Because FFN will only allow me to post four characters, here is the full list:
Main characters: Sansa Stark and Ramsay Bolton
Supporting characters: Joffrey Baratheon, Jeyne Poole (Canon character from the book series)
Characters mentioned in passing: Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark, Jon Stark (see note), Robert and Cersei, Margaery Tyrell

Rated M+ for the following: Language, themes of abuse and violence, manipulation, coercion, abusive relationships, minor references to drinking.

This is clearly AU, but many character attributions remain, and canon and modern parallels have been made and established.

This ficlet was written as more of a developed background/solo for one of my Modern!AU Sansa Stark RP Twitter accounts. To clear up any confusion rather quickly, in Modern!AU, Sansa is best friends with Jeyne Poole who once was in a relationship with Ramsay Bolton. Robb is her biological brother, Jon is her adopted brother (reason for his surname being Stark), Theon is her foster brother, etc. In this particular RP world with these characters and their writers, we have all come up with a general life and interact together frequently and our own personal infusions for our characters have been added in. So, if anything seems confusing or doesn't make sense, I apologize upfront for that. I tried to give enough backstory for those looking in from the outside on this situation. Happy reading!

Sansa stared blankly at the wall in front of her, knees pulled to her chest as the warm water sloshed slightly around her. Her hair hung limply around her face and framed it in such a way that made her look sick—deathly even.

Damn it, Sansa. How in the hell did you get to this point in your life?

It was a question she had asked herself many times over the past few months, but no matter how hard she thought on the matter, she always managed to spin her current situation in a way that made her justify what she was suffering through.

When the door to the bathroom opened, Sansa slowly turned her head to see who had walked in. It was always the same person, Ramsay. No one came to visit her on the weekends when Ramsay stayed over; he had made sure of that from the beginning. She always told her family and friends that she was leaving for the weekend or that she didn't want to be disturbed. When Ramsay came over, the first thing he did after locking the door and closing the curtains was to take her phone. Sansa objected at first, but quickly learned that was the wrong thing to do. Do not piss of Ramsay Bolton—it was a lesson that engraved itself in her brain.

How in the hell did you get to this point in your life?

She mulled over the question in her mind as Ramsay sat on the edge of the tub without speaking. He dipped the washcloth into the bath water and raised it above her shoulders, wringing the excess water out along her back. Sansa knew what would come next. He'd soap up the washcloth with lavender bath wash—his favorite, he told her once—and slowly wash her shoulders and back. Sansa exhaled as she felt the soft strokes of the washcloth sliding down between her shoulder blades. This was normal now—a weekend routine. She should be used to it, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, just like how she always made her coffee as soon as she got out of bed in the morning.

How in the hell did you get to this point in your life, Sansa Stark?

Each time the question would run through her mind, it phrased itself differently, but the question always remained the same in meaning. She knew the answer, or what she believed to be the answer anyway. It had been a long journey, completely set in stone by the fate of the gods. If Sansa had to pinpoint an exact time in her life when her horrible fate began its slow and cumbersome journey, she'd guess it started the day she broke her arm.

She was a sweet, loving four year old, out in the backyard, chasing her big brothers around. They had been running away from her as a game, something she loved. She ran after them as fast as her little legs would allow, but their game had ended prematurely when Sansa tripped over an exposed tree root, causing her to fall and break her arm. It was her broken arm that put her fate into motion that day.

Two weeks later was Robb's birthday party. Nothing too spectacular—just a bit of family and close friends over at the Stark's family home for a cookout. Robert Baratheon and his wife Cersei were among the invited guests, their son, Joffrey, in tow. Sansa took to him immediately, and he curiously asked about her casted arm. At four, almost five years old, this little boy was perfect. It wasn't long before the two young and innocent children wandered off behind the tree she had tripped over two weeks prior. It was behind that tree—the one Sansa would swear was cursed later on in her life—where little Joffrey Baratheon awkwardly kissed little Sansa Stark.

It was the feeling of Ramsay's fingertips brushing against her neck as he gathered her hair off to the side that brought her out of her thoughts. She continued staring at the wall. Gods, it was so painfully white. It caused her to squint and she dropped her gaze to the water. The once clear water was now tinted a light shade of off-red. That had become routine too. She was always getting cut or scratched or hit or bruised when Ramsay was over, usually for mouthing off or bad decisions. This time it had been because of her short temper and foul mouth and that had earned her getting shoved backward. She stumbled, tripped over one of Lady's dog toys, and went down, crashing into her glass coffee table. She was covered in cuts and suffered a shallow gash near her hair line.

