Title: The Long Journey Into Darkness
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The two main characters are Joss', but I'm not stealin' I promise I'll give them back when I'm done.
Summary: A female is on the run from a killer, and he's not going to give up until he has her right where he wants her.
Pairings: Female/Male. This story has a female character a human, and a male vampire from the Buffyverse, but names are not used anywhere in the story. I did this so the reader could envision any characters they wanted. So if you have a thing for Willow/Spike, hey man it's them. There were two characters I had in mind when writing it and some subtle clues you may pick up may lead you to that conclusion, if you want to know who they really are then you can email me and I'll tell you.
Category: Angst.
Spoilers: None, complete AU, just a girl and a vampire.
Rating: NC-17 parts for sexual content, brutal torture, and character deaths.
Author's Comments: This is my latest work, and I think the fact that I've progressed as a writer shows. I'm probably more emotionally attached to this story as corny as it sounds but I still desperately want to know any thoughts, feelings, praises, and most of all criticisms, so please please let me know!

Part XV: Torn


I’m completely taken for a loop when I pull up to the gates of an expensive mansion. Not the bachelor apartment I was expecting. Must be mommy and daddy’s place. He leans over me, the hand holding him up conveniently doing so between my thighs, then he punches in a code and the gates slowly swing open, a low mechanical hum filling the air. I follow his instructions and drive up to the front door where a young man in a suit takes my keys and goes to park the car. I try my best not to let my shock show. A vallay in his house? What kind of rich bastard is he?

He takes me by the arm and leads me into the house, if you can even call it that. More like a castle right in the middle of Palm Beach. The house is beautiful, and the size of everything is physically intimidating leading right up to the four-poster bed in his enormous room. A young blonde girl is finishing starting a fire and apologizes ruefully for her timing as we enter the room in a groping fashion. I tell her it’s no problem, I’m not shy and she leaves the room with her head down.

Shit, the mood is certainly set. A fire in the fireplace and candles lit all around. The thick heavy drapes pulled back to reveal the sparkling night sky. He smiles as he pulls my hips to his roughly, taking possession of my body. Then his hands move softly up my curved waist and pull my tube top easily over my head. I don’t need or want any sentimental actions. I rip his t-shirt over his head, and start on his pants and his smile doesn’t fade. I kiss him lustfully, all thoughts aside from satisfaction blown out the window like ash on the rich breeze.

He pulls me over to the huge bed and lifts me up to sit on the edge. Then he takes my boots and socks off. It’s painstakingly slow and I feel the ache between my legs growing. I lay back and close my eyes as I start to slide the skirt down my thighs feeling his eyes on me all the while. When the skirt slides over my feet I wrap my legs around his waist and roughly pull him on top of me. The fact that he wants me is obvious. “Oh shit I want you,” I moan, followed by his name several times, as I fumble with his belt.

His body goes rigid over top of me and his mouth leaves mine. I open my eyes and he turns his head from the window to me. “Wait, I can’t,” he says lightly, his perfect chest gleams in the firelight as he pulls away from me. I’m sure my mouth is wide open in shock and anger.

“What do you mean you can’t!?” I scream in anger standing up and walking over to him. My hand slides in his pants and grips him tightly and he jumps in my hand, “I don’t see a problem here.” He starts to give in only for a second, and then pushes me away roughly and I stumble on the edge of the rug and fall to my ass next to my discarded clothes. I’m completely shocked and embarrassed. I feel like a total slut, naked and about to cry, rejected on the floor. Like that Natalie Imbruglia song, Torn.

I let my emotions get the better of me in a physical situation. I wanted him because of his name, and maybe his body and hair, not because of his eyes or anything else. I wanted him because he reminded me of who I really want without forcing me to take him. I’ll never get away from him, his memory. I look around the place and realize I even wanted him for his house. The dark fabrics and everything a clear reminder of the man I really want, the man I hate to want, the man who loves me to want.

