The Ritual

It was terrifying, to see the way Will looked at her hadn't changed, even when he'd become almost a completely different person. How could he try to justify his behavior by saying he cared about her? Clearly, if that was true, he'd let her go. If he cared he'd want her to be safe and happy.

"You're being selfish," Delilah said, her eyes wide and watery. Her body felt weak and worthless as she curled in on herself in the middle of the bed. "You have to understand that."

She looked over at him, eyes full of hatred. He was standing by the door, with a needle in his hand. His dark hair was messy, and the collar of his shirt was undone. It looked like he hadn't slept in days, and it left Delilah to wonder how long she'd been unconscious, and what had happened in that time.

What had gone wrong that she hadn't even been there to see? That she might never know.

"Don't look at me like that, Del," he pleaded. His guilt was genuine, and she could see the concern for her written all over his face. Except it wasn't for her. He wasn't concerned for her. He was concerned for himself, and he was too pathetic to admit it.

"Like what?" She asked dryly.

"Like I'm some sort of monster," he said. "I have to do this because I love you, and I've loved you this whole time."

Delilah shook her head, shrinking away from him as he approached her with the needle. Love, love was a really funny thing to call this, and it was even funnier for him to pretend like all of this preamble was necessary.

Fine, if what he said about the ritual was true, then maybe it was to protect her, but what he'd done before he knocked her out was anything but necessary. He'd taken advantage of her feelings for him, knowing she wouldn't be able to bring herself to resist when he backed her up against the bookshelf.

When he got that close to her it was just unbearable. She'd been vulnerable and afraid and he exploited that for his own stupid selfish reasons because at the end of the day he was just a man, and that was what they did. Vivianne was right all along.

He loved her by trying to control her, by taking what he wanted and claiming it as passion.

The memory played in her mind on repeat. The memory of his hands holding firmly onto her waist, as he looked down at her and told her how lovely she was. It made her whole body feel warm and weird and she wanted to melt against him.

But instead he took it further, forcing her backwards against the shelf and craning his neck to kiss her and then sliding the capsule into her mouth like it didn't matter at all. He didn't understand how it felt to waste a kiss you'd waited so long for.

He'd just covered her mouth with his hand and used his body to keep her against the shelf. Her nose was buried in his chest, her vision obscured. She was left with no choice but to panic as he begged her to swallow it, and eventually she had to.

Then he'd lifted her up, with a disturbing lack of effort. It made her feel small and frail and worthless as he held her against the shelves, high enough that he could look her in the eye as he muttered apologies between kisses. But kisses gradually moved lower, and turned to biting. It was gentle, but that didn't make it any better as his teeth grazed the tender skin of her throat and he pushed his knee up beneath her skirt.

She remembered the pressure between her thighs, and the burning, aching feeling, the way he'd kept forcing it until she whined. When the drug had finally started to take its effect, her body had felt heavy, and she collapsed into him, just barely being supported. The rough wool fabric of his trousers had been forced against the most sensitive part of her body, only protected by her flimsy underwear.

She wasn't any less violated because he felt guilty.

"You are," she said. "Don't pretend you didn't do it on purpose." She felt so deeply wounded to think she'd trusted him just a few weeks ago. "I think I'd rather the ritual succeed. I'm being forced to share my body with a monster either way," she spat.

"It's not the same thing," he insisted, his tone full of sorrow. He was right beside her now, with a very large syringe full of red liquid that she didn't even want to try and guess at the purpose of. "I'm not a monster. I don't have any other choice."

Maybe he was right. Maybe letting Will do as he pleased with her was the lesser of two evils from a more rational standpoint, but for some reason the thought of it hurt so much worse. How someone she'd trusted, felt safe with, possibly loved could do this to her, was absolutely baffling.

"Just stop," she said, trying not to look at the needle, but her eyes continually darted back and forth between it and his face. "Stop lying to me."

He swallowed, looking down at the needle as well, and she could tell he wanted to say something more, to challenge her, but he didn't.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he said simply, but he wasn't. There was no way he could feel remorse because he reached over and placed his hand on her thigh, pushing up her skirt.

