Consequences Pt. 02

Obviously he didn't trust her, the way she didn't trust him.

The sexual comments didn't stop, and sometimes his hands wandered a bit too much. She could see the desire lingering in his eyes, and in the way he leaned over her shoulder to talk her through her lessons, spoke right in her ear in a low voice. He plied her with treats too, for being such an excellent student. Little chocolate truffles, pastries, taffy, sometimes new books.

Even more so when she did something he wanted, like giving him a goodnight kiss before he left--which was frequently very late. Or rubbing his shoulders while he worked. She'd thought that was because he got some sort of thrill out of it but she'd quickly realized he just had very tense shoulders, probably because he spent so much time leaning down. His posture was never very good either.

He'd offered to return the favor but she declined.

Each day passed slowly, time feeling like a thick syrup. The only way she could distinguish the days was when Will left at night and returned in the morning, but it was never the same time, and sometimes he disappeared in the middle which offset her clock. She stayed up late too, reading or trying to memorize her vocabulary until her eyes were finally too heavy to keep open.

By Delilah's best guess it was a Friday, three weeks since that first night. She was at a little wooden table by that one pitiful window. It was cloudy and gray, but there was still natural light coming in, which was better than nothing. Her mind craved that light, more than food or companionship or warmth.

He was across from her, reading some dusty old book with a pair of gloves pulled over his hands. After a while though, the sky began to darken, and eventually he closed that book and looked over at her, drawing her attention away from the sheet of Latin vocab she was trying to memorize.

"You know I was thinking," he started, before taking a brief pause, "that you could stay with me again tonight."

"I thought that was a one-time thing," she said.

He shrugged. "It was supposed to be, but you've been so lovely that I think you deserve it."

She hesitated. As much as she did like the idea of being out of the archive, she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to his place again. It could've meant exactly nothing, and he'd been right before that in the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter where they were if she was worried about being alone with him. But still, she found herself uneasy.

"I'm alright here," she assured him. "I like my window."

"But I've got a better one--two actually," he said with a smile. "And a proper shower."

She had been avoiding bathing here. It was still quite cold even with real clothes on, and getting wet and naked wasn't exactly fun when she was shivering for hours after until her hair dried. The water pressure was also very terrible, and the faucet seemingly couldn't make its mind up over whether or not it wanted to burn her or let her freeze.

"Am I starting to smell?" She asked.

"Only a little," he said teasingly. "Come on, though, wouldn't you like to sleep somewhere warm? I'll even get you dinner."

Delilah knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Alright, I guess that would be nice," she admitted.

When they arrived, Will left her to use his shower while he went to get her food from the diner across the street. She took her time, luxuriating under the hot water and taking the time to thoroughly scrub every inch of her body, not caring if she was running up his water bill. Then she squeezed the water out of her hair with a towel, dressed, and exited the bathroom to find that he had already returned.

They sat at the very small kitchen table with two mismatched chairs and ate out of little brown boxes. He'd gotten her the hamburger and french fries she'd requested--the first substantial meal she'd had in a while, which she ate in a remarkably ungraceful way. But she was too hungry to care. Meanwhile he picked at an omelet, seemingly more interested in watching her than eating.

"Are you embarrassed of the way you eat or something?" She asked, as soon as she'd wiped her face and hands.

"Does it matter?" He asked, eyes narrowed.

"I'm only curious why you won't eat in front of me."

"I'm not particularly hungry, it's got nothing to do with you."

"I'm just not sure how you survive if you eat less than a hundred pound woman."

"That's a secret," he said slyly, but he did take a bite of his food.

After dinner he made her tea and they sat on the couch, reading. His arm was around her. He was a bit restless, though, his fingers twitching against her arm, repeatedly adjusting his position. Finally, he let out a deep sigh and looked at her with an odd expression.

"What?" She questioned.

"This is nice," he said, bending his arm to run his fingers through her damp hair. "Sort of feels like we're an old married couple, doesn't it?" His tone was gentle and playful but something about it made the back of her neck feel cold.

"I guess so," she said quietly. "You seem to like the thought of marrying me."

