Kat

First off, thanks for the ratings and the feedback on my first story ("Violet"). I've never written anything before in my life. There, I said it.

Second, I am less sure of this story than of my previous one. I am not drawing from as much real life as before. For one, I have no first-hand experience with the kind of masochism this character exhibits, so I don't know if it seems fake or not. I maybe held back in places I would not have if I did have that experience, or totally missed a few of my own points. Realism is important to me, I just don't know how far from the base I am this time.

Enjoy!

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Friday. Jon stalked through the office floor on his way back to his workspace, trailing the miasma of his foul mood along with him. Amy had been gone for a week, but she was supposed to fly home this evening. He'd gotten dinner ready to make so she could come home to a nice meal for the two of them, and roses to give her when she got off the plane and he was there waiting. She was going to tell him all about the conference, he'd tell her all about the intra-office drama she missed, and then after dinner he would show her the new 500 thread count sheets he bought for their bed while she was out of town... and then proceed to ruin them over the course of this upcoming three day holiday weekend. But the world seemed to be conspiring against him, and owing to severe weather in Atlanta, where Amy was waiting for a plane, her flight had been delayed until tomorrow. So Jon resolved to put dinner on ice and order a pizza instead. A pizza he didn't even like. He was that agitated.

Jon heard music coming from one of the workstations on the other side of the room. It was something punkish, with a female singer screaming about her vagina, and belonged to Katherine Krieger. Most people called her "Kathy" or "Kat", which Jon thought was fitting because as far as he was concerned she was a catty bitch. He'd tried once or twice in the past to be nice to her, but she'd either looked shocked that he was speaking to her, or tried to say something clever that made her sound like a total battle-ax. Whatever her intended tone, she definitely came off as the type who thought she was better than everyone, and near as Jon could tell that was a blanket statement for anyone with a penis in her world. She was a little (okay, a whole lot) too "militant feminist" for his tastes. Still... she was not unattractive; pretty, but she knew it. Not very tall, but had a lean athletic tone, black hair (dyed, probably, and pinned up in a mess that still somehow looked stylish), piercing blue eyes and, in Jon's "humble" opinion, a really cute ass. She pulled off the "alternative pin-up girl" look quite well, played roller derby and frequented bars with dollar nights and a stage. Today she was wearing an army green hooded sweatshirt, black cargo pants and red Chuck Taylors. Her nails were black, her makeup was black, and she had her sleeves pulled up to the elbows where Jon could make out the lower fringes of some tattoo work. She'd always kept her arms covered; Jon hadn't noticed those before.

Ultimately, Jon had decided that he'd sleep with Kat if he ever got the chance, but it wouldn't be compassionate like it was with Amy, or giggly and cute like he imagined it would be with Violet. The term "hate-fuck" came to mind; just pure violence and a lot of swearing. It was just intriguing enough for him to keep his eye on her, but not enough to make him want to speak to her.

Slowly, Jon became aware that he was staring at her, and that she was staring back at him, her eyes gleaming with an edge of hostility and an unspoken "what the fuck are you looking at" hung in the air. Jon shook his head to clear the cobwebs and tried to brush it off.

"You like what you see, Pierce?" she sneered at him and looked him up and down.

Jon scowled, more at himself than at her.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Kat snorted derisively. "Freak."

Jon ignored the jab and started packing up to leave. He could tell he wasn't going to get anything else done today, and Kat wasn't helping. He slammed drawers closed, dropped a plastic cup on the floor... he was having troubling keeping his shit together. Admittedly, he was letting his attitude get to him and making more noise than necessary. He thought to himself that he might skip the pizza and go hit the bars instead; have a few drinks, pick up a cheap college girl to relax a little and get this funk out of his system. Something meaningless and vanilla. Just take her, use her and dump her without thinking too hard about partners or rules; give up right and wrong for a few hours of fucking and not give a rat's ass about reality, and never once consider worry as an option.

"Jesus man, what the fuck is your problem?"

