Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Teen Titans. I just own everything else
So
he held the knife to her throat, motioning for her to come with him.
Motioning for her to join him in his dark hell.
She nodded, and
went with him, rather, she had already told him he could do whatever
he wished.
For he had taken HIS name in vein.
That was never to
be forgiven.
So she closed her eyes, a prisoner, awaiting the pain
that was about to seduce her into a world of darkness.
He had
finally taken the knife away from her already scarred neck, scars
from mostly her own doing. Scars of suicide.
He pushed her onto
the bed violently, before motioning for his friends to come in. To
watch. To hurt her.
She was so used to this by now, but every
time it had gotten worse. The beatings more violent, the pain more
torture than anything else. . . And her Robin. . . HER Robin . . .
was being tortured at the soul, for knowing there was nothing he
could do. For wishing deeply that he could have been there.
She
was so useless. Her starbolts, her eye beams . . . gone with fear.
They could only be controlled with her emotions, and as her fear went
raging out of control, so did her weaponry use.
But soon enough,
to shatter her thinking, the tallest, the oldest . . . the biggest .
. . was sprawling himself over her. He kissed her lips with his own
burning passion just to hear her screaming, just to know that she's
in pain.
He began to remove her clothes, not civilly of course,
rather by basically shredding them to pieces and then throwing them
on the floor.
And all the self-inflicted and not self-inflicted
cuts had shown over her once glowing skin. The bruises adding a
seemingly purple tinge to her extremely pale complexion. And then, of
course, were the burns. From every man who had ever taken her, for
every man who had righteously taken her as his whore, there was a
burn mark, and so, there were many. Many marks that could very easily
be healed, but still hurt the same, nonetheless.
Her body just
lay still, lay stiff, awaiting a pain worse than what she's ever been
through.
A pain that would send her to lose control.
A pain
that would give her a feeling, much worse than the full burn, so
hopefully, she could leave her body. Her pained body.
To become
even slightly peaceful in hell.
And thus, the torture began.
He
took pleasure in her scars, scratching away at them, opening her
already broken body and creating newer scars as well as opening old
ones.
His touch wasn't gentle; it was mutilating, and when
the first stage of his rape began, had scratched her up very badly.
She had already cut herself in a deeply sacred place, but to have
his fingernails scratching till blood was certainly not pleasurable
to her.
He forced himself into her body, there was no way she was
actually going to open up for him, knowing what was about to
occur.
And so, a manipulated her most beautiful and sacred place,
and caused it to bleed more than he ever had before.
And feeling
as though his job was finished, he slowly took his hand away from her
biggest weakness, and replaced it with his own point of pleasure.
Slowly, burying himself deeper into her was an excruciating pain
that followed. With one quick, hard thrust, he had already pained
most of her sacred place, but she knew all to well that he was going
to take it to the next level.
Her eyes, that tried to remain stoic
during these moments, shut tightly in pain. In fear.
He lifted
himself out of her, and then plunged back in with a new force, his
shaft banging at her cervix.
And of course, he kept to THIS pace;
he kept to penetrating her with THESE thrusts, if not harder
ones.
Her bruises grew larger, her pain more intense. And of
course, the waiting for him to leave her was keeping her alive.
And
so he did. He left her, just lying there, for quite sometime before
she finally willed the strength upon herself to get up.
The stab
marks, the fresh cuts, the newest burn, all signs of his
pleasure.
And all signs of her weakness. Of her uncourageous
actions.
And so, she began the walk home.
Starfire awoke with a horrible start, remembering what had happened the night before.
Robin didn't know. . .
Robin could never know. . .
She looked at her wrists, her still scarred wrists, and remembered the events that had happened only the night before.
Flashback
She slid the knife across her once clear and unmarred skin, scratching up the vein underneath it and letting out a whimper as she slit the next wrist.
She just looked at herself, a ghost of who she once was.
A broken heart of her once pure and good soul. . .
And Robin, well . . . he had yet to find out. . .
End Flashback
If only he knew,
If only he truly understood what was happening to her.
But he didn't.
He hadn't even seen her since earlier yesterday morning. . .
But perhaps, she could trust him enough to tell him. . . Perhaps. . .
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