She was the one dangling by her hair at his mercy...

“Violette, I’m so sorry, this is not me, please forgive me.” His voice reached through the fog in her head; she was suddenly afraid.

“Slate?” The name came out in a frightened exhalation. Before she could say anything else, his hands shot out, twisting in her hair, jerking her head back, lifting her chin up. She could feel panic rising in her throat and a small scream started to build. What had happened to this moment that had been so sweet?

She felt him circling around to the back of her now; a low feral growl vibrated in his chest. She could feel it because he had just pulled her tight against him. He pulled tighter on her hair now.

She realized with a sick dread that she was going to have to fight back to get out of this. He started to speak then, as his hand started to dig into the flesh of her shoulder, almost tearing the fabric of her uniform at the sleeve.

“You need to stop messing around with me, little one. You don’t know what I can do. What I want to do.” His voice was menacing, she did not recognize it at all.

“I…I’m so sorry, Slate. Please, Slate, please stop! Why are you hurting me?” She tried to twist away from his grip, squirmed and managed to elbow him swiftly in the ribs. He didn’t even flinch. He chuckled, infuriating her.

“Slate! Let go! What is wrong with you?” Her pleading question ended with a terrified sob and she stopped fighting, her fear paralyzing her. Slowly, his grip on her arm loosened, a low keening sound came from his lips, as if someone was trying to speak out and he was fighting them back.

“Stop it!” he yelled angrily. “What is wrong with you?!”

The accusing question struck her as absurd. After all, she was the one dangling by her hair at his mercy. She decided her best course of action was no action at all. He seemed to be a little mad- out of his mind.

“I like you this way, Violette,” he whispered soothingly in her ear. He nipped tentatively at her neck as if she were candy. Another fire sparked in her belly; this disgusted her. What was wrong with her? Why was she was reacting this way to him after he’d been so cruel to her? His hand trailed down to her waist and then hovered around her hip. He kept nuzzling her neck, her shoulder, trailing luxuriously hot breath up and down.

She couldn’t stand this anymore! She made another attempt to spin out of his grasp, expecting to be caught up short but she ended up facing him, her eyes wild and jittery. The smile on his face was wickedly seductive and caused her to step back. This was not the Slate she knew. This was not the face of a young, sheltered gentleman, but of a seasoned predator, one who was lecherous, capable of hurting her in more ways than she wished to consider.

She ran about twenty steps, thinking she’d left him behind, when without a sound, he grabbed her around the waist again, the action of the short stop whooshing the air out of her lungs.

“Where are you going, little one? I’m not done yet. More, I want more.” He wrestled her to the ground now and pushed her face down in the dirt. She began to cry, wrenching sobs of fear, gasping in a desperate attempt to breathe through the horror of what was happening. She felt as though a black wave of cold water was pulling her down, hooking her with its rip current. She knew she cried like a child but she simply didn’t care. She was suddenly reminded of that night she was in her bedroom. That helpless, hopeless feeling of utterly giving up was so much more welcome than being acutely aware of what was being done, what thoughts might be racing through this man’s mind. She would much prefer the oblivion of youth, the ignorance of not knowing how it might feel to burn alive.

“Please,” she said again, “Please stop.” She begged him now, her cheek against the cool sharp grassy earth.

“Oh God,” he said from behind her. His voice had changed again; it sounded more like Slate now. “Oh my God,” he repeated a little louder. She continued to cry when he growled very loudly behind her. The sound was like a canon. The nerve-wracking howl didn’t stop either. It just got louder and lower, coming from a deeper place within him.

She dared to work herself up onto her feet while the moaning and snarling continued. Surprised at her good luck, she stood up slowly, not wanting to turn around and face the wounded animal behind her. She took a step and he shoved her roughly and began to yell at her.

“Go, Violette! Go! Run inside! Quickly!” The awful noise started again. He was talking to someone, fighting himself. She ran as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her, panting and sometimes stumbling, but never stopping. She didn’t rest until she was in her cot, covers pulled up over her head, but she could not stop shivering. She stayed like that for the rest of the night, not sleeping a wink, mind hyper aware of everything happening around her, and everything that could have happened.