Premonitions.

Five pm on a weekday. Any weekday. It doesnt fucking matter about the day or the time. As long as its after school, and as long as his mother wasnt home yet, they had time. They had all the fucking time in the world. Maybe less. Definetly not more. 1

She wore lace. White virgin lace and crimson slut red. She looked like a goddess, none of that awkward from last year left over. He took it from her, tearing at it through her pale white skin, and ripping it away. He threw it down, letting the feeling sink in, before stomping it, grinding it into the floor. 2

" How does it feel? " he asked, " how does it feel to be brand new? "3

She trembled in her clothes, the blood still fresh in perfect streaks across her exposed back. She stared into his eyes, acid blue, like hers. They were alive. Alive with feeling. Unlike hers. Hers were stripped, all the feeling and emotion stolen, torn away, by his touch. She stared into his eyes, the static electricity in them blazing and growing there, for all to see. 4

She felt as if she could read his thoughts....She could hear his interrogative voice, sarcastically speaking to her, insulting her...5

" Frightened, pet? Don't be. You want this. you know you do. Such a fuss at first, all riled up and arguing; you'll let me fuck you raw, but this? No, never, too much dignity lost, too far out there, nothing you wanted any part of. Liar. "6

....but not quite. 'His' thoughts sounded too much like hers. Too cynical. Too angry. Nothing like his smooth, rigid, voice; his intelligence and severe, crushing information put into words.7

She wore sheer white silk, like cool ice to the touch.He rolled them up her bare legs and clipped the garter in place to keep them there.Her cheeks were flushed red and she wouldn't meet his eyes, but alas, the body doesn't lie like her mouth does. He was hard already and she shivered when he yanked the boots off her feet, never minding the buckles and laces.8

Just because she couldn't tell what he was thinking didn't mean she didnt imagine, wonder, what was there for her to hear.9

" Go on, say it again. Tell me you didn't moan. Tell me your breath didn't catch the first time you felt it, the stretch, the tear, the burn. Im not going to lie. You were nothing before. But today...the way you moved would make a man weep. You were a fucking wet dream. "10

Praise. That was new. Although in reality he praised her often, her imagination never gave her compliments. It was harsh, unforgiving. Nothing like him.11

She opens her eyes and stares into the bathroom mirror, her lace corset ripped and dirtied by his hands. Her white petticoat skirt is rumpled, none of that crisp white it was an hour ago. He stands behind her, his electric eyes staring into the mirror. His arms wrapped around her neck, his bare chest pressed to her bleeding back, he smiles darkly at himself in the mirror. They are the image of tarnished innocence. Blood runs down her legs, slicking pale white skin and sliding down to stain dark against the fabric at her waist.12

" It slides up so easily, doesn't it? Nothing but a scrap of pleated fabric held by little white buckles, and look, it almost matches your eyes. Pushed up in the back, the tight curve of you pressed hot to my hips....from where the mirror can see, you might almost be decent. Almost. The flash of garter and skin beneath the skirt hem is mesmerizing. Angel and slut, all at once, and thats what you are, aren't you? Perfect little girl by day, but the slut inside wants out. You want to be pushed, you want a little force, and you want the edge. Thats why you're here. thats why im here. "13

She shuts her eyes tight. Lies. Such lies. He would never talk to her like that. Only in her imagination. But that doesnt mean she doesnt wish. That doesnt mean shes never wanted him to. 14

His hand slides to her thigh, making her flinch and shiver. She opens her eyes, watching him in the mirror.15

" Hard and fast, just the way you like it. would you like that? No, fucking keep you eyes open. Look. Do you know what you look like? Ever wondered? Stripped naked and raw, open mouthed and gasping with those breathes and words you try to keep in. They all think youre made of ice. Wouldn't they like to see you like this? "16

She trembles, letting his fingers, long and slender, play across her skin. Her mouth lie, her clothes lie, but her body tells the truth. Taut and writhing, all cold, but burning hot within, her hips tremble as she lets his fingers inside.17

" Slut. Whore. My beautiful little girl. "18

She whimpers when he stops. He smiles at the sound, and presses his hot lips to her neck, kissing the scars and burns that litter the surface. 19

" Do you want it? do you really want it? Beg for it. Whore's mouth in an angels body. God yes. Beg for it. "20

Suddenly he throws her across the bathroom, pushing her little girl skirt up and bending her over the white marble counter. She doesn't even blink. Her dead eyes watch him in the mirror, biting his lip, concentration etched deep into his face. He looks up and sees her watching him. he opens his mouth and speaks, for real, not her imagination.21

" Fuck! Is that what you want? " He shouts, " Is it? "22

She shuts her eyes and goes back to her thoughts. She wonders what he's thinking. She begins to hear him again, his angry, accusing voice in her brain.23

" Yes. Hot and tight and sweet and the noises you make are heaven. Open your eyes, slut. Open them. there, in the mirror, thats you. painted in sweat and blood, your knees aren't closed now, are they? Wide open and begging and wanting. A pull on that oh so modest fabric slides the skirt hem up to give me a better view of myself dominating you from the inside. "24

Flushed and aching, slick and wet, she'd beg him to touch her but she knows better. Not when he can break her like this. she dresses like a whore and he fucks her like one.25

Her necklaces, two tarnished chains with small, silver, yet meaningful pendants, dangle carelessly around her neck, streaked with blood. Where did the blood come from? She wonders. She lets her eyes fall to the first necklace, a cheap thing she has had for years, and her imagination begans to act up again.26

" Heavier chain, heavier pendant. I let you keep it on because I love how it looks, heavy and cold and cruel around your throat where the links bite into flesh. Sweet sweet pet. Pretty girl. So easy to catch a cold length in my fingers, twist and pull, make you gasp as it sinks into your skin, blood flushed around your throat, caught tight and deadly. Another twist and you'll really be in pain. You want edge? I'll give it to you. "27

She lifts her eyes back up to the mirror. He's still there behind her, intense and sweating from his concentration. She lays her head down onto the marble countertop and licks her lips, getting rid of the lipstick she had put on earlier. Stupid. You know he can't stand makeup. She bites her lip and blood bubbles. She licks her lips again and suddenly they're streaked with crimson blood, the lipstick of a real whore. She continued to watch herself in the mirror. She couldn't look away. Neither could he. 28

Ten minutes later she slinks out of the bathroom, pale and sickly looking, her face drained and bloodless. She sat down on the bed, a small, uncomfortable thing meant for only one person, and not even a person, A FUCKING CHILD. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap, looking down at her short, bony fingers, pale and sharp and tipped with red; maroon earth, the nail polish was called. She stared down at her hands, clenching her fists, angry at what she had done. Never before had she let him get so close. Never before. A hot tear runs down her cheeks. He sits down and wraps his arms around her. No, not just his arms. His entire body, the whole pale, skeletal length of it. He keeps his head over hers, so that his long, dark hair falls over them like a curtain, blocking out the world, making sure that her attention stays on him, and only him. It works. 29

His voice cuts into the air, smooth and deep and reaasuring, like he knows what he's talking about. And he does. He wants to know everything. He has to know everything. 30

" ...So fucking gorgeous. And it's my hands on you, my marks on your skin. No one elses. just me. " He squeezes her tighter, a small growl, low and protective, emitting from his throat, " Mine. " 31

" Yours, " She squeaks back, too out of it to say more. 32

And The voice in her head, HIM spoke. Not the real him, but the him she wanted him to be. The one she longed for. 33

" Whose little girl are you? Say it. Bitch. Slut. Whore. Say it. Gasp my name. And even if you don't, let the lies fall off your lips. I like to hear them. "34

" Your body tells me the real truth. "