Title: Grey Street
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: female/vamp male
Feedback: It’s a beautiful thing! -crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com-
Summary: She’s on the run but only when the man chasing her allows it to be so.
Author’s Notes: This is not a sequel to The Long Journey Into Darkness. It just follows the same theme. I hope to make this a series. This part is unlike LjiD because I had a different couple in mind, and I’m going to delve into the occurrences before the fic as it progresses.
I’m including the back story I left out in the first part of the series because I think it tends to the story, being a story in itself, and adds a different aspect, although I liked the lack of back story in the first one and the option for the reader to freely create their own to accord with the characters, so I think in the third and probably final story I’ll have it with no back story again.

Author's Notes: This section contains a rape scene, if offended you shouldn't read Part VIII.


Part VIII: Unwanted Awakening


It seems like minutes have passed since my unwelcome departure into sleep and the equally unwelcome awake that finds me now. My eyes aren’t startled as I open them because the room is uncharacteristically dark but I know where I am. I’m so cold there is no mistaking it. The darkness before my eyes begins to take form and I look straight up into the ceiling shadows, scared to find any undesirable shapes, but drawn to look all the same.

The cold against my back is familiar, and I know it’s the steel coffee table in the center of the room where I previously found myself captive. Only this time, the cold is all over and unhindered and inescapable. I’m naked and my arms and legs are tied to the tables corresponding supports. This is the dictionary example of no good.

My nudity is uncharacteristic of my situation. The objective of torture is to strip a person of all their reserves, break them down to their weakest, most vulnerable state. This usually begins with the horrible removal of the clothing. He’s not using this to bring me down to the lowest possible state, which means he has some other plan of action, and that in itself is more horrifying than I care to imagine.

I wait for a while, sure he’ll have something to say similar to the last experience. The quip never comes and the bitter cold remains. I’m shivering, and the fear is playing a major part in that as well as the cold in the room.

I continue to stare deep into the high black ceiling, frozen, scared to look anywhere else, knowing I have to. Once a slight semblance of courage has found me I slowly turn my head to my left, seeing nothing but empty darkness. He’s probably in there, either way I can’t see him, and the possibility he might see the fear in my eyes is unbearable. I turn my head quickly to the right.

The fire in the fire place is still slightly burning, giving off a faint glow that’s barely seen except in small reflections from the many shiny surfaces between it and my watching eyes. Aside from the cold and lifeless furniture I see nothing. No Solomon, no vampires, no bloody broken him, no enraged fire threatening to kill me prematurely, no floating angel-headed hipster swaying to jazz music I never heard before but we dance together anyway… nothing.

I’m high as a kite and looping from whatever drug induced my sleep, but I still search for that so clichéd speak from the dark and silence, knowing it is one Solomon would appreciate. I drift in and out of consciousness before the opposite of my theories is confirmed. The door crashes loudly open and Solomon swaggers into the room. The lights in the room are on and dim and I can see him clearly, in that clear tunnel vision way a high induces. His swagger holds confidence and power but also a little physical defeat. Good, I hope he hates that portion.

The doors slam quickly shut behind him and he has entered the room completely alone. He stands over me for a moment, taking me all in. I’m only slightly self-conscious. It’s less about caring if I look good under his gaze and more about caring what he plans to do about it. “You’re a sight…” he says lightly, looking condescending still.

“You too,” I answer as confidently as I can. “Looks like you encountered quite a battle, and I bet it wasn’t even close to fair.” I chuckle and it’s coldness and cracking raises even the hair on my neck. “So scared of him… of your own shadow… he’ll be the death of you…”

He looks shaken slightly but composes quickly and counters my confidence and grin. “How can you be so sure? How do you know I haven’t killed him?” he asks.

“I do now,” I answer with a smile, “besides, if you had killed him… I would feel it.”

“You speak of quite a bond,” he says still staring deep into my eyes, “so sure you want to waste it on such a low being. You’re worthy of much more.”

