Chapter 7
A/N: OMG, I am SO sorry for not posting this sooner. God, you would think your teachers would let up a little at the end of the year, but NO! They have to go and bombard you with as many tests and projects and homework as they can before school lets out. (Snort.) Self-riteous bastards.
..........................................................................................................................................
Oh god, oh, oh. . .
Screw the scared little girl act, I'm running as fast as I can.
Unfortunately, they make cars a little faster than people.
A hand reaches out of the car window and grabs a hold of me.
"No, Buff, stay a while. All sorts of fun to be had, right?"
"Get your filthy hands off of me you fu-"
He's out of the car faster than I can blink. Seriously, when did he become superman?
"You never learn, do you Buffy? I don't tolerate back-talking."
By now he has me pinned against a tree on the side not facing the road.
"You don't own me, Angel. I can say whatever the hell I want to you."
My hand slowly brings out the little knife I've carried in my jacket pocket ever since I was first. . . But he's faster than me, and he snatches it out of my hand.
"What's this? A present for me? Aw, Buff, you shouldn't have."
His hand slowly reaches down my pants.
"Get off me!"
He laughs and presses harder against me. I can feel his arousal, and it sickens me.
He slowly pulls my zipper down, and he puts the knife to my throat.
"Make a sound, and I swear, your neck will be getting nicely acquainted with Mr. Knife here."
"Already met him, tha-"
He needs to stop shutting me off. Seriously, I'm making quality puns here. But still, he cuts me off by slapping my face.
What he doesn't know is that somewhere in between my walking home and him grabbing me, my fear and depression had turned into rage. Not that it's doing me any good, though.
"You need to learn some respect. And I think I know just how to do it."
I didn't realize that his pants had been pulled down, or that mine had as well. But I did realize that he had slammed his way inside me, and it hurt like hell.
I also realize that my momentary rage is again drifting away into deep fear.
He could kill me.
He takes my knife and draws little lines from my breast to my shoulder, still pumping away deep inside me.
"Now, you little slut. . . I'm going to mark you. . . as mine. . ."
He moves the blade downwards, cutting through my shirt, down, down, down. . .
Right below my belly-button, he makes another slash. He draws it back up as his breath gets shorter and raspier.
As he comes, he makes a crude 'A' right on my breast.
He screams in release, I scream in pain. No one will be the wiser. . .
And he leaves.
..........................................................................................................................................
There's a set of steps that must be taken to forget pain. There are two paths you may follow with different sets of steps that you can take. One the easier, but less rewarding, and one the harder, longer lasting. The latter takes too long.
I need to be free of this pain NOW. I'm too cut up already to actually cut myself, so I go for losing myself in my mind.
I slide down the side of the tree and rock myself back and forth. I believe that's clinically proven to be the best position for potential insane-people to be in.
My blood rushes from my cuts, from down there, from inside. . . Blood, sweat and tears.
That's where he finds me. Says he's been looking all over for me, going off on a ramble streak until he pulls me up and gets a good look at me. Then the only look on his face is rage.
"Who. Did. This."
I shake my head and burst into tears again. He jerks my chin up to look at him.
"Lizzie. Tell me who did this to you."
My voice comes out as barely a whisper, but I'm sure he can hear.
"Angel."
He doesn't know Angel, why does he have a look of shock on his face from the name?
"Angel who?"
"O'Donnell."
O' and Mc'. . . means 'decendent of'. . . Angel decendent of Donnell. . . Bastard. Damn the whole generation.
"My step-brother."
Or not.
William's last name isn't O'Donnell. Wait, what is his last name?
"Never took their name, 'cuz I refused to have anything to do with that wanker. Can't believe my mum married his father. Da' is better. He's the one working in the library. . ."
"So why. . . why is Angel back?"
"Don't know, pet. All I know is that he's a dead man."
..........................................................................................................................................
