first I used it as just another form of pain, my own way of trying to build up immunity to it, I guess? I don't really know what I was thinking. But things quickly spiraled out of control, and pretty soon I found that just causing myself pain wasn't enough, no matter how deep I cut or where I dug in the blade."
John's eyes flickered down to her wrists where various pink marks decorated the skin. She saw his eyes soften and she knew he was thinking of the numerous, far worse scars on her stomach and thighs.
"My teachers had begun to notice the marks and bruises, and my friends had as well—they all suspected what was really going on, as I'd bragged loudly about my amazing older boyfriend at school during the first few weeks of being with Sebastian. But no one did anything about it—no one cared. It's when I realized that I honestly didn't have anything to live for that I started trying to kill myself. I wasn't sure how to go about it, but I remembered seeing on the telly something about how slashing down the forearm was the best way to do it because the wound couldn't be stitched. So one night, after a particularly bad hour and a half with Sebastian, I crept into the bathroom and picked up the razor I always used. And the scariest part about that night? I didn't even hesitate. Things had gotten so bad that I was convinced death was my best option—that to end it all was the best course of action."
John's grip on her hand was so tight she had to pry his fingers apart in order to return circulation to her own. "Laura…" his dark blue eyes were filled with worry, despite the fact that the story obviously couldn't end with Laura's death. John pulled her even closer to him.
"But just as I began to cut Irene burst in and I froze. She simply stared for what felt like an eternity, and for a moment I honestly thought she was just going to turn around and walk back out of the bathroom, leaving me to die on the floor next to the toilet. But instead she reached forward and took the blade from my hands, then fastidiously cleaned my relatively shallow wound. She led me to my room, helped me into bed, and even tucked me in the way our mom used when we were little. But instead of murmuring "goodnight, pumpkin," like Mum always did, Irene whispered "I'm so sorry, Laura," before hurrying from the room like the very devil himself was at her heels.
"When I awoke the next morning, the only thing able to convince me it hadn't been a dream was the painful sting in my forearm. Hearing voices in Irene's room next door, I hurried over to the spot beside the wall where I always sat when I listened in on her conversations with Jim. I heard her whispering in pleading tones, mentioning my suicide attempt the night before and asking for what clearly wasn't the first time if Sebastian couldn't find himself another 'plaything'. When Jim replied that allowing Sebastian complete and unregulated control over me was nonnegotiable and part of their contract, Irene gave in without further argument. I packed my things right then and there.
"My sister had put a business deal above not only my dignity, innocence, and safety, but my very life as well; with one overheard conversation she'd ensured that I would never see her the same way again. While she'd done all she could to disassociate herself with me over the last two years, I'd thought she was just going through a phase, or that it was her strange way of coping with the loss of our parents. But now I knew it was guilt that had motivated her—a guilt that still wasn't stronger than her desire for wealth and power. My sister had betrayed me, and I knew that I could no longer rely on her at all."
"That bitch," John muttered, and Laura didn't disagree; she'd been thinking the same thing for the past thirteen years, and even Irene's death couldn't change her opinion.
"Although I was still a few months away from my eighteenth birthday, I was confident I could survive on my own. I'd saved up a few thousand pounds, planning to leave it to a charity when I'd passed, and I used a small fraction of my funds to board a bus to Wales. In search of a new life worth living, I never looked back.
"I lived my life, taking a part time job and eventually putting myself through uni. I was finally able to live the way I wanted to, and got a job that eventually brought me back to London. I'd attempted a few more relationships that each ended terribly in their own way, leading me to pretty much give up on the idea of a 'decent man' ever really existing. I suppose Irene had still kept tabs on me, despite the fact that I'd thought I'd managed to completely disappear from her life, as she called within a month of me moving to London. I ignored her, not ready to face my past, but eventually she managed to badger me so much I gave in. Irene always got her way, and my pain was no match for her determination.
"But every time we set up a time to meet, one of her clients would schedule an appointment unexpectedly or she'd get called for a last-minute meeting; even after all these years, she still put her business before me. But Abigail was always eager to entertain me, and we became fast friends as I arrived regularly at Irene's house almost twice a month. Abigail jokingly suggested that I just stay at Irene's house, in my old bedroom, for a week or so; at least then I'd be guaranteed to see her. Determined to finally confront my sister about her treatment of me as I'd been too upset and afraid to do in my youth, I did exactly as Abigail suggested. I sent Irene a text telling her to expect me at one o'clock, and she called me back saying that her day was entirely free. She promised that it would just be the two of us—and Abigail of course. So imagine my surprise when I arrived at my sister's home ready to confront my past, only to find you trotting down the stairs,"
Laura added that last bit in an attempt to wipe the grimace from John's face, and she let out a sigh of relief when a small smile graced his features. She'd only wanted to relive a burden from her chest, but had clearly ended up distressing him in the process. Laura snuggled closer until she could rest her head against John's chest. Tilting her face upwards, she placed a lingering kiss on his lips.
