A/N: Best wishes into the New Year.

I hope you enjoyed my cupcake fantasy story - LoveHenge, which fits somewhere in the beginning of this chapter.

Warning: A certain degree of abuse in this chapter. It was difficult to start to write, but satisfying in the end. If you don't like the sight of a dark Bill, you can just skip over the middle part.

Fast Approaching Death

14. Let's Play Ball

The last few mornings dawned after long hours of sleepless tossing and turning, chasing the elusive escape that sleep would have offered.
I now find myself lost in my too-quiet house, enlivened only by the creaking of the old floors and the sounds of crickets residing in the cracks in the walls. Here, my days crawl by at a strangely languorous pace.

The only distractions are when a television program or a book lulls me into a fantasy where none of the events of the last few days has happened. But it's rare I'm not rethinking everything that has occurred and what I might have done differently, if I'd only known.

Much like a compass needle pointing North, my thoughts are constantly drawn to a certain tall and blond man. I dream of him, day and night, to the point I can almost feel him here, beside me. I end up lying alone in my bed, a lot, just to be able to imagine him close, closer. Almost like an obsession. Almost.

Thinking back to Andrei that day at the racetrack, I realize I was right to feel something was off. The only confusing thing was that Eric kissed me so passionately. Maybe it was just his excitement at winning the race, and I was the first person he saw. But even if he were straight, I'm no match for him. I remember his naked torso at the bungee jumping, and the feel of his strong body behind me. Guess I read more into that than was there, my own excitement clouding my judgment.

Gay. Gay Eric. Shit! Such a waste...

I try to imagine having Eric as a friend. A not-interested-in-me friend. Like a brother. Brother, yes. Better than my own brother, as Jason only enjoyed making fun of his younger sister. Perhaps he would have taught me to ride a motorbike. We would have shared opinions about hot guys, gone shopping together. Yeah, right! Better get back to the real world Sookie.

The real world was me repaying Eric's kindnesses toward me with overwrought sexual fantasies of him. I never considered his real feelings for a second. How I wish I could take back all those hurtful words.

I stare through blindly out the window. The flowers in the garden slowly come into focus, reminding me that time is irreversible. What was yesterday is no longer. You can only go forward.

I gave up the telephone that contained his number, and I my right to see him. I don't like to think of this, to remember how foolish I have been. Foolishly hoping for something, anything real to develop between us... Fantasy Eric is much better. And all mine. I tell myself that over and over again. I can only hope that I will eventually believe my own rosy lies.

I know I should take care of the mundane things I postponed when I was consumed with my former job. Things such as household repairs, paying some taxes, and updating my resume were all things I let slide. And now number one on my list of tasks is searching for a new job. But I've figured out that since I had procrastinated earlier, what harm is there in pushing them off a bit longer? I'll think about all of it tomorrow. Or maybe, the day after.

At one point, I had the energy to begin a long-delayed general cleaning, but got derailed when it came down to doing the windows. I simply couldn't continue when I saw my reflection in the first sparkling one I was tired-eyed, with messy hair, and a glum expression. It was all too much at once. I sat down on the couch and haven't looked out of a window since.

With effort, I began working on updating my resume, very well aware that I cannot afford to stay unemployed for much longer. But when I reached the "experience" and "last job responsibilities" sections, all I could remember was seeing Bill's fingers, with hideously long fingernails, unbuckling his belt in his "manager's" leather chair. And the sound of his sickening, drawled voice: "Come Suzanah, come take what you want. I know you can't wait to suck me off."

Fucker! I should have tossed my cell phone at his self-satisfied face to wipe that horrid smile from his face. Of course, I instead smashed it into the top of my desk before storming out, never to return.

I should have known what Bill was planning. It should have been apparent to me once I saw his request for the one-on-one personnel consultation with each employee. Last week started the annual salary renegotiations. These were the first such discussions with Bill in our Company, since the previous manager was a lot less formal. I gathered all my previous year's achievements, carefully preparing my arguments as I intended to ask for a raise. I needed, and I was confident I deserved it. I felt self-empowered after the assertiveness seminar I had attended, listening in on the Speaker's tips between my organizing duties.