I look up and he mumbles an apology and quickly leaves the room. What a total bastard. I get dressed quickly, yet unashamed in front of the massive windows and inside the open bedroom door, as if daring him to come back and look at me and tell me he doesn’t want me completely. Little bastard probably doesn’t have the balls to fuck in his parent’s bed.

Outside the bedroom candles light the hallway but the rest of the house is completely dark. “Won’t even walk me to the door huh?” I mumble lightly. Fuck. I don’t know where I am and I have no idea how to get the hell out of here. I’m about to scream for someone to come take me to my damn car when I hear muted footsteps in the room behind me. I turn quickly and his hands grip my shoulders much like they did back in the parking lot, but stronger this time, on the edge of brutal. One long finger comes to my lips in a gesture for silence. Fuck that! Like he can get what he wants after making me feel like a cheap whore.

“Fuck you!” I scream as I push him away roughly, instead of him moving, I only manage to push myself backwards and the back of my knees hit a coffee table and I fall back onto it. He’s on top of me in seconds.

“Just what I had in mind,” he whispers in my ear, and his voice, it’s different, filled with his intent.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” I say angrily and try to push him off again, but he just slams his hips into mine, his erection slams against my thigh. “Do I?” he asks lightly. His voice is almost a rasp with lust, like he has a sore throat, or is singing the blues.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” I say angrily and manage to get out from underneath him and start away.

“Right,” he says, easily grabbing me before I get away and slamming me onto the floor, “I’m going to fuck you! And you’re gonna love every second of it!” Until now I didn’t know craziness had a sound, a gravelly hint at the back of the voice. His hands rip my tube top down and I cry out involuntarily. Fuck me, this asshole’s gonna rape me. Or gonna try really damn hard. I lift my knee to kick him in the balls but he pins my legs down with his and kisses me forcefully. I bite down hard on his tongue and it leaves my mouth and moves down my neck, slowing slightly at my collarbone and moving to my breasts. Oh boy, I’m in trouble. Is it really rape if they make you like it? He’s just a fucking creep, not even a strong looking one, so why can’t I get him the fuck off me. Is he vamp? Could I have not noticed? I have been off the game long.

He giggles on my breasts as I struggle so I stop. Why should I give him that? Although I think he’ll enjoy it just as much if I’m submissive. His hands inch up my skirt and he slides his thick fingers inside my still moist folds. Ah shit, here we go. He moves like any expert I’ve ever known, sliding one then two long fingers in and out of my body while his thumb massages my clit. My body betrays me and does what I taught it to do, well. It bucks up against his fingers while my hands fight to push him away. I’m fighting a losing battle, and it’s a totally new experience for me. He smiles in my throat and sucks and kisses and grinds his teeth against the area and I can’t stifle the moans and gasps my traitorous mouth forms. “I hate you,” I moan as I near the building orgasm.

His fingers slow their pace and my eyes jump open at the sound of his zipper sliding down meets my ears. “And I hate you,” he moans back and in one horrible movement his fingers leave my body and he roughly enters me like a knife. The orgasm that was building never comes. I try desperately now to detach him from me and I’m so close to tears because I don’t understand why I’m not strong enough to remove him.

He has two obvious goals in his brutal assault, one, too come inside me several times, and two, to meet my body as hard as he can and break as many things as he can, and I’m pretty sure he met both. Second virginity, as some might say, doesn’t begin to describe the feeling. Before my lower half went completely numb it was like I was wet and he was an icicle and every time he moved in and out of me he ripped me open just a little bit more. Bastard.

When he is done he doesn’t collapse next to me at a loss for energy, he pulls out, returns to his pants, stands over me, whispers the word “whore”, and leaves me there, bleeding on his living room floor. After several minutes I move and it’s like I had never experienced pain before, and believe me, I’ve had far more then my fair share of bumps and bruises. My wrists hurt badly, but they aren’t broken. My back and head hurt from his brutal entries that slammed me almost inside the hard wood floor. Anything below my waist is just an amoeba of pain and sweat and blood and my assailant’s fluids.