Jon saw Kat's head pop up as she left her desk to see what the commotion was about. She had hard, icy eyes as she stalked towards him. Jon tried to ignore her, knowing that the last thing he needed to do right now was start a fight with Kat after-hours in the middle of the office. Just be polite, he thought to himself. Get your shit and leave, don't start a fight, and if you can't say something nice don't say anyth-

"What's the matter? You didn't get laid enough today? Violet's not putting out while Amy's out of town or something?"

Jon's record scratched. Kat was trying to be witty, he knew that, but she was really just being a bitch as usual. He was already in a dark disposition, and was not in the mood for her shit today. He drew her a look that shot daggers.

"Excuse me?" he said in a challenging tone.

"Oh, I know about you and Amy," she taunted, creeping closer. "And you and Violet, and you and probably every other skank in this building. You fucked the new girl in reception yet? What was her name? Bethany? Betty? B-something. I hear she's a whore."

Jon had spent maybe 20 minutes at lunch the day before flirting with Betsy Black, the new girl in reception. Not terribly bright, but sweet. Divorced, single mother of one child she did not have custody of. She didn't deserve to be labeled a whore.

"You don't want to do this with me, Kathy," he warned. That was one.

"What if I do?" she taunted, deliberately invading his personal space. Kat made to grab at Jon's shirt. He moved to grab her by the wrist but she jerked her hand away and smirked at him. She was taunting him.

"I know how you are," she patronized. "You like it when they do what they're told, don't you? You have no respect for women at all."

That stung. Jon shrunk back, and Kat misread the gesture as having struck a nerve. She did strike one, but not the one she thought. Her presumptions were appalling. Jon glared at her from over the rim of his glasses in warning, like a cobra about to strike, but Kat ignored it.

"I've known guys like you my whole life. You wouldn't know what to do with a woman like me; a real one who talks back to you and doesn't put up with your shit."

She was in his face now. Jon's mind raced trying to figure out what the hell she was up to. The gloves were off and Jon was ready for a fight, but Kat... Kat was strangely inscrutable. He hadn't realized that before; his building rage had blinded him to it. She was much harder to read than Violet, who wore everything on her sleeve. Kat's body language was all hips and shoulders and sultry leaning. Jon wasn't sure she wanted a fight at all anymore, and yet she was still clearly hostile. There's no way she was trying to dominate him. This was way too sloppy.

Jon's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Kathy?"

"Jesus," she stammered, "to not have to spell it out for you moronic, small-town men for once! That's a good start."

She took one step backwards and pulled the zipper of her sweatshirt down, revealing that she had nothing on beneath it but a leopard-print satin bra. The tattoos he could see rimming her sleeves at the elbow snaked as vines up her arms and around her shoulders, where roses bloomed. Greens and browns drew a bramble patch across her chest; in the center, between her breasts, was a padlock. Above it was scripted the words "TILL DEATH". Kat leaned with one hand on Jon's desk, absently biting her lower lip while her eyes dared him to try and touch her. An understanding was starting to dawn on Jon. Kat didn't know what she was doing. Not really, anyway. She was playing Jon's cards against him because she thought he would be receptive to them. She lost the fight the moment he realized that. Now he just needed to ease her into realizing that too.

"Interesting," he muttered. He knew it would piss her off.

Kat sputtered. "Is that all you have to say?"

She shrugged the sweatshirt off her shoulders and let it fall.

"What's the matter, I'm not good enough for you? You've fucked everyone else in this building, how about having a go with someone your own size?" The statement was bold, coming from someone half his weight and a foot and a half shorter.

"You don't want to start that like this." That was two.

Kat smirked at him in something between disgust and humor, and in one swift motion left four, jagged red claw marks across Jon's right cheek.

That was three.

Jon sighed in quiet resignation and dropped into a place in his mind that he did not visit very often. An alcoholic father, abusive past relationships, memories of his former life as an addict, and dark, violent fantasies he'd never act on in polite society... all keys to a cage that contained something like a monster. It was locked tightly away, and Kat had just thrown it a bone. It was slathering, raging, slamming against the cell walls and screaming for blood. She needed to be rescued from it, for certain, because even caged it was dangerous to her. Jon needed to step in and... save her.

"Yes," he thought to himself. "It's for her own good..."

