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Chapter 13: Violation
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"James, what are you doing?" Her voice was shaky as she backed away from him, her beautiful hazel eyes filled with fear. Her retreat was abruptly halted as she felt the cold brick wall against her back. He smiled greasily and caressed her breast, his other hand squeezed her ass.
"Come on, baby. Don't tell me you've never thought about it?" He crushed his lips down onto hers and Andrea roughly pushed him away.
"Stop, James, please." Her soft plea went unheaded as his hand slid up the inside of her thigh. "Stop it," she said more firmly.
"Shh." She tried to unsnap her jeans and she bit the hand that had been caressing her tear-stained cheek. James lost it. He roared angrily and backhanded her, sending her crashing to the floor. "Goddamn cocktease. Think you can just lead me on like that?" He kicked at her but missed as she rolled to her feet.
"James, you've had too much to drink." He snickered and stumbled toward her.
"And you've had just enough." She frowned.
"What are you talking about?" He just smiled. Suddenly Andrea began to feel very tired. Her limbs felt like lead, as her eyes drooped shut. She sank to the ground, unconscious. The bastard had drugged her drink.
Unable to defend herself, she could do nothing to stop the repeated violations . . .
* * *
"No, stop!" Andrea was startled awake by her own terrified scream, drenched in a cold sweat and salty tears.
It was just a nightmare. But it'd seemed so real.
Sobs racked her small shoulders as she cried uncontrollably in her bed. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand between spurts of tears. It was 2:40 in the morning. Still crying, she stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom, sinking onto the cold tile floor next to the toilet.
Remembering the nightmare, she threw up into the toilet. She flushed it and the crying ensued.
She lost track of the time. Between puking and bawling, one didn't exactly have the time to glance at a clock. Sometime around four, the door to the bathroom opened. Flushing the toilet again, she looked up at Spike, as tears streamed down her damp cheeks. She sniffled pathetically as he gazed down at her, concern wrinkling his brow.
"Come on, love. You've been in here long enough. And with you shanking the way you are, I'm right surprised you haven't broken your bloody tailbone yet on that hard floor." He lifted her easily off the floor and took her into the bedroom. He set her on the bed and strode to the door.
"Please don't leave me," Andrea whispered. He returned to the bedside, kneeling down next to it. He gently smoothed the hair away from her face.
"It's okay. I'll be right back." She nodded slowly and he exited the room. Spike returned a moment later carrying a steaming mug. She was sitting on the bed, back against the pillow, knees held defensively against her chest. He handed her the mug as he sat down at her feet. She smiled slightly.
"Hot chocolate?" He shrugged and smiled boyishly.
"Always worked for me." She remained silent, instead sipping the warm drink. "Feeling better now?" She nodded. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"They say it helps to talk about nightmares."
"Maybe later." She paused. "How long have you been here?"
"Since around one. Save me the trouble of getting dusted on the way over."
"I didn't even think about it when . . ." She trailed off.
"I know. I heard you get out of bed and decided to give you some time. Figured an hour was long enough.
"Thanks for pulling me out of there. I was getting sick of getting sick." Spike was being really sweet about this. She was glad he was there. If anyone was going to comfort her after that, she'd want it to be him. Maybe she should tell him . . .
Spike had been worried sick when Andrea had stumbled out of her bedroom in tears and had proceeded to throw up into her toilet. He'd wanted to rush to her aid, but thought she'd probably resent the intrusion so closely following what had most likely been an extremely horrific nightmare. He hoped it wasn't anything prophetic. If it had her so terrified that she'd resort to hiding on her bathroom floor, then he'd prefer that it didn't happen. Though he wished she'd tell him what it had been about. Then, maybe, he could help. But he wouldn't force her.
Andrea set her now half-empty mug on the nightstand next to her bed and buried her face in her arms, wiping away the last of her tears. She sniffled softly. She looked up when she felt Spike's hand on her arm as he gently tugged her into his arms. His hand rotated comfortingly on her back as she laid her hand on his shoulder, allowing herself to become immersed in his scent. She looked up into his deep blue eyes just in time to catch the flash of desire that zoomed through his gaze. Her eyes fluttered closed as he involuntarily brushed his lips with her own. He moaned and deepened the kiss. Andrea slipped her hands under his stretchy black tee, feeling the smooth muscles of his back ripple under her fingertips as he pushed her back onto the bed. She instinctively rolled her hips, causing him to swear softly. She pulled Spike's shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. Tearing her lips from his, she turned her attention to lightly dragging her teeth over his shoulder. His hand slipped under the hem of the white tank she'd worn to bed. He walked his fingers up her ribs and she inhaled sharply when his calloused palm covered her breast. He lazily kissed her neck.
