A standard New York evening found a thuggish young man lurking the streets, itching to release the roiling rage and frustration that had been progressively building inside him all day, all week truth be told. His quest led him to the seediest, harshest dregs of the lower east side having but one purpose. By name Luce D'Amato. A rather raggedy young woman who skulked about the alleys around Baxter soliciting the only skill she possessed. While the young man was not, pardon the expression, a frequent flyer, he had heard of this particular figure, even indulged in her pleasures on a couple of occasions. Considering his current temperament he figured a visit was in order, a good screw would be just the cure.
Finally he found her, grinning to catch her attention. Smiling saucily, she sauntered over to meet him.
"Heya, Johnny. Lookin' for a little fun?"
"The name's Oscar, doll," he responded with a hint of annoyance easily missed then wolfishly grinned letting his expression confirm her call.
Wordlessly, Luce turned and headed away. Knowing he would unfailingly follow, she continued without a single glance backwards until she reached the splintering door of a dilapidated old store building, rapping a quick pattern to gain entrance. The door opened and she stepped through pausing halfway across the threshold to turn, tilt her head and crook her finger, beckoning him follow with a coy expression. Ascending a dark, narrow stairway he followed her into a closet of a room furnished with only a thin, slightly moldy mattress a few ratty, moth-eaten blankets littering its surface. Caring little for the games of foreplay, Luce took him by the hand drawing him towards her while fluidly lowering herself onto the mattress.
"Anything in particular you want?" She asked breathlessly amidst his attentions at her neck. Receiving only a muffled grunt in reply, she settled back and let him take control. After all, she was there to please. Rather rapidly his ministrations, which were none too tender to begin with, began to take on a rougher, more brutish nature.
--Don't utter a single word--"Whoa. Bad day, Johnny?"
"I told you, the name's Oscar."
"Sure, whatever ya say, Johnny," she countered flippantly, lightly laughing as she spoke. He took her chin between his fingers, violently whipping her face around, bringing it to bear on his own, eyes clearly conveying a silent warning. Luce took the look in stride, but not as cause for great concern as he quickly and hungrily returned to his previous activities, bypassing her neck instead latching greedily to her bared breasts. Besides, this was really no different from many of her customers. At a particularly painful bite she again challenged him.
"Like to play rough, huh?" Well, she could certainly reciprocate and she did. Proceeding to viciously dig her nails into his back, dragging them up and down. Oscar let loose a growl of pain and promptly backhanded her across the cheek, his face the picture of blind rage.
"You bitch! Don't you ever do anything like that to me again! And ya know…I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy, whorin' mouth, either."
--Just shut your pretty eyes-- The fire in her cheek burned intensely, but she managed to ignore her initial reaction to cradle it in her hand. She knew it would have lent no relief. But she could not prevent the watering of her eyes. She closed them tightly in an attempt to hold in the salty drops. It was a rare occurrence for anyone to see her cry, and she would be damned if some John who'd just smacked her around would witness it. Befitting her luck, however, her tears naturally decided to betray their source. Oscar's head shot up to take in her face after having felt the faintest pressure of something on his hair, barely catching the tell-tale residual line down her cheek but catching it all the same, maliciously seizing upon this weakness.--Don't cry to me, oh baby
You should have seen it a-comin on--
"Awww, whasamatta dollface? You can dish, but you can't take, huh?" He leered. "And you in your 'profession'? That shocks me, really." With that he bent back over her prone figure returning to purging his frustrations with a vengeance. He was wrong, of course. She could definitely handle rough sex. You couldn't be a prostitute, especially one from the Points, and not expect it, and in fact she was well versed. Getting smacked around was standard it just wasn't a stinging backhand across the cheek.
His rough, calloused hands moved haphazardly all over her body as though he wasn't sure what to do with them, sickening Luce even further, increasing the nausea that had just begun with this new turn of events. They eventually landed on her hips, paused, and began slowly moving up her sides as he slid his body up into alignment with hers, hands reaching her arms, continuing their move upwards as he entered her, lifting them above her head and pinning them, the sensation eliciting an unconscious shudder within her. Again she tightly shut her eyes, only this time trying to imagine herself anywhere but in that tiny room. To block what he was doing to her. Block the agony he was now inflicting, brutally tearing into her already pliant and well-practiced flesh.
