I walk slowly down the empty corridor, my worn out shoes making a dull click against the stone. I pause suddenly, without any apparent reason. I stand with my arms crossed over my modest chest, surveying the dark space around me. There is a faint noise from behind me, and I turn toward its origin. Inching closer, bit by bit. A hand shoots out from the shadows, seizing me and pulling me into a hidden corner.
Hot breath on my cheek. A pair of cold eyes, visible even in the inky black corridor, sweeping hungrily over me. Taking in my old and worn clothing that reveals more than I am entirely comfortable with.
Then a mouth crashing heavily and brutally down upon my own.
Teeth nipping none too gently at my bottom lip, until the faint metallic taste of blood teases my tongue.
Every inch of my mouth being explored.
He pulls back, giving both of us a moment to catch our breath. As soon as my breathing steadies, I grab his collar and pull him back down. His lips meet my neck, and he trails wet kisses down to my throat. Then even lower.
One hand is tangling itself in my long hair. The other is sliding beneath the bottom of my shirt, caressing my stomach.
The sleeve of my shirt has fallen, exposing my shoulder. He quickly takes advantage, letting his teeth graze my collar bone.
I pull away and he gives me a sneer.
"You're disgusting," he hisses.
And then his lips are upon mine again. Even more violently than the first time.
When he is finished, he gives me a rough shove, smirking as I fall to the floor. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, runs a hand through his impeccable hair, straightens his immaculate black shirt. He leaves without a word, only another stony glance.
I wait a moment before rising to my feet in a single graceful motion. I snicker to myself and walk to the bathroom.
Once there, I shut myself inside the nearest stall, muttering a locking spell. Slowly, I draw the knife from my pocket. The light reflects off of the blade, casting a silver glare along the wall. Then the edge is cutting into my skin. Crimson liquid spider webbing over the porcelain flesh of my wrist as I admire my work. It stings a bit, as it always does.
But it is worth it, a rich voice assures me.
Yes, of course it is, I reply.
To prove it, I make another, deeper cut in my other arm. The wounds throb slightly. But the blood trickling over my skin is positively beautiful.
Like scarlet waterfalls.
Not nearly as beautiful as you.
I blush. No, I'm not– really . . .
Would I lie to you?
No . . .
Of course I wouldn't.
I know– but–they– I have been told so many times that you betrayed me . . .
I instantly regret saying that. Why am I bringing this up? Hasn't he told me that they were wrong? Oh, I feel awful. He is going to think I doubt him now.
Do you believe them? He asks in a hurt voice.
No! Of course not ! But . . . I just heard it so much . . . I'm sorry . . . Oh, so sorry.
Then, in an odd, hollow voice, Do you trust me, Virginia?
Yes, Tom.