The meetings with Bill were scheduled towards the end of the work program, so the process wouldn't interfere with the normal workday flow. Or rather, that was the front idea.
Monday was Lucian's and Diana's turns. For some reason Lucian meeting was brief: he was out in ten minutes. Diana's meeting with Bill took a long time, perhaps an hour. That evening I stayed a little past regular work hours to finish up some stuff that Miron should have done but instead dumped on me. When Diana finally exited Bill's office, she was flustered, hair disheveled hair, and totally ignored me. She looked as if she had been crying; surely she should have received a good review. She's a model employee. Soon after, Bill opened the door of his office, with a cat-that-eat-the-canary look. He left throwing me a "good night" though his grin. I felt like vomiting, preferably all over his pale face.

The next day Diana appeared in a good mood so I thought nothing further of the incident. Things continued in a similar way, ending with a brief meeting with Miron and a much longer one for Ada. I had passed Bill's door on my way out and heard some strange noises but refrained from interrupting. I thought it was weird, but none of my business. Ha!

The sound of something shattering brings me back to the present. Perfect! I just thrown the glass I had washed into the dish drainer like I was playing basketball with it.

However, I soon find my thoughts returning to the dark memories of my last day at work.

Wednesday: I wish I could erase that whole damn day from the calendar. Right before my own meeting, the very last one, as Ada and Diana prepared to leave, my former best friend from forever, leaned over my reception desk on her elbows with a mischievous glint in her green eyes. "Sweet Suzy, I wish you good luck in earning your raise. Work hard for it." And with a giggle, she and Diana were out of the door. I remember gaping stupidly after them, wondering what they were talking about.

I found out soon enough. But I don't even wish to recall the details of the whole thing. The sickening churning of my stomach brings it all back. Glancing toward my hands, I see that, unconsciously, I have started to rip apart the dishtowel I am holding.

Better unemployed than to remain in his employ another second. I wish I could sue him, but I'm sure it would come down to my word against his. And he has more money to hire fancy attorneys.

Sighing I put the worn cotton fabric aside and start to collect the broken pieces of glass. Doing so transports my mind back to Eric's bedroom. And, back to my verbal disaster. Having a friend in Eric would have been so great. He was so full of life. And my poorly chosen words reduced him to an emo mess. I'm such a failure! Looks like I am doomed either to find slim pickings, or to chase away any decent soul that crosses my path.

For a few moments, I remember Sam, my first and only real boyfriend. Unfortunately, not my first man. Maybe things would have worked out otherwise.
But Sam was so boring, especially in bed. Plus, he demanded purity from me, and... How to put it into words? Normal. No. A minion, an obedient wife. His ideas of acceptable behavior for a wife were not mine. I wanted to live, to experience it all, but all I saw in his eyes was disapproval at my "foolishness." I also remember all too clearly his disappointment at not being my first lover. Stop doing this, Sookie! Sam would have never worked, anyway. I also remember my own annoyance over him not caring if I orgasmed or not. Because I didn't.

Sam, or Samuel, was the son of one of the few of father's childhood friends he retained. As soon as he had fallen in love with and married my mother, a Christian that remained like that, he had become a pariah in his own Jewish community.

Sam was the perfect boyfriend at first, so attentive and polite. He was sweet, cute, and well bred. But there was too much self-righteousness in him for my imperfect self to truly exist near him. I would have had to renounce my religion to marry him. Not that I am a religious person. But it was a part of me that he demanded I renounce for him. It simply didn't feel right, any of it.

As I finish clearing out the kitchen, I go for another shower. Seems like an addiction these last few days. Scrubbing my skin with the hope that this will erase from the memory of Bill's tiny prick, nested in an ugly bush of dark hair. It would have been funny if the situation weren't so revolting. Him sprawled like this in his chair, demanding I give into him... I'm not even sure what he wanted, a blowjob perhaps. I have no experience with that, and surely, that was no way to begin.

