Choices

The light came on. Sudden, blinding. Waking me from a sound sleep.

Disoriented, I blink against the glare and feel a hand wrap over my mouth. A knife flashes past my face and a thin line of ice settles against my throat. My body freezes with fear. I blink up, staring into hard, cold eyes, and wait to die.

But nothing happens for a long, long minute. My body is so frozen with fear that I'm not breathing. My lungs start to protest and I'm forced to take a long shuddering breath through my nose, afraid it's my last, my eyes clinging to his in terror and waiting for the stroke that will end it.

"Don't scream." The whisper is as harsh and cold as his face but reassures me. He isn't going to kill me immediately if he bothers to give that order.

He still doesn't move and my fear subsides as I feel a faint prick of curiosity. I lay in bed, the covers slid down to my waist, my hands frozen at my sides and a lunatic leans over me with a knife to my throat but I'm curious. It sounds like insanity, but as I stare into his cold immobile face the fear subsides even more as I realize he's not sure what to do next. His cold mask is good. I never would have detected his uncertainty if I weren't studying him with every cell of my body.

We stay frozen like that for another long minute before I see the sudden decision in his eyes. He cautiously lifts his hand from my mouth. When I stay silent, he eases onto the bed next to me, kneeling beside me, the knife held steady at my throat. I hold my breath, afraid any movement will send that edge into my throat.

He carefully eases a leg over me, straddling me, but still only touching me with the blade at my throat as if brushing against my body is distasteful. I narrow my eyes at the thought but quickly fling it away. He may be reluctant or I may only be seeing what I desperately want to see. I have to be ready to move if he gives me an opening.

He's settled and staring at me, his face still a blank mask, but again he doesn't move for a long, long minute. Need for air pushes me and I'm suddenly sucking in a great lungful. My throat moves against the ice at my throat and after that first great breath, I let my mouth fall open to pull in small pants of air, trying not to move against that blade, my eyes my only movement as I watch and wait for what he will do next.

But he still doesn't move or even blink and I finally break the silence with a whisper so soft he can't mistake it for a cry for help.

"What are you going to do?"

He starts to lift a hand to my mouth again but stops at my soft question. He doesn't answer but I see something shift in his eyes. Something I don't understand.

My breathing has evened out. Talk. I have to get him talking. I continue in low, soothing whisper.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

He gives a short, harsh laugh and surprise makes me jerk. He stares down at me, grimly amused, and I furrow my brow as I try to puzzle out his reaction. His hand comes up and I flinch but he only strokes soft fingers over the side of my face, adding to my confusion. I realize he'd been surprisingly gentle so far. Other than the icy threat of the knife at my throat he hasn't done anything to physically harm me. In fact, he's been downright considerate.

"If you leave now, I won't say anything to anybody. I promise."

I mean it, too. I only hope he can read the sincerity in my eyes.

I watch another shift in the cold, green eyes above me but they settle back into blankness so quickly I can't decipher it.

He smiles, a quick flash of teeth before he wipes it away with seriousness. "No. I have to do this." His voice is low but the harshness is gone and only resignation remains.

"You don't have to do anything. There's always a choice." I'm serious as I stare up into his eyes because I believe this with everything that's in me. There's always a choice. You have to be willing to accept the consequences but there's always a choice. I choose to lie here while he holds a knife to my throat because I don't choose to die. It's that simple.

My words make him pause and he silently stares down at me, evaluating my sincerity. His mask cracks and I read the yearning in his eyes.

"I only wish it were that simple."

I suddenly understand. He's trapped. More trapped than I will ever be even with this stranger crouching over me with a knife at my throat. I stare into his eyes and try to push back the sympathy that overflows me. I understand trapped. I understand lost and alone and no way out.

"You're trapped," I whisper before I even know I intend to.

His eyes harden and he looks away from me, staring at something that only he can see.

Another long silence stretches between us. Somehow I know this is not the moment to push him so I wait.

He brings his attention back to me and his eyes are hard again. Grimly determined, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a set of handcuffs. My heart clenches at the sight and I can't breath. He moves to fasten one around my wrist but my voice stops him. "No."

He stops and stares at me, surprised at the sudden determination in my voice. He arches an eyebrow.

"If you put those on me, you'll have to kill me because I'll start screaming and never stop."

He stares at me, uncertain, but I'm just as deeply serious as he is. He sees that and hesitates.

I soften my voice. "You don't need them. I promise I won't try anything."

But the hesitation in him is gone and he reaches for my wrist again, the knife heavy at my throat. At the first touch of his hand I open my mouth and scream, a harsh scream that comes from deep in my abdomen, an ugly primitive scream of denial and rage.

His head jerks up in panic. He hurls the cuffs away, lunges forward over my body and slams his hand down over my mouth. The knife at my throat never moves.

