Yay, 2006.

But seriously.This is by my own opinion the weakest, most sucking chapter of 'em all. Not to worry though, next one will be better. I swear.

All hail coffee.

- - -

Bryan is right, of course. I have no one to tell.

After a few hard hits over the mouth, just for something I said, he chained me to my bed, as he had many times before, using my own handcuffs. I suppose that one of his many thrills in this, incapacitating me with my own weapons. He didn't say anything about why my words had angered him so, he just gave me a completely blank look

(but there was something behind his eyes, something that wouldn't stop laughing)

before he fucked me again. There is no prettier word for it.

As usual, I hated it. As usual, it was painful. As usual, I loved it. I was almost disappointed when he stopped, as I always am, even when I have desperately begged him to stop. That's not what I think almost broke me that night.

It's when he got dressed and left the room. When I realized that he wasn't going to set me free. I think I panicked, tearing desperately against my handcuff, screaming incoherently as I grew all the more certain that his sadistic smile was the last thing I was going to see. Or maybe that he would leave me there to rot away in the dark. My own mind can be my worst enemy at times.

He soon came back, of course, and started all over again. He kept doing that all night. As I look back to it now, I know that the worst part for me was still when I realized that he wasn't going to set me free. Apart from that, it was just like any other night. So why did he react so strongly to it?

He told me once that a rapist was nothing, a man that was too pathetic to be looked upon as a man anymore. Is this what it is about? Why he keeps telling me I liked it? There was nothing about it that made it any different from all the other times he's taken me against my will. What was it about that night that made him suffer so much? I wish I could remember the exact words I said to him.

I remember one thing clearly, something that I sometimes replay to myself even when I don't want to see it. He had just set me free and I wiped blood from my face. He threw my clothes at me, glaring as I with my almost stiff hands put them on. Then he said, coldly:

"I can't stop you from lying to me, Wulong. But flesh is flesh, and cannot be faked."

I still don't know what he meant. What did I say to him?

Damn it, what did I say…?

It doesn't matter. The important thing isn't what has already happened, it is what I will do about it.

I will do nothing.

No matter who I tell, they will see it as me being tormented by a demon from my past. As strange as that might seem, it is not what I want them to see. And, most importantly, they will see that I was too weak to stop it before it was too late. They will see he is a criminal, one I've never tried to arrest or even stop all these times he's come to me.

They will know I liked it.

No one will know but us. In time, he will forget about it. I might forget, too.

I will think he did nothing wrong.

He did nothing wrong.

Just another thing I hate about him.