"You'd look good in white." It was, in fact, one of her worst colors. Her skin was too fair to pull it off well.

"Perhaps I would."

Will's other hand reached over to gently cup her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. "I know you would," he said softly, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly as he added, "of course, I'm a bit more interested in what would happen on the wedding night."

Bloody sheets. Delilah crying in the bathroom alone.

"Whatever you want, so long as you can hold yourself off till then," she said, practically batting her eyelashes at him. Then she fixed her eyes back on her book.

"I can only be so patient," he said, using his hand to tilt her head towards him.

"You should keep trying," she said, "it's an important virtue." The way he was looking at her, the look of want, made her heart start to beat faster, made the cold prickling on the back of her neck worsen.

"Why don't you put the book down?" He suggested.

"I'm very invested," she said uneasily.

He frowned. "I'm not going to hurt you, darling, I only want a kiss--I've been nice, haven't I?"

Of course it came with strings attached, that she should have to bargain herself and her body in exchange for his decency. This time it felt different though. If she gave him what he wanted she wasn't sure if he would stop.

"Yes, but I know you want more than that," she said slowly. "And you know I don't."

Will's hand dropped down from her cheek, and he set his book on the coffee table before confiscating hers and doing the same with it. Then he rested his hand on her thigh. She was wearing a proper dress now, and wool tights underneath, but that touch still felt far too intimate, invasive.

"And you know there's nothing really stopping me, is there?" He said, voice low, laced with desire.

She sighed, glancing away from him. "Just a kiss," she replied tensely.

"Mhm."

Not something chaste. Not just a little peck on the cheek as he was leaving.

Delilah planted her hands firmly on his shoulders, leaned over and pressed her lips against his firmly. The way she'd done it before, in the kitchen last time they were here. And as he had then, he kissed back, passionately, fervently. Until her heart was racing and she was so sorely confused about what to feel.

His tongue slipped between her lips, and his arm moved from around her so he could press her down by the shoulder until she was flat on her back. The couch creaked and his other arm was behind her legs, lifting them up onto the couch. When he finally separated from her lips he was on his hands and knees, caging her in against the couch.

"God, you look lovely like this," he panted.

Her face was red, her damp hair spread out on the leather. "Please, get off of me," she begged.

"I'm not done kissing you," he said with a lazy grin, closing in on her like some sort of predator, "Give me a bit more."

"No, I don't want more," she insisted. But there was a feeling she got, deep in her stomach, from the way he looked at her, and being underneath him like this. It was there, whether she wanted it or not. Even as her hands trembled on his shoulders.

"You can give it to me," he said slowly, deliberately, as he slotted his knee between her legs, pushing up her skirt just slightly. He got right up in her ear, "or I can take it."

She tried to push him away, but he held firm. "I already gave you what you wanted, just stop." Her voice sounded too high in her own ears alongside her pounding heart.

He tsked, pulling her back to look at her face with a mocking sympathy. "Not one of your options."

"You said you wouldn't do this." Her eyes were wide, stinging, threatening tears as she looked up at him. Even if she'd known it was a lie she'd wanted so desperately to believe he'd decided to stop, that he wasn't going to push her on this. But he was selfish in a way that all men were.

"And I'm not, I won't take it far," he insisted. "You've no idea how much restraint this takes."

Once again acting like he deserved a reward for not forcing himself on her. It made her feel sick and angry and scared, but she knew it was better to agree. He wouldn't relent, and if she didn't let him do what he wanted he'd only do worse. She wasn't sure she could handle worse.

"As long as you don't hurt me," she said shakily.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Will purred. Then he kissed her again. It was short-lived this time, before his lips trailed from hers to her jaw, further down, until he could bury his face in her neck and breath her in. He let out a shuddering sigh and murmured, "God, you smell wonderful."

"T-thank you," she stammered confusedly.

He continued, planting open-mouth kisses all over her throat, leaving her skin damp. Before she hadn't realized how sensitive she was there, how it could make her head feel light and tingly. She felt guilty for feeling good, a horrible pit forming in her stomach as he continued to work her over.