Gods, Stark, how could you let yourself get to this point?

If she had to pick another significant event from her life that helped propel her fate, it would be the meeting of Jeyne Poole in middle school. Sweet and warm, Jeyne Poole had become one of Sansa's closest friends. They were an inseparable pair always together, always causing trouble. But Jeyne moved away in eighth grade, and it seemed to be the end of a blossoming friendship. Nothing too spectacular there. It was amazing how one small friendship could have led her to this point.

Still, Sansa. That was then and this is now. How did you get here? To this point?

The next point in her life that led to this very moment? That was easy; deciding to take her relationship with Joffrey Baratheon to the next level is what did that. She could remember that moment perfectly in her mind still.

It had been an overcast day, but that still didn't stop Sansa from joining Joffrey in the park as they did every Thursday evening. Everyone had assumed the pair would date in high school, but graduation arrived and left, and still no Baratheon-Stark relationship. They were close, yes, but not /that/ close. Or that's what Sansa told herself on a regular basis.

They were walking together, discussing their upcoming departure for University, something they were both looking forward to, when it began raining. Sansa shrieked as the rain poured down from the cloud ridden sky and Joffrey began to laugh. She could still remember how he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled it up over her head to shield her from the rain. She could still feel his hand as it tightly gripped hers, tugging her off toward his car so they could get out of the rain.

Her flip-flop had broken, she remembered. She was running, stepped into a muddy puddle, and lost her shoe. She laughed as she stopped and retrieved the shoe, the strap dangling loosely. The rain had started to come down harder as she tried to think of what to do without a shoe. The rest of the way to the car was either gravel or mulch. She could still remember the exhilarating feeling she experienced when Joffrey picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder with a booming laugh. He hurried off to the car as Sansa wrapped herself tightly around him. He helped her into the car before running around to get in himself. Both of them were laughing hysterically, Sansa still holding onto her pathetic and broken shoe. Breathless from laughter, she looked over at Joffrey to thank him, but the words never left her mouth. She could still taste his mouth on hers, five—almost six—years later. In that moment, Sansa Stark was truly happy.

When their lips finally parted, she looked at him with flushed cheeks and grinned stupidly. "Does that...?"

"Mean we're dating?" he finished for her. "Why yes, Miss. Stark, I think it does."

Those were good times, she thought as Ramsay stood up to grab the detachable shower head. He turned the water on and Sansa silently tipped her head back so he could wash her hair.

Little Bird, how could you let your life get to this point?

Sansa closed her eyes as she reminisced over her life once again. Her seemingly perfect relationship with Joffrey Baratheon was to blame, she had decided; that and her unexpected reunion with a grown-up version of Jeyne Poole.

Shortly after leaving for school together, Joffrey became distant with Sansa. But it didn't matter, she was in love with him and she was determined to make him happy. More often than not, she failed in doing so. As their relationship progressed, the verbal threats and abuse escalated. Once the verbal assault reached its peak, the physical abuse started. It wasn't anything too horrendous, and no one knew it went on, or at least that's what she was led to believe. Joffrey remained abusive and secluded, a popular flirt with the girls on campus.

The drinking… Sansa thought to herself. That's when the drinking started. Joffrey drove her to it. It helped her cope with how he treated her and the rumors of his infidelity.

Those rumors turned out to be true. Sansa had a bitter taste in her mouth as she thought about it, Ramsay silently conditioning her hair, the gentle and repetitive motion calming her somewhat as she remembered the fight she and Joffrey had on the front lawn of his dormitory. The argument had turned to shouting and had drawn the attention of many of the students around them. When Sansa said she had proof Joffrey had been cheating with Margarey Tyrell, he snapped, punching her in the nose. For the few weeks after, Sansa sported a broken nose and two equally black eyes from the initial hit. By the same time the next day following their fight, Joffrey had broken up with Sansa.

Things went from bad to worse after that. While Ramsay rinsed out her hair, she could only think about the downward spiral that had become her life. She had turned to drinking more than ever after that and refused to enter any serious relationships. She was promiscuous; sleeping with various guys on campus without the commitment, partying too hard, and was drinking too often. Eventually, her grades started to slip. She ended up doing the most unspeakable thing—sleeping with a professor—to bump up her Business Accounting course grade from a D- to an A-.

Jesus, San. That's not even the worst bit. Is this really how you got to this point in your life?