And that was the thought he seized on to tighten the monster's leash. But he had to follow through on it to keep it contained. He had to wear it down. His face was blank, yet strangely ice cold; an expression Kat didn't know well enough to be intimidated by. But that was her own problem now. She had a grin on her face that suggested she felt like she was winning. It was necessary, Jon felt, for him to wipe it off her face. For her own good.

He bristled, and his mind growled. "First, get her attention."

Jon slapped her hard with the palm of his hand across her face. Kat was completely caught by surprise. She spun with the force and fell to one knee, catching herself on Jon's desk, too shocked to do anything but cry out once. She looked up at him in abject distress, and he stared back down at her with the same blank look as before.

His mind gnashed and strained against his self-imposed restraints. "Now rub her nose in it."

"What are you d-?!" Kat began to scream, but Jon grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet, cutting her off with one hand clamped tightly around her throat. More pressure on the sides of her neck than on the middle cut off the blood flow instead of her breathing. Jon drew her face close to his as she panicked and pried at his fingers with her free hands as he spoke, slowly and with a menacing calm that belied the predatory gleam in his eyes.

"You don't know anything about me," he started. "You don't know anything about Amy, you don't know anything about Violet, you don't know anything about Betsy, and I'm pretty sure you don't even know anything about yourself."

Kat's breathes were being drawn shorter, and her eyes were growing distant. Lack of blood flow to her brain was making her pass out. Jon needed her conscious. He let go of her throat, taking advantage of her momentary cloudiness to turn her around, grab both of her wrists in one hand and wrench her arms up behind her back.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you son of a bitch!" she screamed in protest.

"First you want to have a toss, and now you don't want me to touch you," he commented. "Kat, you're sending me mixed signals."

Kat grimaced as he tightened the lock on her arms. "I don't..." she started.

"You don't what?" he interrupted. "You don't like this? You don't want to finish this? You're the one who started it, Kathy. You opened the door and asked me to come in, you set the terms, and now... what? You don't what?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed as she teared up.

Her lip trembled, and she was about to lose it, but she held herself together. Jon could feel her pulse racing. Part of him was disappointed it took so little to push her to this edge, but another part of him was hopeful that it meant she was receptive to being told a thing or two and remembering them later. He relaxed his grip on her arms, but kept them twisted behind her. He put his free hand on her forehead and pet her, gently. A subtle, positive reinforcement, but not too much. Her will was in a fragile place; he only wanted to keep her from breaking. For now. He examined her, taking in all the details he'd missed before and just listening to her whine. He wasn't hurting her, he knew that. Hell, he didn't even have a firm grip on her wrists. She wasn't weak; strong enough for sure to break his grip and run, petite though she were. Why didn't she? Her eyes were closed, but not clenched, and her chest was heaving. Did she actually want this?

"I know you don't know," he said, softening the edge on his tone. "But I think I'm starting to figure it out myself."

Jon walked Kat out of the office floor and down the hall. She was still trembling, but she did not struggle as hard.

"W-what are we doing?" she stammered meekly.

"Learning," he answered, talking to her like he would talk to a child.

"You c-can't..." she started, fear beginning to show on her face. "Please d-don't hurt me..." she cried.

Jon stopped, released her arms, turned her around and slammed her against the wall. She cried out, more startled than hurt. Jon bored into her with his eyes until she met his gaze.

"Do not look away," he commanded. She did not.

"I- I'm sorry, I..." she pleaded, beginning to panic.

"Shut up," he said sternly, grabbing her left wrist and twisting her arm, forcing her to hold it straight out and in front of her. "Look at your arm, Kat."

Confusion crossed her face. He slapped her.

"Look at it!" he barked.

They were almost invisible. Cris-crossing her upper arm were tiny, thin scars. Her tattoos did a lot to cover them up, but some of them were newer than the artwork and showed. She'd taken some care to contain those to the underside where nobody would see them.

"No..." she excused. "No, those are... that's not..."

She looked pained, but not physically. Like someone who was exposed. She felt profoundly unprotected.

"I know what they are Kat, I'm not stupid."