When he tosses the cuffs away I stop screaming. I calmly watch him past the hand wrapped over my mouth. The panic is bright in his green eyes as he freezes and listens for any reaction to my screams.

There won't be any. All my neighbors are old and hard of hearing. I could scream for days and no one would come. But he doesn't know that.

After a moment and no shout goes up, no footsteps come to investigate, the tension eases in him and he slowly turns his head to stare at me.

"Are you crazy? I could kill you for that." He looks baffled.

I can only silently stare at him past the hand over my mouth.

After a moment he seems to realize that I can't answer with his hand over my mouth. He slowly eases his hand away, ready to slap it down again if I take another breath to scream. But he's baffled and curiosity sidetracks him.

"Are you crazy? Why did you do that?"

I stare at him calmly. "I said I would."

"Yeah, but-- "

"No handcuffs. I'll make you kill me if you put those on me. No handcuffs."

There's only a quiet stillness in me as I stare into his eyes. I've made my choice. Now it's up to him. His choice.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers. It almost sounds like a plea.

"I don't want you to hurt me," I whisper back, eyes locked with his.

I can see him struggling with what he wants to do, which is leave, and what he has to do, which is stay.

I slowly reach out. My hands brush along the outside of his thighs where they lay on either side of my legs. I ease my hands up his torso then run them along his arms. My hand gently curls around the hand that holds the knife to my throat. He hasn't moved, frozen and staring at me, waiting for my next move.

"You're not going to use this," I whisper and tug on his hand. "You're not going to need it. I promise. Do what you have to do then go."

He is frozen, staring at me like he's discovered a new lifeform, but he allows me to tug the knife back from my throat a few inches.

He closes his eyes and his head droops forward. I don't move as he sighs out a breath.

He pulls himself up, breaking away from my light touch, kneeling back to sit up. The wild hope goes through me that he's going to leave, get up and just walk out, but that hope is flavored with a strange regret that I don't have a chance to examine. He lifts the knife high and terror sends my body taut as I wait for the knife to plunge. I force my eyes to stay open, battling profound surprise. I believed him. I didn't think he was going to hurt me.

He doesn't. He shifts his grip on the knife and throws. I jerk my head around to follow the flight of the knife. It sinks deep into the wood of the door frame, quivering from the impact.

I relax limply against the bed and close my eyes. If I believed in God I think I would be praying now. But either I abandoned Him or He abandoned me because I gave up on sending out silent cries for help long ago.

I feel him shift on top of me then the brush of fingertips against my face and I open my eyes. He leans over me, staring at me solemnly as his fingers continue to stroke over my face. I can only swallow and watch him.

"I was sent to rape you." I jerk with shock at the words.

"I was sent to hurt you and humiliate you and teach you a lesson."

He falls silent.

I wait, sudden fear pounding over me again.

But he doesn't say anything and with effort I swallow and lick my lips to speak. "And are you?" I force the question out. "Are you going to?"

He's silent a moment then pulls his fingers from my skin. I miss the warmth.

"I have to," he whispers, "or what they'll do to me is nothing compared to what they want me to do to you."

I read the truth in his eyes then close my eyes to shut it out. "Do what you have to," I whisper. I keep my eyes sealed as I prepare to endure. It's what I do best. It's what I have the most practice at. Enduring past all hope and all reason.

But he doesn't move and I tense as I wait for the first blow to fall. His hand softly comes down on my face and slides around to dig deeply into my hair to hold my head immobile. I tense further, waiting.

Long minutes pass and he does nothing. I ease my eyes open to find his face above mine. I look a question but before I can breathe it, his face swoops in closer to mine. I inhale sharply at the sudden move. His breath is warm against my lips and makes a shiver tremble through me.

I wait, all breath and movement suspended, as his breath beats against my lips and his eyes stare into mine from inches away.

"I can't."

The words are barely a whisper against my lips and I'm not sure I hear them right. I stare into his eyes, trying to decipher his meaning.

He closes his eyes and his forehead comes to rest against mine while his breath still whispers against my lips. "I can't do it."

I shudder with sudden profound relief as I finally understand his words. He's not going to hurt me.

As he opens his eyes and lifts his head away, I see dread in his eyes. He knows what's in store for him because of his failure. *I* know what's in store for him because of his failure.

He presses his hands to the bed on either side of me as he prepares to push himself up and away. My hands catch around his upper arms and stop him. "Wait."

He stops and stares down at me, confused.

"If you don't do this," I question in a rush, "they'll send someone else, won't they? Someone without your scruples?"

I can see it's not something he wants to think about, but he reluctantly nods his head. "Yeah. They'll send someone else."

I force a small smile that trembles at the edges. My grip on him tightens. "What if I don't want anyone else?"