My skin is nearly raw from scrubbing it with the washing brush. I get out, wrapped in the bathrobe which has become my usual attire, very easy to remove for the next shower. I should go slowly on the hot water consumption. I must be more careful now with expenses. And I need to put more energy into finding a new job, as there is no one I can turn to for financial support.

The sound of the doorbell awakes me up from my unhappy musing. I hope it is the postman with some good news, even if he hardly ever rings. I hurry to open the door, only to come to an abrupt halt when I see an all-too-familiar pale face at the threshold.

"Why, Suzanah, won't you invite me in?"

My mind seems frozen and a reflex deeply ingrained by my Gran causes me to automatically respond with, "Would you please come in?"

I wanted to slap myself as soon as he steps in and turns to me, his eyes roaming from my chest to toes and back, avoiding my eyes.

"Suzana, I don't understand. What happened? You know I care about you. Why did you quit like that? Come here, let's talk."

He saunters past me, taking a seat on my couch, patting the place next to him and continuing nonchalantly, "You know, I should be upset, but instead here I am, asking you to come back to work."

I stand gaping at this impossible man. Where on earth does he find such audacity?

Eventually I walk into the room, standing near the door, as far from him as possible without being plainly rude.

He goes on unperturbed. "You know we have money difficulties in this economic environment, but the raise is yours, you've only to come back. And apologize."

"Apologize?"

"You are not slow, are you Sookie?" He asks in a condescending tone.
I stare incredulously at Bill sprawled on my couch with a thumb in one of his belt loops, patting casually his groin.

"You don't know much about the world, do you?"I look back up at his face, and he grins widely. He continues in an instructional manner, as if speaking to a child.
"We are not of the same clay. I am a man, you are a woman. I am the manager; you are under me in the organization. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

His voice feels like a zillion snails slithering along my insides.

"Get out, Bill." I close my eyes, as I can't stand the sight of him squeezing himself through the dark fabric.

"Ah, you are calling me Bill. At last." I keep my eyes tightly shut, pointing at the door. I can only hope that he will be gone by the time I open them again.

"May I get a good-bye kiss?" His voice comes from far too close for my liking. I feel the fine hair on the back of my neck standing up.

But as I open my mouth to say "No!" his mouth is on mine, his cold hard tongue forcing its way inside.
Silencing any sound of protest.
I cannot breathe.
His hands are inside my robe, grabbing, roaming, squeezing painfully. He tugs the fabric down my shoulders with hands too strong for me to be able to withstand.

Suddenly his mouth leaves mine, and I gulp for air.

"Oh, I'll have you at last, like the little naughty tart you are." I still feel his fingers digging into my flesh and a sudden sharp pain in my breast makes me cry.
He bit me!

"Yes! Cry out your desire for me."

I yell, my voice turning into sobbing as I feel myself thrown over a piece of furniture like a rag doll. Someone's broken pleading, incoherent, is lost in the scuffle.

He pins me down, and licks his lips with a crazy glint in his eyes. "Beg all right. You invited me in, wearing nothing but a fluffy cotton robe, smelling and looking all sweet and edible, and then you do not like the consequences. Well. Here is the consequence."
He takes my hand and places it over the bulge in his pants.
"Do you know what you do to me? Feel me!" He forces me to touch him. "Soon you will feel a lot more." He licks his sleazy lips as he watches my squirming body, his eyes never reaching to my face.

"Please don't, I won't tell anyone. Just let me..." He grabs the flesh of my belly with fingers like claws.

"Oh, you won't tell anyone all right, 'cause no one would care."

"No, no! Bill! Let me go!"

"You lead men on, and then you act surprised that they can't help themselves. I cannot control myself around you." The collected, determined voice chills my soul.