"Wait," he said breathlessly. "We have to stop." He gazed down at her and she brushed a stray blind curl off his forehead.
"How come?"
"Because, subconsciously, you're only doing this to confirm that you're not still dreaming." She opened her mouth to object, but he continued. "It's completely natural, after a nightmare, to need to confirm reality. But when we make love, it'll be because we both want to-"
"- but I do want to-"
"- and not," he continued firmly, "because you got scared out of your wits." Andrea frowned. She didn't know whether to be irritated or touched.
"I guess that makes sense. So what now?" He rolled onto his back, leaving her resting between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his bare chest.
"Let's talk, shall we?"
"About what?" She gazed curiously up into Spike's intense blue eyes. He paused, thinking.
"Tell me about you."
"What about me?"
"Where did you grow up? Do you have a large family? Friends? When did you find out you were a potential?"
"A small town in Ontario, yes and no, of course, and when I was fifteen."
"Yes and no?"
"I had a large family, but my brother and I grew up on the streets. When I was fourteen my mother got tossed in jail for trafficking heroine."
"You lived on the streets?"
"Yeah. Ben and I stayed in an old abandoned shack, stole what food and money we could. Sometimes, when things got rough-"
"-when things got rough?" he said sarcastically.
"Rougher than they already were, we had to resort to less. . .pleasant. . .methods of getting cash." His eyes narrowed.
"Like what?"
"Well, I was always kind of well developed for my age. When we were short on cash, I'd flash guys for cash."
"Your brother got you to star in a sodding peepshow when you were fourteen?"
"It was my decision. It was either that, or starve. Besides, it wasn't that bad. It's how we met James. After that, he helped us. Gave us money when we needed it."
"Wait a second. If you went to university, how could you live on the streets?"
"I'd graduated by the time mom got tossed in the slammer. Imagine my shock. Just because you're well educated doesn't mean you can't be a dirty little pickpocket." She hesitated. "Can we talk about something else now?"
"Sure." He was damn lucky she'd told him as she had.
"How old were you when you got turned?"
"Twenty-eight."
A/N: Yeah, I know this is kind of a weird spot to end my chapter, but look for an update soon!! I'm sorry you couldn't come over Zira, and I promise to play Don't Be a Dork with you and I promise there will be boffing *scoff*
"James, what are you doing?" Her voice was shaky as she backed away from him, her beautiful hazel eyes filled with fear. Her retreat was abruptly halted as she felt the cold brick wall against her back. He smiled greasily and caressed her breast, his other hand squeezed her ass.
"Come on, baby. Don't tell me you've never thought about it?" He crushed his lips down onto hers and Andrea roughly pushed him away.
"Stop, James, please." Her soft plea went unheaded as his hand slid up the inside of her thigh. "Stop it," she said more firmly.
"Shh." She tried to unsnap her jeans and she bit the hand that had been caressing her tear-stained cheek. James lost it. He roared angrily and backhanded her, sending her crashing to the floor. "Goddamn cocktease. Think you can just lead me on like that?" He kicked at her but missed as she rolled to her feet.
"James, you've had too much to drink." He snickered and stumbled toward her.
"And you've had just enough." She frowned.
"What are you talking about?" He just smiled. Suddenly Andrea began to feel very tired. Her limbs felt like lead, as her eyes drooped shut. She sank to the ground, unconscious. The bastard had drugged her drink.
Unable to defend herself, she could do nothing to stop the repeated violations . . .
* * *
"No, stop!" Andrea was startled awake by her own terrified scream, drenched in a cold sweat and salty tears.
It was just a nightmare. But it'd seemed so real.
Sobs racked her small shoulders as she cried uncontrollably in her bed. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand between spurts of tears. It was 2:40 in the morning. Still crying, she stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom, sinking onto the cold tile floor next to the toilet.
Remembering the nightmare, she threw up into the toilet. She flushed it and the crying ensued.
She lost track of the time. Between puking and bawling, one didn't exactly have the time to glance at a clock. Sometime around four, the door to the bathroom opened. Flushing the toilet again, she looked up at Spike, as tears streamed down her damp cheeks. She sniffled pathetically as he gazed down at her, concern wrinkling his brow.
"Come on, love. You've been in here long enough. And with you shanking the way you are, I'm right surprised you haven't broken your bloody tailbone yet on that hard floor." He lifted her easily off the floor and took her into the bedroom. He set her on the bed and strode to the door.
"Please don't leave me," Andrea whispered. He returned to the bedside, kneeling down next to it. He gently smoothed the hair away from her face.