"Please don't be upset, John," she whispered, and his features softened.
"Sorry. It's just a lot to process," he told her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her even closer against him.
"I probably should have told you earlier," she began, but John shook his head adamantly.
"You told me at the perfect time—when you were ready. And I'm glad you did. I…well, I worry about you, Laura. I've lain awake at night wondering about what happened to you, if it was still happening, if I was somehow making it worse…" Laura's eyes widened at his words, and her heart leapt into her throat.
"John, how could you possibly think you were making things worse? You're what's helped me get through all of this, helped me accept what happened and finally begin to move on," she cried, her voice rising in pitch. She'd unearthed a wealth of feelings by retelling her story, and her sister's recent death, added onto John's words, proximity, facial expression—just John in general—were turning her into an emotional wreck.
"I'd sworn off men before I met you," she added, although she wasn't exactly sure why—perhaps to prove to him how much he'd changed her? Her words caused that familiar less-than-innocent smile to tug at John's lips.
"Is that so?" he asked, as his fingers began to tickle up and down the sides of her bare thighs beneath the sheets.
"It is," she told him matter-of-factly, and he arched an eyebrow.
"Would you care to explain why I changed your mind?" he asked, his lips now on her neck, and she snorted; Sherlock wasn't the only one with an ego that needed petting.
"Actually I'd rather not," she said, and she heard him chuckle into her collarbone. "You'll just have to guess," she added, then let out a guilty sigh of pleasure when he slid his palm up beneath her shirt and along her stomach.
"Oh, I love a challenge," he growled as he fingered her breasts, and Laura let out a quiet moan. John's fingers moved expertly over her chest for what felt like hours, alternating between tracing patterns along her skin and rolling her nipples between his thumb and index finger. His lips were soft on her neck, and his warm breaths puffed against her skin as he rubbed his nose into the spot just behind her ear. Laura finally pushed John's hands away to pull her shirt over her head, then climbed on top of him. She straddled his hips to rest her hands on John's chest instead, laughing at his grunt of surprise. She looked down at him, his eyes dark with desire, and she soaked in the power she felt rush through her as John watched her heaving chest with heavily-lidded eyes.
She slid her hands upwards, sliding the fabric of his shirt upwards before bending down to trail kisses down his chest. Laura then slipped her hands between his legs, rutting her palm against John's cock through the material of his boxers. Her actions caused a symphony of noises to erupt from within John, his breath now coming in strained gasps as he begged her to stroke him off properly. After a few more minutes of torturing him with her touch, Laura removed her hands from his groin and reached up to remove his shirt altogether. She then swooped down to attack his mouth with hers. John let out a frustrated grunt, and she felt his large hands slide beneath her underwear to grip onto her ass. She smiled as she realized he was trying to push her hips down against his, desperate for any sort of friction. Laura arched her back like a cat in response, and John let out another slightly annoyed yet clearly still aroused noise as she pressed her breasts into his chest and her butt harder up into his palms.
Laura eventually broke the kiss and gave in, sitting down to drag her fingernails slowly down his chest. She gently rocked her hips back and forth over his, and John let out one of his distinct and familiar begging noises— the one he reserved for the moment when he would very much appreciate it if Laura would allow him to shag her brains out.
Laura pulled away from him and rolled onto her back on the bed beside him, running her hands through her tangled hair. She had become accustomed to their nocturnal routine, and waited for John to jerk himself off as he normally did right about now. She would watch him intently as his hands stroked and pulled at his own skin, the noises that escaped his lips and the various ways his face contorted never failing to send currents of pleasure and desire rushing through Laura. But instead of plunging his hands below the waistband of his boxers, John turned to her and panted, "I wouldn't hurt you, you know".
A/N: Oh look, another incredibly heart-wrenching cliff hanger! I wonder what'll happen next?
Next chapter: I don't want to ruin the surprise since it's definitely not obvious, so I won't tell you!