I stand on the thorough fear that he will come back to finish me off. I straighten my skirt and shirt and remove my boots because the slight heel makes it hurt even more when I walk, which I do manage to do. I feel along the way and when I make it out into the hallway I see the massive glass front door like a light at the end of a dark dank tunnel. The stars are shining down like everything here is picture perfect. I fall once in the parking lot and it takes more energy then I’ve ever had to use in my life not to cry and stay there waiting for death. I stand and make my way to my car. The keys are not inside but I have an extra in the glove compartment. I start the car and follow the silent empty side streets home, not knowing how it is possible that my feet are working at all.

In the driveway I turn the car off and open the door to get out. I make it inside the front door and I fall in a bloody sweaty crying heap on the hard kitchen floor. Jaime will save me. Jaime will make everything okay. He hears me come in, “Hey tiger,” he says putting some dishes in the sink. Denise must have stayed for dinner. It’s late, or early, and she won’t still be here. “All night drinking party again?” he asks standing over me. I start to sob; he thinks I’m drunk. It’s almost funny how badly I wish I were. He goes silent and lifts me up into his arms. He takes me into my bedroom and lays me on the bed. “I’m gonna undress you now honey,” he coos. Now he knows. He gets me out a tee shirt and panties I wear to bed. “Don’t worry, he says stripping off my clothes carefully, “It’s only me, only me.”

“It’s all my fault!” I sob, “I went to his house!”

“No, no,” he says lying down next to me. He starts rubbing my head; “It’s never your fault, never.” His voice is cracking like he might cry. Not the ‘I’ll kill em’’ response I was expecting. That will probably come later.

“It is though,” I’m talking lightly now, I’m embarrassed that he has to see me like this but I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. “I went to his house to have sex with him and he said ‘nevermind’ and you can’t do that to a girl, so I was leaving…” my sobs cut off the ending, but I’m sure he gets the drift.

“Hey,” he says wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close like he does, “It’s not your fault. Tomorrow things will be better.” I don’t think so, but I’m too exhausted to tell him so.

Part XVI: Paralyzed


Look at her so calm and safe in his arms. And him. What does he think he’s too good for her? More like not good enough. I’m glad they don’t fuck because she’s mine and he’s shit on my boot, but I don’t understand it, he’s a straight man with eyes and she’s an easy and beautiful woman living in the same house as him, even sleeping right now in the same bed. She’s a resourceful little whore, yet she hasn’t managed to snag this one. He’s a fool for not taking her when he had the chance. Now she’s marked and taken. She’s mine.

The signal we planned breaks the silence and he jolts up in bed next to her and scans the dark room. Can ya see me? He jumps from the bed and runs to the front of the house. Now’s my chance. She thinks she’s safe with him so I just have to prove her wrong. She’ll never be safe until she’s at my side. I move close to her, move the hair from over her face. If she opened her eyes would she be able to see me in the moonlight? I cover her mouth with my hand and her eyes shoot open. They glisten in the moonlight like two wide marbles, and yeah she sees me. I quickly slide the knife into her side, pull it out and remove my hand. She’s gone, but she knows she’s not safe. I lean down to kiss her, “I’ll have you.”

I hear his rushed footfalls down the hall. Time to go. The blood running from her side all over the white silk sheets is so inviting, but that’s not how I want it to be. Not how I want to taste her. I slip out the window as his voice comes into the room, “No, no, I don’t know who it was, they just threw it at the car and sped… oh shit! My roommate, she’s bleeding! Get an ambulance here now! Oh shit!” He’s cradling her, “It’ll be fine girl, you’ll be fine, just hold on, please hold on.”

I hear voices outside of my head, maybe in this room if I’m in a room. “She was stabbed once in her side, but… well the knife failed to hit any major organs or arteries, I mean… either whoever did this intentionally slid the knife in exactly the right spot or she is an extremely lucky woman.” Luck was something I had never had any of.

“Then why isn’t she awake yet? It’s been hours.” That voice I recognize, it’s arrogant, and young. It’s a cop. I just know it.

“Well, she may very well be awake, but she can’t move, not yet, maybe not ever.”

