Cold, Harsh December

Late December

In a little, beat up house, somewhere outside of the city of Los Angeles, lived a woman of great spirit and distinction, and a man of great wealth but little humanity.

"Bitch!, Come over here now!" The man was broad in all directions, with hair as black as ebony and eyes that were devil blue. Dressed as he typically was around his home in a ratty t-shirt, and faded jeans, he was able to move around much easier than the woman he tormented.

"Aidan, stop it! Now!" The young woman dropped to the floor as her pleas were ignored and a chair from the dining room was thrown towards her. It crashed into the wall behind her. "Please, just calm down!" The woman, whose long limbs were now curled beneath her, was dressed rather uncasually, in a short dress made of black cotten, and boots with thin heels. This just made her and easier target for the man Aidan.

"I am calm! Get over here now, woman!" The six-foot man growled back as he threw the nearly empty bottle of scotch at the female. The bottle, like the chair had earlier, shattered against the falling flowered wallpaper. "Now look what you've made me do, Baby, I wasn't finished with that. Get over here now, and apologize."

"No," the girl replied quickly, "you know, I think I'd rather leave now." She knew perfectly well that this man was a far cry from sober and calm, and that his anger would only get worse. The more his anger rose, the more violent he got, and she did not want to be around while that happened. She grabbed her worn, leather bag --it held a change of clothes, and the money she currently had in her name-- and scrambled toward the door, only to be jerked back painfully by her hair, and slammed against that oak door frame.

"You will stay here you trollop!" One of Aidan's large hands gripped tight around the woman's throat, holding her firmly against the door --she could hardly breath, "You have always been just like your mother." The hand that held her by the throat squeezed threateningly tighter, while the other stroked gently through those long ebony tresses.

"Why thank you, Aidan," The young woman regretted her sarcasm the moment Aidan's free hand connected harshly with her jaw. A cry escaped her and the man smiled at the reaction he'd gotten and hit her again.

"Quiet, bitch! You will speak when I tell you. I am the master of this house, you will obey me," before his victim had a chance to react, calloused hands roughly grabbed her breasts and tossed her to the floor, and pinning her down with his own heavy body.

Aidan's weight was suffocating, and the potent smell of vodka and scotch was nauseating. She prayed as his weight smothered her, and his fingers bruised her flesh, that she would pass out. She did not wish to be conscious when the situation escalated.

She would not be shown mercy this night, she would be conscious through all of it. Aidan tore her dress upwards was from her waist and ripped those black lace panties from her lower side. The woman struggled as he fumbled with his own zipper but she couldn't move and inch and soon, Aidan had forced himself into her small body. He pumped viciously, grabbing cruelly at her tender flesh bruising her lips with inscincere kisses. Kisses only given in order to silence the screams.