--I'll be seeing you again
Yeah, I'll be seeing you in hell--
Unfortunately for her, her mind and emotions had different plans. She instead could do nothing but dwell on it, eventually beginning to seethe her indignation incrementally increasing. 'How dare that little bastard. Who the hell does he think he is?'
Another burst of pain snapped Luce back to reality causing more tears to stream down her face. As his treatment of her continued unabated she could no longer hold back, several choked sobs escaped her lips, releasing some of the pain she was enduring.
"I told you to shut your mouth," Oscar threatened, again slapping her cheek. Good God she was trying! The pain was just too intense, overwhelming her usual ironclad control.
"Stop! God, just stop."
"What is this? You think you can tell me what to do now? A slut? It ain't bad enough I got my no good uncle constantly on my back ordering me around all day, and then no matter what I do gettin' bested by that fink Cowboy and his little sheep. There's no way I'm takin' it from some hell-bound, two-bit whore!"
"Yeah, well I'll see you there," she rather boldly proclaimed, although she immediately realized it probably was not her wisest course of action.
--Your future's in an oblong box--"Oh, ladies first. I insist," he countered with saccharine compliance, ever the gentleman. His eyes held a maniacal glint as she stared into them never noticing his hand slipping to his boot, retrieving a switchblade hidden in its recesses. But she heard the click of it unsheathing. Oh, did she hear it.
--You should have seen it a-comin' on
Had to know it was in your power--Reveling in the naked terror playing in her eyes, "Don't be frightened," he cooed, sliding the flat side of the blade toyingly along her cheek down to her neck. "After all, I'm only givin' you what's already comin' to you." With amazing speed he slashed the blade across her throat.
--Dead-end goal for a dead-end girl
And now your life drains on that floor--
Her eyes widened in shock and realization, trying to speak but unable to utter more than gasps and gurgles of air through the gruesome slit. In the brief moments it took for her blood to drain from her body, as she became chilled and numb, her mind began to wander taking a darkly ironic bent, for Luce had never for a moment been blind to her situation. Born and raised into prostitution, and born a girl, there had been no escaping the vicious, ensnaring circle. 'So this is it,' she thought, a mirthless chuckle playing across the ears of her mind. 'Another brick wall.' Her head turned limply to the side the last thing her glassy eyes took in, the drops of her blood as they fell over the edge of the mattress onto the floor below, and then they projected only emptiness.
Oscar took no note of her eyes, or the absence of sound that should have been emanating from her body. He only heard the lingering echo of her choked sobs, her sarcastic retorts, and the gurgling sound of the mixture of air and blood escaping her body through the aberrant cut, the patterning eerily mirroring the ripped, serrated edges of flesh the knife had wrought, her mouth, still slightly open and set strangely in a now stony smirk.
--Die, die, die my darlingDon't utter a single word--
The smirk burned into him. Mocking him. And the open mouth screamed more protests in his mind. At this seeming wanton disobedience, a fresh surge of rage welled up within him, engulfing him, and as he tended to have a one-track mind while in the throes of such an emotional state he fell back into his usual behavior. Punching and hitting her now unfeeling flesh, each contact, one by one slowly but surely draining him of his energy and frustration. Only when he had exhausted himself did he realize she was no longer emitting a sound. Then he noticed her mouth. Still open. Hearing one last gasp in his head he bent over her and resolutely closed the offending doors.
--Die, die, die my darling Shut your pretty mouth--
A/N: Ok, yikes! There ya have it. lol. The only thing in this story I can claim is Luce. Everything else is borrowed with all fondness and no money made. The lyrics are from Die, Die My Darling by Metallica…so don't tell on me, k? 'Cause we all know how the boys feel about that. XD
A/N (the last): Thanks to Shade for reading through this and JP for hounding me to write after my first story…sorry a second has taken this long. ;)
To my Bob's crew: Iva for supporting me and 'advising' this story. Yes, hon, you knew me when. Haha! And Nicki, Amy, and Megan for amazing support and letting me prattle on and on and on even if they have no clue what I'm talking about—until I'm forced to explain. XD Next project to be hopefully much lighter, but no promises when I'll get to it. This is me we're talking about here. * snort* Please review if you so desire.