He stares his surprise and I slowly stroke my hands up his arms to his face. I lightly lay my hands on either side of his face and slowly raise myself up into a sitting position, my muscles protesting the agonizingly slow movement. But I don't want to startle him so I slowly approach his lips with my own. I pause when my breath is just brushing his lips and look into green, green eyes.

Understanding slowly creeps over him and his arms come up around me. But gently. Much too gently.

I release his face, trailing my hands down to his shoulders, and press my lips to his. With a small hesitation his mouth opens and our tongues probe at each other. Heat rushes over me. He's a handsome man, tall and lean and strong, but above all that he's gentle when he doesn't have to be, when he shouldn't be, and that's twisting my insides up into confused knots. Because I know what I'm going to have to do and I don't like it. I want to enjoy his gentleness while I can. I want to fight back the knowledge of what's to come for as long as I can. No matter how prepared you are for pain, no matter how much pain you've been through there is no immunization. Every time the pain is new and fresh and agonizing. That's just the way it is.

But I let that knowledge drift away as he eases me back against the bed and our kiss deepens even more. His arms go around my back, arching me against him, and his body comes down on mine with a pleasing, solid weight. I whimper an approving moan and clutch at his back, his jacket a barrier I long to rip away.

He must read my mind because he pulls his arms from around me only long enough to shrug the jacket away then he's pulling me to him again. He's breathing as deeply as I am and my hands tremble as they roam over his back, exploring. He kisses me with a hunger I haven't felt in a long time and I happily give in to it.

I'm distantly aware of the covers between us being pushed out of the way then his legs tangling in mine as strong arms pull me even closer. My hands play over his back as I arch under him, trying to absorb his heat into my bones. So good. He feels so good.

His lips break away from my mouth and I moan a low protest that's abruptly cut off as his lips leave a trail of fire down my throat. I'm wearing a thin silk camisole that's no protection against the warmth of his lips. I jerk and shudder as his lips close over a nipple, sucking cloth and flesh into his mouth, but he pauses, unsure of my response, unsure of me.

"Don't stop," I mutter, my eyes clenched shut. "Don't stop."

He sucks strongly and I arch and squirm. His hands skim down my body, hooking in the waistband of the silk shorts I wear that flare out wide around my thighs like a skirt. He pushes them down and I wriggle out of them along with my panties. They're kicked away and forgotten as he continues his slow journey down my body. Warm lips slide past my stomach and I shake at the alien sensation of warm skin against warm skin, warm skin against my skin.

In the life I lead I'm close to no one. No one touches me. I'm always alone. That's what makes this such a delightful pleasure.

But his slow exploration is giving me time to think. I don't want to think, only feel, but my brain won't stop working. I know I have to do it now, while I still have the will to do it at all. My hands tangle in his hair and tug his head up to look at me.

"I need you in me." My voice is hoarse. I know he can read the need on my face. "I need you in me now."

I see the moment fierce hunger takes him then he's pulling away from me and tugging at his jeans. He kneels between my legs and harshly shoves his clothes aside, suddenly impatient and frustrated and breathing hard. His beautiful eyes gleam with hunger.

My thighs are spread wide for him and in only a moment he's free of his clothes and his hands come down on my thighs, pulling me closer, positioning me as he hurriedly guides himself to me. My breath stops in my throat and I struggle for air at the stunning sensation of him hot and heavy against me.

He abruptly slows his frantic movements and presses forward tortuously slow. I want him hard and fast but at the stretching pain of his entry I have to appreciate his consideration. It's been so long.

I arch and claw at the bedcovers as he slides his full length into me. I hear high-pitched whimpering from far off and vaguely realize those sounds are coming from my lips.

He stops. I open glazed eyes to find him staring at me.

"Are you all right?" he asks roughly.

I can't find breath to speak. I nod wordlessly, my fingers digging into the mattress. Watching me, he pulls back and presses into me with a long, slow stroke. I let my eyes close and my head fall back at the sensation, rocking my hips to accept him as more pleased whimpers fall from my lips.

He continues with a slow, steady motion that drives me crazy, makes me crave more, harder, faster, yet still wanting him to move against me with those same long, slow stroke for the rest of forever. I unclench my hands from the mattress and reach for him. He leans forward to take my lips in a deep kiss, his arms wrapping around my shoulders. I whimper and clutch him tightly as his movement shifts the angle of his body deep inside me.

Almost past the point of all reason, dimly the knowledge comes to me of what I must do. I pull my lips from his, my tongue slipping away from the swirling play of his, and breathe deeply, trying to find breath to speak.

"Harder," I whisper. He immediately obliges and picks up the pace.

But it's not enough. I know it's not enough. My fingernails pierce his shirt and dig into his back. I squirm against him restlessly. My voice becomes louder.

