It took a little while before Trixie and Ziggy truly felt comfortable infront of one another. But before long, they were laughing, cracking jokes, playfully teasing, and watching movies together. Well, they were chatting through the movie more than they were watching it. They talked about anything and close to everything. But they still maintained their secrets. Both of them knew that the other had an overhanging shadow, and it fascinated them. They tasted the darkness in eachother, and craved the answers to the questions they had.

"What time is it?" Trixie finally asked after the movie credits started to roll. She released a yawn that she'd been holding, and fell over against the arm of the couch. It had been so nice being with Ziggy. It felt like everything in the world had just stopped. There was no pain - there was no sadness. There was just the two of them, and the world was a perfect place once again.

But it wasn't so. "Four thirty in the morning." A successfully cheered-up Ziggy responded. He blinked when Trixie jolted up with renewed energy. She scrambled over to her boots, hopping slightly as she tried to jerk them on. "What is the matter?"

"Shit, Shit." Was all she chanted in reply as she rushed towards the door. Ziggy ran over to her.

"Everything ok?" He asked, now a bit paranoid himself. There was something so wierd about her. She seemed almost afraid - as if something held her back from releasing all of herself. It was odd, but he wanted her to spill everything to him. Ziggy wanted to know all of her secrets and her fears. He wanted to be her Sportacus. Her hero. "Trixie?"

She turned to face him. Her expression of deep, burning fear disappearing into appreciation as she met his eyes. "Thanks for tonight, Z." He slipped a restrained smile on his cheeks as she took his hand briefly. It was a short moment frozen in time, and before he knew what was going on the girl was sprinting from his doorstep.

Trixie panted as she ran across the grass towards Stingy's mansion. She wasn't religious, but she prayed with all her heart that God wouldn't punish her by making her too late. She prayed in every gasp for air that she took to satisfy her needy lungs.

Her boots sounded off against the ground like her heart in her ears. Trixie's chest was hot. Her bones were weary from lack of sleep. She slipped past the gold gate, and slid into the window that she'd left open. Trixie closed it shut quickly, and spun around only to release a scream as she came face-to-face with Stingy.

"H-hi, Sting-" She couldn't finish her sentence. The scarf that had kept her warm - the gift graciously given from Ziggy - became the object of her pain. Stingy grabbed it, tugging it so that she couldn't breathe. Trixie wrapped her arms around his wrists to try to get him to let go, but only fueled his fire. He pulled the scarf tighter around her neck.

"Where were you, baby? I don't like my pets running loose all on their own." Tears slipped down her cheeks as she collapsed onto her knees on the kitchen tiles. She struggled to breathe, but oxygen escaped her. Trixie gazing up with wet brown eyes as he stood before her. He wasn't the cute little boy that she use to love anymore. He wasn't adorably greedy, and provocatively possessive. Now, he was the face that she stamped on her worries and fears. Now, he was the man who had no mercy. "This is just a reminder that you're mine. Don't forget who gave you everything, Trixie. Don't forget that you're worthless without me."

Stingy pushed her over onto her back, and crawled over her tired body. He released the pressure when he had her how he wanted her. There was no need to have her black out this time. He smirked. There was something so powerful about having her so close to death. There was something so sexy about it.

Trixie breathed hungrily as she stared up blurry-eyed at the ceiling. He had her arms pinned behind her back pressing hard into the tiles. Stingy quickly unzipped her jacket and discarded the scarf to the side to observe her battered, scarred, and bruised neck. There were so many memories to choose from, all criss-crossing paths on that delicate neck of hers. to breathe, but oxygen escaped her. Trixie gazing up with wet brown eyes as he stood before her.

He slid his tounge across a recent scar, a beautiful symbol of his previous abuse. He tasted her salty tears. There was something so delicious about her submission... her sadness... her hopelessness. It made him feel like he was on the top of the world when he took her with force... again... and again... and again...

It made him feel like the god that he believed that he was.

She didn't bother to resist. There was no point in it. Instead, she let herself fatasize that any moment now Sportacus would be here to save her. That a hero would come.

But there weren't any heroes anymore.