His hand was cold, and the sight of his long fingers spread out over her thigh made her cringe. Without even trying he had a way of making her feel so small.

As if Will were reading her mind he suddenly said, "It's not as big as it looks." There was a certain, mischievous look in his eye, and the double entendre made her face feel hot even as he pressed the tip of the needle against her skin, in the tenderest spot.

"Stop, that hurts," she begged, trying to fight the flush appearing on her skin. But she couldn't help it because it was him and he had such a nice voice, and he was saying all these things, and his damn hand was on her thigh.

"I haven't even put it in yet," he said, a slight note of mockery in his voice.

But she was trembling in anticipation.

"It's not funny," she snapped, trying to maintain some amount of dignity.

Will sighed, "I know, I'm sorry. But I really do need you to hold still and try to relax, I don't want to hurt you." He held her leg firmly, trying to steady it and keep it still, then he stabbed the needle into her skin and through the muscle of her thigh.

She yelped at the sudden pain, and the subsequent burning feeling as he pushed down the plunger and the liquid entered her body. It burned going in, and her whole thigh suddenly felt like it was pulsing as he removed the syringe and suddenly produced a bandage and gauze seemingly out of nowhere. He pressed the gauze to the wound and held firm pressure to stop the bleeding.

Clearly he'd injected her in a major artery because there was a lot of blood and the pain was intense. She wasn't even sure when it happened but eventually she was laying on her back with her legs open, and Will leaned over her, still pressing the gauze against her thigh. He looked at her with a concerned expression as if he wasn't the entire source of the problem.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to bleed this much," he murmured thoughtfully. She couldn't help but notice he was nearly able to wrap his hand around her thigh as his thumb gently stroked her skin.

"What even was that?" She asked, realizing she hadn't bothered to be worried before. She just assumed it had something to do with this ritual, and well, he was already about to do the worst thing she could think of.

"You'll see soon enough," he said dismissively, almost seeming guilty. He seemed to be satisfied with the state of her wound now, because he secured the bandage over it.

She really, really didn't like that answer.

Her thigh muscle was still twitching faintly, but she was beginning to notice something different. A burning feeling was creeping up on her, like a warm, full-body blush.

Will stood up and set the needle and the blood soaked gauze on a nearby table. Delilah watched him, and noticed just how much blood she'd actually lost, and how enormous that needle was. Why in God's name did he need to use such a big needle?

Just to screw with her?

"I hate you right now," she said quietly, pulling her legs together and curling up on her side. She rubbed against the fresh injury, but she didn't care. It made her feel safer.

"I know," Will admitted, "It's my fault." He turned around and looked down at her, with a pitiful expression, but somehow still full of admiration. "You still look beautiful, though, even when you hate me."

He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and then he crouched down beside her. One of his palms was resting on the edge of the bed, and his other hand cupped her cheek gently, tilting her head.

"So beautiful," he muttered. Then he kissed her, and it was exactly the way she'd wanted to be kissed. It was soft and warm and passionate, and he led without controlling or forcing her. She couldn't help but melt into it, and feel her heart flutter in her chest.

"Will," she said, softly, sadly. Why did this version of him have to be a lie?

"I know," he said, again it was as if he could hear her thoughts, "I'm sorry."

Delilah felt so warm it was like she was actually going to melt into a puddle on the bed. The feeling persisted to an almost unbearable degree even when Will stood up and stepped away again.

She realized it might not have been him. Suddenly the fuzzy feeling in her head faded, but her body still felt warm. "What did you do to me?" She asked, somehow feeling betrayed even more than she already was.

Again Will looked at her with a sad, pitiful expression. Then he walked around to the other side of the bed. She didn't turn to face him and so when he crouched down beside her she couldn't see his face, but suddenly felt as if it were different.

"Something to make you more compliant," he explained, placing his hand on her shoulder. He pressed it down, forcing her to be on her back once more. Then she looked over at him.

