bleeding fire

Warning for almost rape

He can't feel pain when they hit him. When they try to beat him until he's bruised and bloody, their fists don't leave any marks on his skin. They try to hurt him, make him weak, but he can't feel a thing.

It's strange, but he doesn't care. It's not a disadvantage; it's not a hindrance. The absence of pain spurs him on, makes him fight harder, better.

He can fight back.

Lily doesn't know what the concept of pain is. It's an empty void, a vacant chasm. She has felt love before, yes, and hatred, and pretty much everything between those two extremes, but she hasn't felt pain.

Be it physically-inflicted, verbally, emotionally, she's just devoid of the capacity.

James lays there like a ragdoll, pretending to be beaten, as his assailants laugh triumphantly. Let them relish their victory, he thinks, because it's short-lived.

He counts to ten, soaking in their laughter, letting the anger build inside him like fuel. And then, he surges forward and the laughter ceases abruptly.

"What the—?"

James's fist meets his nose, there's a satisfying crack, and Pierre stumbles back, blood leaking from his nose and howling.

James is on the attack now. His hands and feet move in a flurry of punches and kicks. One by one, the ring of attackers goes down, clutching some part of their body. Giovanni holds his crotch. Moe is out cold.

And then, there are the rest, who either wisely flee or foolishly stay back. They fall.

And then, it's all over. The ringleader, Pierre, gets to feet clumsily and shouts for a retreat, though it sounds garbled, but the message is clear enough.

Pierre is the last to leave. He glares at James, the promise of revenge burning in his beady eyes, and James glares back with the promise to be ready, cracking his knuckles.

He'll be ready.

Lily doesn't like the night, which is why she's uneasy. She knows no one can hurt her — after all, she cannot feel pain — but she can be the victim of a heinous crime. She can still suffer in other ways.

Something creaks behind her and she jumps, clutching her purse closer to her hip. The night is ominous, every little sound causing her alarm. She stays watchful, heeding her surroundings.

But she still isn't prepared for something — or someone — to grab her.

Hands grip her forearms, vice-like, and push her forcefully into an alley. She fights back tooth-and-nail, biting, kicking, scratching — but her attacker doesn't release her. If anything, his grip grows tighter.

"She's a feisty one," a low rumble sounds in her ears. "I told ya she wouldn't come quietly."

"Doesn't matter, once we get our way with her," another voice, sleazy and rough, says. "She'll be nothing."

Lily shivers as the implication of their words hit her. She musters all the fight she has left in her and with one powerful move, she dislodges her attacker's hands.

But they're quick, grabbing her again as she makes a dash for the street.

"Stay still, you little bitch," the man hisses, the whiskey on his breath clogging up her senses. She stops wriggling and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Now, was that so har—?

He drops her all of a sudden with a grunt and Lily's senses are rattled and cleansed. She blinks, registering the sudden scuffle occurring right behind her. She can make out two shapes, melded together as they wrestled.

"Run!" someone shouts. "Run!"

Lily runs.

She hears footsteps behind her and risks a glance backward. The other man is pursuing her, his face screwed up with determination. That sends a surge of adrenaline through her — she's not going to be caught again.

She runs until she can't hear the footsteps anymore and then ducks into another alley, a dimly lit one, where at least she can see the ground beneath her. She collapses, propping her back up against a door, and breathes.

She hadn't been hurt, but she had been mentally scarred. She'd felt fear, anger, everything in between.

Footsteps enter the alley, and she freezes, but it's not those two men again. It's a boy, about her age — he looks young, and awfully attractive, but he's also out of breath.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" he hisses upon seeing her, cowering in the shadow of a door. "Why didn't you go straight home?"

"Excuse me?" she snaps, stepping out of the shadows, ignoring the fact that he could be another attacker. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Hey, I just saved your life back there!" the man retorts.

She draws in a breath. He's her savior? His voice sounds familiar...

He grabs her wrist and she flinches.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone suddenly melting to concern.

Lily doesn't know if she can trust him, but she wants to.

"I'm fine," she replies shakily.

"Did they hurt you?"

"N-no."

But he checks anyway, squeezing her wrists and forearms where they'd touched her, and pain lances through her body. Pain.

Oh fuck.

Romance Awareness - Only your soulmate can hurt you.

847 words