Helpless
She wasn't sure when if first happened. She didn't remember much from then. She just knew she woke beside a man she didn't know, with memories that weren't truly her own. After weeks of thoughtless wandering, maybe it was the security that scared her more than he did.
She was afraid of him. Afraid of his golden eyes and otherworldly silver hair. She was afraid of his fangs, his claws, even his voice. He was strange. The entire world she'd fallen into was strange.
His touch was vile.
But without him she was dead again. Even if she knew, somewhere in that past of hers, behind the memories she didn't understand and were lost to her, that he was the cause of her death. She was breathing, yes. But she wad just as good as dead.
With him, she felt like it was okay to smile. And with him, sometimes the nightmares weren't so real. After all, she slept beside the worst one every night.
A good trade, no? Her body for piece of mind. It didn't matter. Sometimes, when the gods was merciful, she drifted away. Sometimes, they were cruel.
Like now.
Now as his heavy breathing labored against her neck, and his claws dug deep into her waist, drawing precious blood, now was not a time she could leave. He took her, angry and frustrated with her lack of response, he was hurting her. Destroying her.
His tears were upon her back, her shoulders. The mark of his teeth against the tenderest areas of her thighs. She stared up at wall, her hands splayed against it, holding their bodies from the splintered wooden floor. She felt as if she would like to cry. This invasion, it was….it was so familiar her head hurt. So familiar like his kiss, his fingers, his smile, his cry. So familiar was her name, raspy and strained, screamed into the dark of the night.
That was what hurt. His familiarity. His strange completion of the agony she found herself in.
He's done something, damnit, he'd done something she hated him for. And yet, yet she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember inside those desperate kisses that begged for forgiveness. She couldn't remember, regardless of the way he looked at her, with pain.
"Kagome, please," he was being brutal again. He told her once, he'd do anything to make her feel again. She could feel the blood running between them. Her blood.
But she would bare it. She would bare it because he was the key. He was the key to everything she ever loved, everything she ever wanted, everything she ever hated. He was everything.
She felt the tears come, mercifully easing the tightness in her chest. He was openingly sobbing, a sight she was quite used to now.
He collapsed against her, reaching the peak of his need and sending them both onto the ground. She laid, unfeeling in his arms. His salty tears mingling with her own. He kissed her, but, as always, she didn't kiss him back. And the rejected anger caused him to hold her closer, hold her so that he heard the crack of her ribs.
And when the anger drained with one look inside her empty eyes, he stopped the hurting and began the apologizing. She suffered his touch, using her fingers to drag long welts along his back, his neck. She wished to inflict pain, the pain he caused her, but he read her differently, and moved over her again.
She called it rape. He called it love.
She hated being so…helpless.
Something I came up with just a few minutes ago after watching sad AMV's. It's not really good, after all, i'm in a great mood, maybe will rewrite it when i'm back down again...who knows.