Suddenly Delilah felt teeth, as he sucked on her neck like a damn vampire until she felt a sharp pain that made her gasp inwardly. Undoubtedly leaving a mark on her skin. She didn't like the thought of that, of him claiming her in some way, leaving something she'd be forced to see in the mirror.

"That hurt," she protested, hoping he wouldn't do it again.

"It's one little love bite," he muttered against her skin, "won't kill you." Of course he did it again, further down, at the junction of her neck and shoulder. This time pulling harder at her skin until she whimpered and tried to push him off.

He responded by confiscating her hands and pinning them beside her head. Then he was nudging her legs further apart with his knee, and putting both of his knees between hers. "Spread your legs a bit more for me, love," he coaxed. "Shift your knees up."

That made her heart race again, and her legs were trembling as she did it and then felt him sink down against her. Felt his hips against hers and a very distinctive shape in the front of his trousers. She'd never felt that before. She'd never been so up close and personal with any man, and she didn't know what was normal, but it seemed like quite a lot--even given his height.

The thought of it ever going inside of her made her face burn. A strange stinging, aching pain spread in her lower abdomen. Something different and worse than just arousal. It was hot and uncomfortable.

"Oh God," she muttered, just barely audible as he started rocking his hips against her, imposing himself on her further.

She could feel Will pressing against her pelvis through her dress and it was strange to consider that she'd done this to him. It wasn't her fault, but for all his flirting she'd never imagined him like this. He'd always seemed so poised, and yet here he was, dry-humping her like an unneutered dog.

She shuddered to think how careless he might be if he just took her now.

Delilah whimpered as he pushed a little harder. Even through her dress and tights she could feel the pressure against her more sensitive areas, but things didn't line up as cleanly as they could've--she was thankful for that, and because he couldn't seem to tell. He was getting what he wanted either way.

The weight of his body against hers started to become overwhelming as the minutes passed, and his teeth ended up on her throat again. His fingers meshed with hers. His bones were pressing sharply into her thighs--more uncomfortable than anything else.

"You're very heavy," she said, breathing hard.

He grunted softly before finally prying himself away from her neck to look at her. "Oh, sorry," he muttered, shaking his head slightly, seeming to gain some clarity, but his eyes were still half-lidded. "Forgot how small you are."

"I really need you to get off," she said desperately. "I think this is enough."

He sighed. "Fine," he agreed, as though she were asking him to do math or clean dishes. Then his weight was finally off of her, and he let go of her hands as he sat up and she did everything to avoid looking at his crotch. He cleared his throat semi-awkwardly as he stood up. "I'll just go use the washroom."

Will left her there, laying there and panting, pretending as though she hadn't just been thoroughly violated. She tried not to think about what he was inevitably doing behind that door, but it was better he didn't try and get her to do it for him. At least he had some miniscule amount of decency.

A few minutes later he returned. He looked more normal, calm. His eyes weren't hazy and there was no longer an obvious tent in his trousers. In fact he seemed quite ashamed of himself, as he reasonably should be. Then he picked Delilah up off the couch, and carried her into his bedroom where things couldn't possibly get any worse.

***

Will gave her a sweater to wear in place of a proper nightgown, which was if anything, thicker and longer. It was clearly old, the wool fibers had broken down and become soft, but there were loose threads, and it was stretched a bit around the collar. He thankfully left her alone and closed the bedroom door as he went to get the lights and change into his own nightclothes.

She stripped out of her dress and tights and let them lay in a pile on the floor as she pulled the sweater over her head. It was warm and heavy, and it smelled like him and also a lingering trace of dust. She would've preferred to keep her dress on but he insisted she couldn't wear her day clothes to bed.

So, she dealt with it, and crawled under the covers, trying not to think about that smell and all the others that had been caught up on his clothes as he'd laid on top of her. Those smells had been comforting before, even attractive. He smelled like rainy days and old books, things which should've made her feel safe, but now made her chest feel tight and strange.

A few moments later he was in bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her like a possessive child with his favorite stuffed toy.