"I know you want it too, just as much as I do." He looks right into my eyes, and the storm brewing in his usually dull eyes is more frightening than anything else. The futility of pleading is clear now, and I feel a surge of adrenaline. It's him or me.

"You will beg me for more before the day is done."

His other hand unbuckles his belt and begins tugging at his pants. His crazy smile turns into a frown, as his zipper seems stuck. Both of his hands are on himself now, and he glances at the troublesome part. I seize the opportunity, using one of the few things that my brother ever taught me well. I plunged my knee right into his balls, with the deep desire to shove them right up into him. Deep. Inside. His. Body.

In a split second, there is no more Bill hovering over me, but instead a crumpled, moaning asshole, crying at my feet. Feels so damn good.

I leap over him, grab Gran's silver Menorah, and swing it, fully intending to split his head in two if he dares to so as much as to look at me ever again.

A loud banging sound pierces the red haze obscuring my vision. Turning my eyes from the piece of shit still whining beneath me, I am met by a pool of cerulean blue. Ones I never thought I'd see again.

Our eyes lock. I feel like a prisoner that gets to see the sky for the first time on liberation day.

Eric!

A stream of curses breaks our gaze: Bill.

As I look towards him, I also realize one thing. I'm naked.

Oh, God!

I shriek, and drop the Menorah. My hands flying to my chest. I try not to look at Eric, searching frantically for something to cover myself. But it's futile.

I almost jump as he touches my shoulder, and hands me something. It's a shirt, a bright pink one. Looking down, I see that the blush on my skin has turned me redder than the shirt I'm holding. Embarrassed, I turn my back to him and pull it on as swiftly as possible, fingers trembling, breath coming in great gulps of air after my exertions. Thankfully, the t-shirt is very long for me, nearly as long as a beach dress, and I'm covered.

When I turn again to Eric, he's taken Bill by the scruff of his neck and is dragging him towards the front door he left standing open when he entered. Despite Bill's protests, Eric nearly kicks him out of the house, slamming the door behind them. I can't help noticing that Eric is a lot taller than Bill.
The sound of the slamming door is like a signal that triggers the boneless sensation in my legs. I'm suddenly in danger of collapsing. Before my legs fold underneath me, I slide into the nearest armchair. I feel cold all over, tremors racing through my body. My hand looks like a leaf in the wind, with deep red marks from clutching the silver chandelier, ready to use it if necessary. I pull the hem of the pink shirt down over my legs, hugging my knees and placing my forehead against them. I stare blindly at the shockingly colored fabric. At the moment, all I can think about is that Eric is wearing pink! How cool is that!

After a very long time, I sense a presence in front of me and I grab myself tighter, willing my eyes closer. But a delicious, known citric scent signals a desired presence.

A warm hand cups my chin and gently lifts it. I finally look at him, half-naked, on his knees in front of me. His eyes are full of concern. And seeing it is all it takes; the tears come in waves, punctuated by the sounds of my uncontrollable sobbing. I'm crying from the shame, tempered by my overwhelming feelings of relief and gratitude for my rescue.

"He's a pig. And won't be coming back."
Wordlessly, I shake my head. The tears feel cold on my checks when he exhales, the stream of cool air noticeable in the summer heat trapped in the room. I feel his lips pressing into my hair. Strong, warm arms envelop me, pulling a sheet over the harsh reality I narrowly escaped with Eric's help.

I want to go to sleep.

A/N
Thank you,Scattered21 (Princess Tweak) my lovely beta and my prereader YoungBoho. Special thanks to Peppermintyrose for keeping these characters in line with the sad reality that occurs in some people's lives.

Sexual violence and rape in particular, is considered the most under-reported violent crime. Thus, the number of reported rapes is lower than both incidence and prevalence rates. A United Nations report compiled from government sources showed that more than 250,000 cases of rape or attempted rape were recorded by police annually. The reported data covered just 65 countries.

Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns these guys, I just love to use Bill as my personal punching bag from time to time.

Thank you all for reading it, for your kind words of encouragement, and the favorite story tagging.