No, that wasn't even the worst part of her life, but it helped her get to this moment in her life. The worst and best part of her life arrived in the form of Ramsay Bolton. Tall, handsome, killer smile and an even more killer bod, Ramsay Bolton was everything Sansa Stark wanted—and needed—in a guy. She knew his reputation well enough, but those were just rumors. Jeyne had told her so.

Oh gods. Jeyne.

Sansa hated herself for what she had done. Allowing Ramsay Bolton to use his wit and humor to charm her into his bed was the worst thing she ever did. Especially when he was dating her best friend. The first few times of hooking up left Sansa feeling sick, guilty, and dirty; when she expressed her concerns to Ramsay, he sweetly talked her down, telling her it was fine and to not worry about Jeyne. He knew what he was doing, and he knew he was good at it. Soon, Jeyne and the friendship she shared with Sansa didn't matter; only Ramsay and his non-committal hookups mattered.

That was until Jeyne found out. Gods, that was horrible. Sansa could still see the look on Jeyne's face when she walked in on her best friend screwing her boyfriend. Seeing the anger, confusion, pain, and hurt on Jeyne's face made Sansa feel sick all over again. She remembered getting up and wrapping herself in one of the sheets before running after Jeyne, screaming for her to stop, that she was sorry, that she didn't mean to do it, that it was a stupid lapse in judgement.

Sansa brought her hands up to her face and swept her wet hair that had stuck to her cheeks away. She could almost feel the sting where Jeyne's open palm had once connected with her cheek, the words "traitorous bitch" ringing through her ears. The thought still made her disgusted, but she was with Ramsay now.

She had broken things off with him the very moment Jeyne stormed off. It had taken months for Sansa to win back the trust of Jeyne, but only weeks for Ramsay to win back the trust of Sansa. She couldn't help herself. She relied on him in more ways than she cared to admit. She /needed/ him, she had soon realized. She didn't want to admit it because that would mean that she was weak, so she never told anyone about her growing need to have Ramsay there to take care of her.

At this point, Jeyne was used to the pair of them being together and she swore to Sansa that she no longer held any animosity toward her. She did, however, attempt to warn Sansa of what kind of monster Ramsay could be, but she refused to believe it.

For being so bloody smart, you'd think you'd know he was a monster. Look at yourself, woman. How did you get to this point in your life?

She stood up after Ramsay had started to empty the tub. He offered her his hands as normal and she took them as he helped her up. He wrapped her in a fluffy white towel and pulled her close to his body where she automatically nuzzled into his chest. She felt the tender kiss he pressed to the top of her head before he led her off to her bedroom.

See? He's not a monster. He cares.

No he doesn't. Pull your shit together, Sansa. Look at what he's done to you… again.

He cares. He loves me. He's sorry.

He's always "sorry," Stark. Come on, wake up already. He manipulates you to do what he wants. He hurts you and he likes it. He likes it when you cry, when you scream, when you beg.

That's not true. He loves me and doesn't mean to hurt me. I shouldn't do the things I do. I know that. I just don't always think.

Little Bird, you're blind; completely oblivious to the fact that you're with a monster.

I'm not!

What would your brothers say? What would Robb and Jon and Theon say if they knew what Ramsay has been doing to you for almost six months? Beating you, forcing you to have sex when you don't want to, and supplying you with alcohol to feed your growing alcoholic tendencies and issues.

I'm an adult! I don't need my brothers babysitting me! And still, Theon and Ramsay are friends.

You know that's a lie, San. They're not friends.

"Just shut up!" she shouted. Ramsay had just finished helping her into her pajamas and had gone to grab her hairbrush off the vanity in the bathroom. He stopped and turned to look at her, a brow raised curiously.

Sansa blinked a few times, realizing that she had vocalized her internal thoughts unintentionally. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and put her shaking hands into her lap. Ramsay remained where he was, waiting for her to speak first.

"I'm sorry…. I don't know where that came from. I just… I just have a lot on my mind, I guess."

Ramsay nodded and turned his back on her once again.

"Ramsay? I love you."

He stiffened for a second, but remained silent and walked into her bathroom to get the hairbrush. His lips turned upward with a menacing smirk. Her declaration solidified something within him.

He had her exactly where he wanted her.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please R&R, constructive criticism is always nice to see, as long as it's done nicely. Any rude comments will be deleted. I'll do my best to reply to everyone! Questions regarding something you read? Feel free to ask! Thank you once again for being so amazing!