“That doesn’t sound extremely lucky.” The cop persists, “That doesn’t sound like the knife failed to hit anything major.”

“It hit a major nerve, and she’s paralyzed but it seems to be healing itself, which is rare but does happen. She seems to be in a sort of coma, which is induced only by the severing of this particular nerve. She is awake and probably aware in there she just can’t really do anything to show us that. The paralysis will most likely pass. But there have been a few instances where it has not.”

“Will she be able to talk? To tell us who did this to her?” The cop questions who I conclude must be my doctor. They’re being dumb enough to talk about me like I’m not even here. Assholes. I’m on major pain meds, morphine, it must be, cause I’m seeing those familiar red and black blotches inside my closed eyelids. I don’t want to open them and alert the geeks so I watch the spots dance before me as they argue.

“She has been through a great ordeal. When she wakes, she should be able to talk, but I think it’s best that she doesn’t be questioned until morning, I think it can wait.”

“Excuse me for being callous, but this is one girl, what about all the others that could wind up lying here or worse if she doesn’t tell us who did this to her?”

“Well, excuse me for being caring, but this girl is my patient, other girls are not. She will not be seen until the morning, now goodbye!” This doctor is pretty cool. I hear a curtain on those little rings slide apart and feel a presence in the room. He fiddles with something, an IV perhaps, that’s attached to my arm then he leaves the room.

I slowly open my eyes. Oh God Jaime! He’s sitting right there, asleep. I try to speak, try to move my lips, but I can’t. Fuck me. The doctor was right. I can barely move my eyes even. I’m so so tired now. I close them and try to get some sleep like Jaime.

Part XVII: He Comes Bearing Gifts


There’s noise. I’m very groggy, but I know that. It’s loud whispers banging in my head that are blending into a great big noise. Shut up! I open my eyes and everything starts to come into horrible focus. Jaime is standing next to the bed shaking his hand. He has flowers, dark red roses in a vase. He puts them on the table next to me.

I’m helpless. And he knows it. He glances over and flashes a sympathetic smile so only I can see the glint of madness, the promise of more pain. He did it. He came into the house and stabbed me. He wanted me like this, a prisoner inside my own body. Like I’ve never been there before. But how did he get in the house? He takes a seat down next to Jaime, comfortable as can be. If I could laugh, I would be in tears. He’s putting on quite a show. He once said he was world’s greatest actor, sure gives me a swift run for my money. He puts his head in his hands; “I come by the other night, and she’s working, and now this is how I have to see her.” He isn’t crying. I’m surprised he has enough pride not to cry. Jaime is patting his back. I’ve never seen him like this, so sad looking, and he’s actually dropping the tough guy act to comfort another man, who wants nothing more then to end his life, slow and horrible like. No! He’s excusing himself to get coffee and leave him alone with me. I try to form a scream in my throat or any sound or movement at all, but it’s like the rest of my body doesn’t even exist. Jaime is gone.

My enemy closes the door and curtain so we can be alone together. I hear the ominous sounds of the metal chair legs scraping the tile floor as he moves his seat closer, too close. He smiles his evil smile and turns my head towards him. He knows I’m listening somewhere. “He thinks I’m your boyfriend.” He runs his hand over the thin fabric covering my breasts, “We’ve been dating a month. I’ve even got a picture of you in my wallet. Hey, it got me invited in. I’m even considering proposal,” his voice turns sweet and innocent in a New York second, “’Cause when I’m with you everything else disappears!”

“He’s not very bright babe,” he says slipping his hand inside my dress, “I should’ve killed him back at the house.”

He grins and brings his face up close to mine. “Can you feel me?” I’ve never heard his voice more mocking and menacing. Well, I hear it like that anytime he’s around it’s just so much worse when I can’t do anything about it. “Not like last night I’m sure.” He’s moving his fingers inside of me so roughly or quickly I can see the bed shaking in the same manner. “Last night was special.”