"That wasn't so bad, was it, dear?" He asked, his voice low and soft in her ear.

"I guess not," she lied. "You're just very heavy and sharp." Her thighs still felt a bit sore from him poking them, but she couldn't deny that underwear felt a bit damp. That the feeling of his body pressed so close against hers once more was making her feel things she didn't want to feel.

He chuckled. "I'll be more mindful of that next time." Those words made her stomach clench.

They managed to make it through the night without incident, and the next morning. Will had decided to be civilized again, but Delilah felt uneasy. She knew it was going to happen again, and not knowing how or when didn't make that any better. Especially not when she caught a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her frazzled hair, the sweater hanging down over her thighs, the purplish red marks on her neck.

He'd done this to her, and she knew he was seeing her and thinking the same thing.

Back at the archive, she did everything she could do avoid him, as if it would make any difference. She lingered in her room, reading, and only really left it to eat or to do her lessons which had become a great source of anxiety. He tried for a couple days to coax her out with treats and praise like she was a pet, but seemed to realize he'd damaged what little trust they had.

That sliver of a conscience he'd had, or at least pretended to have, was falling apart under the weight of his desire. She was starting to feel lonely, incurably, and she hated that she missed his company, but she didn't have anyone or anything else. Just those moments where he was nice, whether or not they were fake.

At least another week passed before he found her in her bed, crying. Crying because she felt alone. Crying because she knew it was almost Christmas and her poor mother didn't know what had happened to her daughter and wouldn't get to know. Even if Delilah somehow made it out of this alive, she could never tell her.

She had her knees drawn up against her chest, holding them as she sobbed like a frightened little girl--just the way she felt. Will sat quietly down beside her and put his arm around her. He didn't say anything for a while, just let her cry as he gently rubbed her back and stroked his fingers through her hair, lightly scraping her scalp.

"I'm sorry," he said, when she'd finally downgrade from a full-scale sob to a quiet whimper.

She stared down at her knees through watery eyes. "You don't even know why I'm crying," she managed to say.

"I know it's my fault," he said, softly, sincerely. And somehow it was the exact right thing to say. No placating, no attempts at solution or trying to absolve himself of guilt, claiming he'd done the right thing in keeping her here.

She sniffed, staying silent for a few more moments before she hesitantly leaned against his shoulder and mumbled, "It's almost Christmas."

"Christmas eve," he confirmed. "Is that what's eating you? How long you've been here?"

It felt wrong to confess, to lean on him both literally and figuratively, but she couldn't stand to go through this alone any longer.

"My mother," she admitted, "she has no idea what's happened to me and she's worried sick and spending Christmas alone."

"And you're stuck here with me when you'd rather be with her," he said.

She nodded, and wiped the tears from her eyes but more just came down. "She's never going to know what happened to me," she said with a sob.

Her mother was all she'd had growing up. A smart woman, fierce and independent, who had gone to work when her husband was away and continued to work harder even after he died. She'd held onto their home, took care of her daughter, pushed Delilah out of her comfort zone even though the whole world terrified her and she'd never be half as brave as her mother.

She'd spent her whole life living up to that, trying her best to succeed in a world that had never seen her as anything more than a useless little girl. That was why she'd done everything. Moved to the city, gotten a job as a journalist, tried to solve some grand conspiracy. Just to make her mother proud, and yet it had all amounted to nothing.

"I know," Will said, using his sleeve to try and dry her cheeks again. "I'm sorry." This was the first time he'd touched her in a way that was genuinely unassuming. Not wanting to do anything more than comfort her.

It was night already, late, but he stayed with her. Laid down beside her and let her cry her eyes dry against his shirt while he rubbed her back. There was little he could say to make it better, so instead he held her gently. She managed to fall asleep in his arms, feeling just a bit better, less alone.

The next day he asked her for a shopping list so that they could make cookies. He brought her back to his apartment in the evening and watched over her shoulder while she worked, occasionally getting at things in the cupboard she couldn't reach. That night nothing bad happened. That night she started to trust him again. Really started to believe that he felt bad.