"Harder."

He starts driving into me with a power that makes my whole body shudder, but it's still not enough. My hands sink into his hair and tug hard, deliberately inflicting pain. He gives a surprised yelp.

"Harder, you bastard." I snarl. "Hurt me." I jerk his hair hard, gouging scalp with fingernails. He jerks his head from my hands. I see surprised anger in his eyes and am satisfied as he begins to thrust against me with bruising strength. I shake under his assault and try to claw him. He grabs my hands, his lips pulled back in an angry grimace.

He grips my wrists cruelly and his body drives against mine with painful intensity, but the pain is distant, wrapped in velvet pleasure and I can only shudder and let his strength flow around me, batter me and tumble me away in the flood. I close my eyes and arch under him, throwing my head back against the pillow. He continues for long minutes, driving into me, hurting me, but my whimpers aren't from pain, they're from the pleasure of feeling his body moving against mine, his heat against my skin, his scent invading my senses.

I feel the anger in him easing but the power of his thrusts never slows as hunger takes over and pushes him on. His grip on my wrists tightens until I'm distantly aware that he might break bones then he slams against me hard and cries out harshly in a language I don't understand.

I think it's been a long time for him, too.

Shuddering against me, I feel his taut body slowly wind down as he relaxes against me, his grip on my wrists loosening. He takes a long shuddering sigh then releases my wrists, his arms going around my shoulders to gather me against him. His face drops to my shoulder and I take pleasure in the heat of his breath against my skin.

We stay like that a long time, his body still tangled with mine, his face against my skin. I clutch at his back and numbly stare at the ceiling.

He shifts his face against my shoulder, slides his lips up my throat and presses his mouth to my ear. "I'm sorry."

I shiver at the heat of the words against my skin but immediately shake my head. I can't look at him, he's too close, so I stare at the ceiling.

"Don't be." My soft voice is reassuring. "You had to. *We* had to." Taking any blame and sharing it. My hands came up to tenderly stroke over smooth black hair. It's so touchable and silky, it's a pleasure all it's own to freely run my fingers through it.

But I stare pensively at the ceiling. I can't deny the disappointment I feel. It could have been so beautiful between us and expediency forced us to a hurried fuck. Just one more thing I owe the men who try to control my life. One more mark to add to the already long list.

It kills me to say it but I force my lips to form the words. "You should go."

He stiffens then slowly relaxes again as he accepts the truth of my words.

He pulls himself away from my body and sits up, fastening his jeans and watching me with unreadable eyes.

"I have to call the police."

He stiffens again but nods abruptly, He moves to heave himself off the bed but my hand on his arm stops him. He looks at me, his face quickly blanking out all emotion again.

"I need you to..." I take a breath, "I need you to do more." I motion to the camisole I still wear.

His eyes are narrow as he watches me.

"To-- to set the scene." I stumble over the words because this is the hard part, the starkly painful part.

He remains silent his gaze locked on mine. I have to look away. I tug on the thin silk and whisper, "Rip it." He doesn't move. "Please." My desperation is there in my voice. It has to look real. When the police arrive it has to look real or all this is for nothing.

He grabs me and rips the cloth apart then jerks on it to shred it further. I cry out in surprise at the suddenness of his move. His fingernails scrape over me in passing and I shudder at the shock of fleeting pain. He grips my arms and jerks me to him, eye to eye.

"Is that enough?" His voice is rough with the pain I see in his eyes. This is the hard part for him, too.

I dread it, but I force myself to shake my head. I swallow and lick my lips. "Hit me," I whisper. "In the face. Hard."

I see the refusal in his eyes but I can't allow it. I grip his arms tight and stare at him intently.

"Please. You have to."

He bares his teeth in the parody of a grin. "What happened to there's always a choice?"

I nod, my eyes imploring. "There is." My hands tighten and my fingernails sink into his skin past the shirt. "*This* is my choice. *You* are my choice. Please. Hit me."

The anger recedes and he slowly nods reluctant agreement. He pulls his hand back and makes a fist. I tense, waiting for the blow.

"I'm sorry."

His words distract me. I look up to see his eyes and my head snaps back as blinding pain floods me. I fall back against the pillow, riding out the waves of pain, desperately hanging onto consciousness.

I distantly feel the bed shift as he rises but my eyes are tightly clenched against the agony and I don't move.

"I'm sorry, Marita." But I don't look up and after a moment the echoing silence tells me I'm alone.

After a long fight with crippling pain, I shakily sit up. Blood wells up on my lips and the metallic taste floods my mouth. I wipe it away. With trembling body, I slowly reach for the phone by the bed and dial.

"Hello? I-- I need help."

There is no need to fake the shaking in my voice.

"I've been attacked."