A/N: Oh, my. . . Please review, it inspires me to no end. Also, big, big, BIG thanks to everyone who has already reviewed. TBC,
Andi
A/N: OMG, I am SO sorry for not posting this sooner. God, you would think your teachers would let up a little at the end of the year, but NO! They have to go and bombard you with as many tests and projects and homework as they can before school lets out. (Snort.) Self-riteous bastards.
..........................................................................................................................................
Oh god, oh, oh. . .
Screw the scared little girl act, I'm running as fast as I can.
Unfortunately, they make cars a little faster than people.
A hand reaches out of the car window and grabs a hold of me.
"No, Buff, stay a while. All sorts of fun to be had, right?"
"Get your filthy hands off of me you fu-"
He's out of the car faster than I can blink. Seriously, when did he become superman?
"You never learn, do you Buffy? I don't tolerate back-talking."
By now he has me pinned against a tree on the side not facing the road.
"You don't own me, Angel. I can say whatever the hell I want to you."
My hand slowly brings out the little knife I've carried in my jacket pocket ever since I was first. . . But he's faster than me, and he snatches it out of my hand.
"What's this? A present for me? Aw, Buff, you shouldn't have."
His hand slowly reaches down my pants.
"Get off me!"
He laughs and presses harder against me. I can feel his arousal, and it sickens me.
He slowly pulls my zipper down, and he puts the knife to my throat.
"Make a sound, and I swear, your neck will be getting nicely acquainted with Mr. Knife here."
"Already met him, tha-"
He needs to stop shutting me off. Seriously, I'm making quality puns here. But still, he cuts me off by slapping my face.
What he doesn't know is that somewhere in between my walking home and him grabbing me, my fear and depression had turned into rage. Not that it's doing me any good, though.
"You need to learn some respect. And I think I know just how to do it."
I didn't realize that his pants had been pulled down, or that mine had as well. But I did realize that he had slammed his way inside me, and it hurt like hell.
I also realize that my momentary rage is again drifting away into deep fear.
He could kill me.
He takes my knife and draws little lines from my breast to my shoulder, still pumping away deep inside me.
"Now, you little slut. . . I'm going to mark you. . . as mine. . ."
He moves the blade downwards, cutting through my shirt, down, down, down. . .
Right below my belly-button, he makes another slash. He draws it back up as his breath gets shorter and raspier.
As he comes, he makes a crude 'A' right on my breast.
He screams in release, I scream in pain. No one will be the wiser. . .
And he leaves.
..........................................................................................................................................
There's a set of steps that must be taken to forget pain. There are two paths you may follow with different sets of steps that you can take. One the easier, but less rewarding, and one the harder, longer lasting. The latter takes too long.
I need to be free of this pain NOW. I'm too cut up already to actually cut myself, so I go for losing myself in my mind.
I slide down the side of the tree and rock myself back and forth. I believe that's clinically proven to be the best position for potential insane-people to be in.
My blood rushes from my cuts, from down there, from inside. . . Blood, sweat and tears.
That's where he finds me. Says he's been looking all over for me, going off on a ramble streak until he pulls me up and gets a good look at me. Then the only look on his face is rage.
"Who. Did. This."
I shake my head and burst into tears again. He jerks my chin up to look at him.
"Lizzie. Tell me who did this to you."
My voice comes out as barely a whisper, but I'm sure he can hear.
"Angel."
He doesn't know Angel, why does he have a look of shock on his face from the name?
"Angel who?"
"O'Donnell."
O' and Mc'. . . means 'decendent of'. . . Angel decendent of Donnell. . . Bastard. Damn the whole generation.
"My step-brother."
Or not.
William's last name isn't O'Donnell. Wait, what is his last name?
"Never took their name, 'cuz I refused to have anything to do with that wanker. Can't believe my mum married his father. Da' is better. He's the one working in the library. . ."
"So why. . . why is Angel back?"
"Don't know, pet. All I know is that he's a dead man."
..........................................................................................................................................
A/N: Oh, my. . . Please review, it inspires me to no end. Also, big, big, BIG thanks to everyone who has already reviewed. TBC,
Andi
