TITLE: Painful Permutations
AUTHOR: shorinai
PAIRING/CHARACTER: Veronica
WORD COUNT: 830
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Veronica has nightmares about her rape.
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: no spoilers, talk of rape (semi-explicit)
DISCLAIMER: The sandbox is Rob's. I'm just playing in it.
A/N: The first VM fic I've posted (I've started several). Tweaked slightly since posting on veronicamarsfic livejournal community. Criticism welcome, constructive preferred.
She dreams about it, sometimes, the night after an 09er said something that hit particularly hard. In her sleep, her mind turns over the event, considering how it could have happened.
It starts with just one. She's on her back on the bed and he's quiet as he pushes her skirt up and pulls her panties down. Grunts, so quiet they could just be heavy breathing, fill her ears as he fills her untried passage. The first one is always almost gentle.
The next is still just one. This time he talks dirty as he undresses her, using both appreciative and depreciating comments. He tells her she's hot, she's a whore, he'd fuck her forever if she'd just keep her mouth shut, when she walks past him in the hall he'll get a hard-on but he'd never touch her except by saying she's filthy white trash. His words cause almost as much pain as his body when he pushes into her.
The third starts out by the pool. He comes across her almost by accident. When his disparaging words don't get a rise out of her he sits down by her legs and starts feeling her up. His hand is under her skirt before he takes her to the guest room and she can hear the lewd comments of his friends as they pass. He barely waits to pull off her panties before entering her. His hands push her arms up like they had been in the way and he grunts words of hate into her neck. He's done in minutes and he leaves her there with just enough consideration to flick the hem of her skirt down.
Next he has a friend. Or more than one. They're talking to each other as they expose her, and they laugh at her choice of underwear. Large, warm hands arrange her to their liking. They're still making comments as the first one does it. His words cut off as her tightness makes him finish almost before he's begun. He's laughingly pushed aside for the next one's turn. He's inside, and drawing it out--she was stretched by the first one, and the evidence he left made her lubricated, and the second kept pausing to talk to his friend like he was showing off his technique. By the time he's done, the first is ready for another try. He slides in, her used flesh giving little resistance. It takes him minutes this time.
Once there's two, there's more than two. They practically fill the room now. Many hands paw at her, grab her breasts, lift her skirt, tear off her panties. Hands pull up her arms, hold her wrists and ankles as though the drugs hadn't been holding her just as surely as ropes could. She manages some protesting noises now, but either they can't hear her or are pretending they can't. They laugh as they talk about order, finally deciding by relative size and how long it would take each of them. The larger and longer-lasting of them would go later when they could be sure she was stretched and the rest could use the time to recover. They take their turns, each taking longer and stretching her farther than the last until it feels like she's being broken from the center out. Then they do it again.
In the last scenario, it's back down to just one. He tears at her with sharp words softly spoken. Her clothes are gently removed by hard and unforgiving hands. He holds himself above her, not allowing contact except where they are joined. Moisture falls on her face--she can't tell if it's tears or sweat or drool--as he pants above her. He says that it's her fault, that he blames her, that he'll make her hurt as much as she's hurt him, that she shouldn't have made him do this. She feels him ejaculate, and she feels him tremble above her as he refuses to simply collapse. Finally, he pulls out and gets off the bed, still not touching her. Roughly, he covers her back up. She can hear the sneer in his familiar voice as he says 'We'll have to do this again sometime.' Then he leaves her.
The last one hurts her the most, and she always wakes up with tears on her cheeks, a sob stuck in her throat, and an ache between her legs. Whatever the time is, she limps into the bathroom for a shower. She feels filthy, and she knows if she tries to sleep again she'd just be inviting the dreams back. The water is cold, but she welcomes the numbness as she gets ready for school. If she's numb, whoever raped her wouldn't be able to see the gaping hole in her armor, wouldn't know how much he hurt her. There is no longer a place for such weakness in her world. The sheep had turned to sharks, and she couldn't let them know she was bleeding.
I have a tendency to overuse commas and make very complex sentences. I hope this was a clear read. I've read through this a few times, and am still not quite sure about the ending. Thoughts?