It was him last night. He raped me. He beat the shit out of me. He stabbed me. He’s going to kill me. And I know I deserve worse because I didn’t know and I should’ve known. But if I had known would I have done anything about it? Would I have stopped him? I mean I realized in that house that I wanted him.

“I wonder if you’re shocked,” he whispers, “I wish I could know, but you’re not moving or doing anything at all sugar.” He removes his hand then straightens my skirt. “You’re pretty torn up down there.”

I don’t doubt for a second that he planned this. Maybe even planned to wait a year before he came back and fucked up my life, one more time. Actually, I don’t know if this is one more time. But I know if I live, even if I get up from this bed, it won’t be much of a life. I’ll be looking over my shoulder with every step, and I won’t get close to anyone, ever again.

“When I let go and pounded you as hard as I could, you almost felt like a little virgin again,” he rasps happily in my ear, “and we all know you’re no virgin.” He sits back in his seat resting his crossed feet on my numb legs and lights a cigarette from his pocket. “So many times I could’ve ended it, tasting you would surely lead to uncontrollably killing you, and I almost did it babe. But I wanna look you in the eyes when I do it. I wanna see your fear and recognition and I want you to be completely broken down, and void of any tugging reason or urge for life, and you’re not there yet.” He pulls his cigarette from his lips and rolls up my sleeve. I hear a sizzle as he puts his cigarette out on my shoulder, “Almost there, but not quite yet.”

He sits up and leans in close to my ear again. “You’ll know when you’re ready, and if not, I’ll be there to let you know.” He kisses me roughly on the forehead and it hurts, the first things he’s done that I can feel. “Until then.”

He gets out of his chair and puts his coat back on before waving menacingly and disappearing out the door seconds before Jaime returns with two cups of coffee. Sorry Jaim, he’s not a big coffee drinker. He looks around the room a little unsurely, then he sits down in his discarded seat and puts the extra cup of steaming coffee on the end table, and begins to drink his own; slowly, watching me for any movement over the Styrofoam rim. I wish there was some way to let him know I’m all right, some way to let him know to stay away from him, my ‘boyfriend’.

I close my eyes. The morphine is making me dog-tired. I hope the doctors don’t find the burn on my shoulder and think Jamie did it.

Part XVIII: Substitute Sustenance


Shit, she’s so helpless and innocent looking. I’ve never done better disabling a woman. How powerful is she now? I could’ve pushed the knife a centimeter further, paralyzed her for life, or killed her even. But what fun what that be? I want her to be alive, screaming, and wiggling when I bleed her out. At least she knows now, that she’s not safe with her friend. That she’s never safe. I wait in the parking lot for hours. Visiting hours are long over but he’s nowhere to be found. The nurses must assume by the determined look on his face that family or not he’s staying put. It began to rain at some point not too long ago and by now my clothes are soaked through and little drops are running down my face.

I’m really hungry, and that won’t be good for him when he finally shows. But tonight is almost over so I get in my car, pick up a hooker, this one looks more like her then any in the past, and head back to the house. This one won’t be able to take me like she did but that makes the kill even sweeter. Soon, soon it will be her.

I tell her my real name just to here her scream it incessantly as I make her come. Soon she’ll associate that name with the terror that comes with it. But I give her temporary happiness. I mean she’s gonna die right, why not let the bitch enjoy her last ride? She’s a hooker so I know no one ever thought about her needs before. That’s why she comes so hard she almost passes out. That’s why she begs me by name for more. That’s why I fuck her somehow even harder then I raped my addiction on this very floor.

By the time I’m done she’s just died. A shame, and I hurry to consume her before she goes bad. Then I make Jonas get rid of the body. He was a cop and knows where to put the bodies where they will never be found, but this one I want to be found as a message to Jaime, the press, and most of all to her that I’m back and she’s no longer safe, that she’s never been safe. He’ll leave it at a highway rest stop and it will be found early today, perhaps 5:00 AM, when the workers come in. I wonder what she thought between screaming in ecstasy and in fear? Will my addiction think the same things? I doubt it, she’s much stronger then this average girl, but not strong enough to resist braking.




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