The feeling of warmth all over was unbearable, and it only worsened as he pulled her thighs apart, leaving them splayed open against the crisp white sheets. She couldn't bring herself to close them, and he smirked slightly when she stayed like that, as if he were pleased it was already working.

"If you're going to do it, just get it over with," Delilah said weakly.

"I really don't want to hurt you," Will said, sounding guilty, "I need you to understand that."

Delilah looked away from him. "I told you to stop lying," she said.

"I'm not," he insisted, getting ever-closer. His long, lean body cast a shadow over hers as he bowed his head and shoulders, and used his right hand to caress her face. He came down slowly, shifting his position so that he was leaning on his left arm and his torso was aligned with hers. "If I was going to do this the wrong way it would have been over already," he said softly, face mere inches from hers now.

She had to look away from Will, couldn't stand to see the guilt in his muddy green eyes. She couldn't stand how close he was. The warmth spreading throughout her body only intensified as the space between them shrank. God she wanted to hate him so bad--she did hate him, but he made her feel things...

Things she maybe wasn't ready for but she certainly couldn't ignore now.

"Please just stop, don't do this," she begged softly, still unable to look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the collar of his shirt, crisp and white, barely concealing the protrusion of his clavicle.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said yet again.

"Stop saying that," she insisted, "you don't mean it. You're not allowed to be--"

Delilah tried to protest but Will silenced her with a kiss. It was much firmer this time, and he took control entirely, leaving her with few choices other than to submit. She laid there, motionless, face heating up as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, much the same way he had last night. Only there was no pill this time, no motive, he just wanted her.

At some point she felt the bed creak as he climbed on top of her. His right hand dropped from her face, the left sliding up further beside her head and seeking hers. Within a moment he had both of her hands in his, twining their fingers together and holding them against the mattress.

Something about the gesture made Delilah's heart hammer in her chest. She couldn't resist, couldn't even lift up her arms. Surely Will wasn't the strong type, but he far out classed her without even trying, it was almost embarrassing. She should have at least been able to try and fight back.

A soft whine slipped from her as he nipped at her bottom lip. Every part of her skin felt much more sensitive, like all of her nerves were red and raw. At that sound, Will gave some pause. He broke the kiss, and pulled back, looking at her with some strange mix of concern and admiration.

He liked seeing her this way, she knew that, but still he asked, "What's wrong?"

"That hurt," she answered honestly, "my skin, everything just hurts."

Will frowned, gently squeezing her fingers. "Well I don't think that was supposed to happen," he admitted, "How bad is it?"

"I-I'm fine," she insisted, but she couldn't help asking, "What was supposed to happen then?"

Will looked away for a couple of seconds. "It was just supposed to affect your arousal, but I suppose a general sensitivity could be an unintended consequence," he admitted.

Oh, she thought. That was what the warmth was, that was why her head was swimming trying to fight off these feelings. It made her feel disgusted to think that her bodily impulses could be controlled by some drug, that he could use it to try and take advantage of her. What was worse was that he didn't seem to understand the full scope of it, so she had no idea if it could get worse.

"You're awful," she snapped, "you have to drug me so I'll be complacent, is that it?"

He looked back at her, seeming hurt by those words, but she didn't care. She just wanted him to go away.

"It's more complicated than that," he said softly, leaning in closer to her, shifting his weight so that he was nestled in between her legs. The sudden closeness made her feel like she was burning. It was him and he was so close to her she could feel the bones of his hips pressed against her.

"Explain it to me then," she begged, her voice trembling as noticed something else rubbing against her.

His lips hovered by her ear as he whispered, "I know you don't want this, but I was worried if you weren't aroused enough I might hurt you."

"That's not fair," she said feebly. "You're just going to make it worse."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean for it to work out this way."

Delilah felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Just get off of me, wait till it goes away at least," she pleaded.

His body stiffened against hers. "I can't do that," he insisted. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," she practically shrieked, immediately feeling embarrassed by her tone, but it didn't stop her from trying to push him off. She tried to slip her arms free, but he kept a firm hold on them. So she jerked her body upwards, succeeding only for a moment to push him away, but he doubled down.