"It's okay. I'll be right back." She nodded slowly and he exited the room. Spike returned a moment later carrying a steaming mug. She was sitting on the bed, back against the pillow, knees held defensively against her chest. He handed her the mug as he sat down at her feet. She smiled slightly.
"Hot chocolate?" He shrugged and smiled boyishly.
"Always worked for me." She remained silent, instead sipping the warm drink. "Feeling better now?" She nodded. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"They say it helps to talk about nightmares."
"Maybe later." She paused. "How long have you been here?"
"Since around one. Save me the trouble of getting dusted on the way over."
"I didn't even think about it when . . ." She trailed off.
"I know. I heard you get out of bed and decided to give you some time. Figured an hour was long enough.
"Thanks for pulling me out of there. I was getting sick of getting sick." Spike was being really sweet about this. She was glad he was there. If anyone was going to comfort her after that, she'd want it to be him. Maybe she should tell him . . .
Spike had been worried sick when Andrea had stumbled out of her bedroom in tears and had proceeded to throw up into her toilet. He'd wanted to rush to her aid, but thought she'd probably resent the intrusion so closely following what had most likely been an extremely horrific nightmare. He hoped it wasn't anything prophetic. If it had her so terrified that she'd resort to hiding on her bathroom floor, then he'd prefer that it didn't happen. Though he wished she'd tell him what it had been about. Then, maybe, he could help. But he wouldn't force her.
Andrea set her now half-empty mug on the nightstand next to her bed and buried her face in her arms, wiping away the last of her tears. She sniffled softly. She looked up when she felt Spike's hand on her arm as he gently tugged her into his arms. His hand rotated comfortingly on her back as she laid her hand on his shoulder, allowing herself to become immersed in his scent. She looked up into his deep blue eyes just in time to catch the flash of desire that zoomed through his gaze. Her eyes fluttered closed as he involuntarily brushed his lips with her own. He moaned and deepened the kiss. Andrea slipped her hands under his stretchy black tee, feeling the smooth muscles of his back ripple under her fingertips as he pushed her back onto the bed. She instinctively rolled her hips, causing him to swear softly. She pulled Spike's shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. Tearing her lips from his, she turned her attention to lightly dragging her teeth over his shoulder. His hand slipped under the hem of the white tank she'd worn to bed. He walked his fingers up her ribs and she inhaled sharply when his calloused palm covered her breast. He lazily kissed her neck.
"Wait," he said breathlessly. "We have to stop." He gazed down at her and she brushed a stray blind curl off his forehead.
"How come?"
"Because, subconsciously, you're only doing this to confirm that you're not still dreaming." She opened her mouth to object, but he continued. "It's completely natural, after a nightmare, to need to confirm reality. But when we make love, it'll be because we both want to-"
"- but I do want to-"
"- and not," he continued firmly, "because you got scared out of your wits." Andrea frowned. She didn't know whether to be irritated or touched.
"I guess that makes sense. So what now?" He rolled onto his back, leaving her resting between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his bare chest.
"Let's talk, shall we?"
"About what?" She gazed curiously up into Spike's intense blue eyes. He paused, thinking.
"Tell me about you."
"What about me?"
"Where did you grow up? Do you have a large family? Friends? When did you find out you were a potential?"
"A small town in Ontario, yes and no, of course, and when I was fifteen."
"Yes and no?"
"I had a large family, but my brother and I grew up on the streets. When I was fourteen my mother got tossed in jail for trafficking heroine."
"You lived on the streets?"
"Yeah. Ben and I stayed in an old abandoned shack, stole what food and money we could. Sometimes, when things got rough-"
"-when things got rough?" he said sarcastically.
"Rougher than they already were, we had to resort to less. . .pleasant. . .methods of getting cash." His eyes narrowed.
"Like what?"
"Well, I was always kind of well developed for my age. When we were short on cash, I'd flash guys for cash."
"Your brother got you to star in a sodding peepshow when you were fourteen?"
"It was my decision. It was either that, or starve. Besides, it wasn't that bad. It's how we met James. After that, he helped us. Gave us money when we needed it."
"Wait a second. If you went to university, how could you live on the streets?"
"I'd graduated by the time mom got tossed in the slammer. Imagine my shock. Just because you're well educated doesn't mean you can't be a dirty little pickpocket." She hesitated. "Can we talk about something else now?"
"Sure." He was damn lucky she'd told him as she had.
"How old were you when you got turned?"
"Twenty-eight."
A/N: Yeah, I know this is kind of a weird spot to end my chapter, but look for an update soon!! I'm sorry you couldn't come over Zira, and I promise to play Don't Be a Dork with you and I promise there will be boffing *scoff*