by Czeri
Of course, he doesn't appreciate the fact that thanks to my receipts he managed to
prevent the deaths of thousands of good citizens. But then, I didn't really expect him to.
I let him beat the shit out of me, as always, and wait for a chance to talk him into
dragging me along with him for a while. It hurts pretty bad, he must have been working
out, but the pain is nothing compared to the warmth I always feel when I'm near him.
I guess that's why I keep stalking him - nothing and no one else can make me feel warm.
There, he agrees, like I knew he would. I end up handcuffed in his car and I have to try
very hard to stop grinning like an idiot. We go to the airport. Just as well, I have
enough information about various shadowy conspiracies to keep him busy for a while.
And I can hope he will take me with him as the source of constant reference.
Oh shit, when I said I needed a safe place for the night, I meant his apartament, not
Skinner's. But how the hell can I change his mind? If I insist, he'll want to know why
and I'm definitely not telling him that. Guess I'll have to endure another beating and
hope the big guy is not the monster I take him for.
Christ, this gut punch was really vicious. I am NOT going to look at Mulder now. No way.
I can't take him looking with quiet satisfaction at me writhing in pain on the floor.
As long as I don't see it, it doesn't exist, right?
I make the effort and stand up, only to be dragged on a fucking balcony by my jacket's
collar. Great. Not that I was actually counting on getting some rest tonight.
I guess I should be relieved since, technically speaking, I'm not under Skinner's roof.
But somehow I can't stop thinking about his last cryptic remark. What the hell did he
mean we were not even yet? And more importantly: Why the fuck did he call me "boy"?
I'm almost dozing off, impossible as it may sound, when he appears again. I look up,
planning to complain about the cold but the look in his eyes stops me. Shit, no, I know
this look. He can't! He's a law enforcement officer for crying out loud! He can't do this.
I cower in the corner, suddenly feeling like I'm 7 years old all over again. Fortunately,
I still have my baseball cap on and now I can hide under it. One of my father's "friends"
told me once that I have the most irresistible, angelic face. Well, there's not going to
be an angelic face anywhere near Skinner if I can help it.
I can't. The big guy just leans forward and knocks the cap off. So much for ambiguity,
now we are both perfectly aware of what is going to happen. I look up at him pleadingly
before I can stop myself. Big mistake, I know. My begging won't stop it. It never did.
If anything, it just made them hornier.
The sight of the familiar cold fire in Skinner's eyes finally makes me panic. I start to
tug uselessly at the handcuffs and tighten my muscles, preparing myself to fight him in
any possible way. I know it's stupid but I just can't help it. They were always getting
off on my desperate attempts to defend myself. Especially the huge guys—they loved it
so much that sometimes they didn't even tie me down.
Skinner obviously appreciates it too, because he suddenly lands on me with a low growl
deep in his throat. Smart guy that he is, he doesn't leave me any room to fight. With
skill I don't care to fathom, he removes my jeans and briefs, all the time carefully
avoiding my desperate punches.
I'm reduced to silent chanting of "nononono" now, as I'm unsuccessfully trying to deny
what is going on. The truth is, we both know he'll get away with it. No one's going to
believe an ex-assassin accusing an AD with the FBI of a rape. And even if they did believe
me, they wouldn't care.
Suddenly I'm flooded with the memories I thought I'd managed to lock down forever in
the most secluded part of my brain. I'm losing touch with reality pretty damn fast,
I'm no longer sure who is doing this to me or where the hell I am. To keep my mind
away from the terrible pain of having my body ripped in two I'm trying to focus on some
way to get help. If someone just came and made him stop, because I don't think I can
bear it for much longer.
Fox, where the fuck are you? You were supposed to keep me safe, not only because I'm
your informant, but because it's your job.
I snort at myself for the last thought. Yeah, dream on. Like I've ever been granted
with the rights the rest of the citizens of this country isn't even conscious they posses.
And then it hits me: What if Mulder really came? What if he didn't stop Skinner? What if
he's out there right now and just watches it, watches me indifferently, like she did?
And I can't help it any longer. I break down completely, feeling my carefully built up
sanity break into tiny pieces it was glued from in the first place, by the bored school
shrink, not really giving a shit but compelled to at least stop my fits of screaming and
crying I sometimes got during classes.
I sink into myself losing time again, because when I'm conscious again Skinner's no
longer there and my whole body is numb with cold. A good thing I suppose.
I take the effort to uncurl myself from the tight ball I was always assuming when they
finally left me alone (it's scary how hard the old habits die) and take a look at myself.
Well, no wonder I'm stiff with cold since I'm still mostly naked, and for quite some time,
judging by the fact that the blood on my thighs has already dried.
Blood on my thighs. It's funny really when you think that I took a gun in my hands for
the first time to keep this from ever happening again, and now it happened because I
took the gun and decided to keep it.
And to my horror I actually start to laugh, a high hysterical laugh of a lunatic. Shit,
I'm too shaken to even stop it. Well, maybe doctor Mulder could help me.
There, that helped me to get a grip of myself again.
Suddenly Skinner appears again, with a fucking blanket. Well, what do you say? Is he feeling
guilty a bit or is he just concerned about how he would explain the presence of my frozen
body on his balcony?
I'll fucking kill him the first chance I'll get. No, that won't be enough. I'll find a way
to kill him over and over again, making him live in fear, totally dependent on
my goodwill.
At least I've already paid my price for meeting Mulder again. I mean, what worse could
possibly happen to me?
I put my jeans back on and cover myself with the blanket. No point in freezing before
taking my revenge, right?
It's funny though: I've never realized how difficult it is to perform even those simple
activities with only one hand.
I enclose the lyrics to "Daddy" by Korn but to really understand the song you'll have
to hear Jonathan Davis scream in rage and then weep in the end.
Mother please forgive me.I just had to get
Little child, looking so pretty. Come out and
You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.
You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.
"I didn't touch you there."
hrist, I'm stupid. And I can't help it. I keep coming back to him even though it
always costs me more than I can possibly pay. Yet, as soon as I recuperate enough
to be able to act again, I immediately get involved in whatever crazy enterprise
bears a shadow of a chance I'll have to deal with him. Like joining a militia group
trying to blow up half of the country for example.
out all my pain and suffering. Now that I am
done, remember I will always love you; I'm
your son.
play, I'll be your Daddy. Innocent child,
looking so sweet. Rape your mind, and now
your flesh I reap.
Tied down. "That's a good boy". And
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot.My God. Saw
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child.
Little child, looking so pretty.Come out
and play, I'll be your Daddy.
Tied down. "That's a good boy". And
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot. My God. Saw
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child.
It's alright.
Mommy said she didn't care.
"I didn't touch you there."
That's why Momma stopped and stared.
Innocent child, looking so sweet. Rape your
mind, and now your flesh I reap.
You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.
Tied down. "That's a good boy." And
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot. My God. Saw
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child.