Delilah could barely breathe as he pushed his full weight down on top of her.

"Don't try to fight me, love, it's not going to work," he warned, voice low and soft but ever so slightly threatening in a way she hadn't heard from Will before.

She whined as he squeezed all the air out of her lungs. "You're hurting me," she managed to say.

"I told you I don't want to hurt you, but I need you to know I'm willing to if you don't cooperate, alright?" He asked, pulling his face away from her ear, and looking down at her.

There was something sinister and foreign in his eyes, that made him seem even more dangerous than she knew him to be. It left her to wonder if this was the real Will. Maybe he was only pretending to be gentle and sympathetic. At her core she wanted to believe a part of him still cared.

"Alright," she said, gasping for breath as he lessened the pressure he was putting on her chest.

"Good girl," he praised, as if she were an obedient animal. It made her bristle slightly, but before she could snap at him he kissed her again. This time it was much shorter, but he was still intense. Her head spun as he pulled away, and shifted his weight so he was up on his hands and knees above her, and then just on his knees with his torso upright. "Sit up," he instructed.

Her wrists felt a bit stiff, as she slowly moved her hands from their position beside her head, and used them to push herself up to be on equal terms with him. Well, about as equal as she could get considering his height, and her lack of it. She looked up at him once more, heart thudding in her chest as his eyes roved over her body slowly.

"Aren't you just adorable?" he mused, leaning in closer, and placing a hand on her shoulder as the other slipped behind her, finding the zipper on her dress and beginning to drag it open. Inch by inch her skin was exposed to the cold air in the room, his thumb ever so slightly brushing it as he went. Eventually the dress went slack and she shivered.

With both hands now, he pulled the dress down, over and off her shoulders. It slid down her arms, revealing her chest and halting its progress because the sleeves were still resting at her elbows.

"It's freezing in here," she said, looking away from him. Cold as it was, her skin felt hot, and it was covered by a pink blush. From the corner of her eye she noticed him staring at her bra.

"I know," he said, clearly distracted. "Raise your arms a little though."

Begrudgingly, she did as he asked, and watched as he pulled the sleeves down and off of her hands, allowing her dress to fall down further. It settled against her knees on the bed, leaving her underwear completely uncovered. She was shivering, so she crossed her arms over her ribcage, still unable to meet his gaze in this state.

He placed a hand on her right shoulder, and bowed his head so he could say something in her right ear. At least she assumed he would, until he pressed his mouth to her throat. It was feather light, at first, and he did it again, slightly lower, repeating until he was absolutely straining his neck, fervently kissing her at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

She felt his teeth scrape her sensitive skin at the same moment she noticed him attempting to unclasp her bra. After a few moments of the garment refusing to come undone he simply tugged at it until it snapped free.

"You need to replace that," she muttered, frustrated by how easily he'd broken it, wondering how she was going to get out of here without it.

Instead of replying, he let his hand travel to her waist, sliding down slowly and ending up at the waistline of her underwear. All of a sudden he was moving way too fast. He sucked on her neck like a damned vampire, pinching her skin between his teeth and causing her to whimper softly.

The gradual building of warmth concentrated between her legs as he tugged her underwear down until it was at her knees.

He broke contact with her skin briefly, breathing heavier than usual as he looked down at her. His hand was still on her shoulder, and he leveraged it to shove her back down onto the bed, letting her land on her back with a soft thud. Her knees were still bent, but he straightened them out as he pulled her dress and both of her undergarments off, and tossed them aside.

Then he was right back where he'd been before, above her. Except he was on his hands and knees, and there was a smile on his face that he couldn't seem to fight off.

"I'll replace it," he promised, "but by God, Delilah, I had no idea you were hiding so much from me."

That was certainly a lie, especially if he felt at all entitled to her body. Even if he did, it wasn't special. Her waistline was mild at best, undefined at worst, her thighs were too soft, and her chest was entirely unimpressive.

Somehow, though, he was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.