Jon dated a cutter in college. She was bipolar. It was a horrible relationship, in retrospect, but he didn't know better. He left her after six months. She got help, but the scars (physical and mental) last forever. Before that, in high school, Jon was a cutter himself. He had anger problems back then that he didn't know how to handle, but that was a long time ago. He'd learned since then, about himself and about other people.

"That was different!" Her voice begged him for some kind of compassion.

"No, it really wasn't. You were all broken up and hollow," he explained, his face inches from hers. A stricken look crossed her face, as if she was remembering something she'd tried hard to forget.

"I..." she croaked quietly, her eyes tearing up again. Her eyeliner was running now. "I... was...."

"You were empty inside, like something important was missing, and this," he gestured with his chin to her arm, "this pain made you feel..."

"Whole," she finished without pausing.

"Now tell me again that you don't want me to hurt you," he challenged.

Kat bit her lip and flushed. She was sweating. Jon's grip on her wrist tightened, and he could feel her pulse race as the other hand held her shoulder tightly against the wall. Her face contorted in some internal struggle, tears running down her cheeks and her eyes begged Jon not to make her answer. His eyes narrowed and his face was stone cold.

"I... I d- ..." she started, unable to even get the word out.

"You've almost got it, kitten," he thought quietly, but kept his icy glare locked on her blue, tear-reddened eyes.

And then, under the pressure of Jon's stone-cold glare and iron grip on her arm and shoulder, all of Kat's defenses collapsed. Tears started down her cheeks again and she cried uncontrollably.

"I w-want you to hurt me..." she whispered between sobs.

Jon let go of Kat's arm and released his grip on her shoulder. The caged animal in his mind rumbled, and he pushed it back into his dark corners. There'd be no blood tonight; Jon found something else for her. Empathy. He let Kat stand on her own for a moment to see if she was still fighting him, but she only leaned weakly against the wall and sobbed. She was looking at him, for some kind of indication that she'd given him the right answer, but she was too distressed to read him. Her eyes were flooded and her chin quivered. She was terrified of what might happen next, and but also felt a rising dread of being rejected by the man she'd just cut open her heart in front of. Jon was, as usual, inscrutable. He reached out slowly with his right hand and touched one wet cheek with his fingers. Kat fell forward and threw herself into him. Jon caught her as her knees went completely limp. She bawled into his chest and Jon couldn't tell if she was crying or trying to scream. He let her cry herself out for a minute then put her back on her feet and guided her down the hall again, this time with only one hand pressed gently against the small of her back. Kat offered no resistance. She allowed herself to be guided by Jon's hand, wiping the tears from her face and becoming a little upset with her own show of indignity. The longer they walked, the more nervous she got.

Traditionally, Jon met with his paramours in the conference room or the filing closet, but atmosphere was important to him and he didn't want it color his meeting with Kat. She needed a blank slate; her own place to go with him to, and he had one in mind. Past the conference room, past the bathrooms and into the maintenance office. It was mostly unoccupied. There were metal tool cabinets on one wall, a wooden desk in one corner and an old couch in the other. There wasn't really a maintenance supervisor to use the office, so it was mostly just an unused room. He led her in and locked the door behind them, more as a psychological thing than because he was afraid someone would walk in on them. There was no one else in the building.

Jon took his hand off of Kat and she shrank, suddenly unsure of herself or his intentions. He stood between her and the door and looked her up and down. She seemed smaller, if that was even possible. Her hair had come unpinned and fallen loosely around her shoulders. She looked different, somehow. Like another person. Someone less confident, less guarded, more vulnerable...

"Your shoes and your jeans; they need to come off," he ordered.

Kat slipped out of her shoes and kicked them toward Jon, scowling. He took them and put them on the office table. Her pants flew at him, one leg turned inside out. Jon fixed them and folded them calmly, then placed them under her shoes and turned back to her. The filigree brambles that laced up her arms and across her chest crept down her back and around her hips, where tiny roses budded intermittently amidst the thorns and leaves. More tattoos hiding more scars covered her legs, though there were many more obviously fresh cuts here. She was growing self-conscious, he could tell. That wasn't going to make this next one easy for her...

"Now the bra. Lose it too."