I chuckle again at the oddity of it all. My world was always odd, everything in it a gruesome parody of the world’s smokescreen, not the Brady Bunch, not by a fucking long shot. “Are you suggesting that you would be more capable of sharing that bond, that you present an absolute nemesis so full that your death would lift a immeasurable weight off of my entire body as his would?”

He takes his eyes away at this, but not pained by the insult as I had hoped, in fact he’s quite amused. “You flatter him,” he says from the bar where he’s pouring himself a drink. “You don’t know his weaknesses.”

He’s right. I don’t know his weaknesses. That’s because in my opinion he has none. He’s complete and flawless evil so true even the devil cannot compare. I don’t say all this, because perhaps it’s true that I give him too much credit. But that is better then to underestimate an evil such as his, or try to pretend any longer that I can defeat him, that part of me doesn’t belong to him. “Well then enlighten me…” I venture.

“I don’t usually waste time better spent on torture talking about such matters,” he draws out taking a seat on the couch next to me, again as if this were a perfectly normal situation. “It’s only that I’ve had such a fill from him, I need time to anticipate before I start in on you my dear. I have stamina but this is quite a stretch.”

“Weaknesses?” I ask, not interested in the reasoning behind anything he does.

“He has many,” Solomon answers quickly, brought back to his present subject, and full of dislike and loathing for the word and the taste it might leave on his tongue if spoken again. “Arrogance,” he begins, “it suits him of course, but you can only take it so far before it begins to cloud your judgment.”

I laugh openly at this. “You’re ridiculous! And you’ll eat those words when he defeats everything you hold dear.” I realize belatedly that I’m eagerly defending him. What have I become? A fucking groupie? Sure my confusion is visible, I clasp my mouth closed and say no more.

“Sure you care to hear anymore?”

“Sure you can come up with anymore?” I counter.

“Conquests like you.” He answers quickly to prove me wrong. “Maybe you thought it made you special to have his attention, but no more special then any of the others, and there have been a lot… hundreds.”

I don’t talk against this or show any emotion so he continues. “These conquests take his full attention and he isn’t able to look after any empire he is in charge off. That is why he will lose the one he has now.”

I look over and realize with terror that he has been unbuttoning his shirt in a slow methodical fashion while conveying his latest weakness. He’s been doing it slow, waiting for me to notice, and can now finish and move on because he knows I have seen his actions and comprehend his intent.

His shirt flutters lightly to the floor and he works on his pants next. When they are gone, my body tenses even further. I’m tenser then I thought possible as he lowers his body slowly onto mine. He’s just lying on top of me, every part of his body pressing into the corresponding part of mine. I don’t thrash at this, not yet, maybe not ever. His cheek is pressed firmly against mine and he whispers in my ear, “beg and scream and I might be reasonably gentle…”

He laughs lightly when I don’t answer and sits up, straddling my hips, looking down at me, “all the better to make you beg and scream my dear.”

I keep my eyes open and stare deep into his, locked vision, as he brutalizes me. I refuse to close my eyes, fearful my mind will envision this another’s doing. Sadly it wouldn’t be the first time. What’s even sadder is the fact that it would be even easier to envision him above me, outside of closed eyes, because the rape is brutal.

Eventually it’s over and he crawls off of me to sit beside me, light his first cigarette, and stare admiringly at me. He goes through a whole pack, just staring and staring, enjoying the vision of me, tingling my skin with his eyes. I know he’s staring though I refuse to look.

He ruins the silence by talking. “I’m hard again.”

I can’t help but glance over at him, with complete hatred and disgust in my gaze because he smiles happily. He stands and I’m sure he’s going to rape me again. He looks down into my eyes. “I’d fuck that pretty mouth if I knew it wouldn’t bite.”

With that he pulls up his pants, grabs his forgotten drink and leaves the room. “That’s okay, I know someone else who’s been bad…” he calls back on his way.

To Be Continued...