It's dark and hot. I'm in a closet. Fucker dragged me in here and he's kissing me, groping me, molesting me.
"Robert, stop it."
"Why?"
Hands on my chest and down my back, reaching under my shirt and caressing skin like he fucking owns me. "Because I don't like this!"
"Too fucking bad." Broad palms attack my belt. Stuipd thing is for decoration, can't hold my trousers up against Robert's demanding fingers. "You're mine, Simon, you hear? Mine."
He's pissed 'cos I was staring at this one reporter for too long. We're doing yet another fucking round of interviews. He thinks I'm always trying to cheat on him. Huh. Yeah, right. I know better. You don't go against Robert fucking Smith. You just don't. "Yeah, sure, whatever you want."
And then I'm face-first in the wall, and he's got his hands on my hips. I know what's coming, and it's going to hurt like fuck because it's dry and he's furious and - and yeah, there we go. Shit. "Ahhhh!"
"Shut your mouth you little slut, just shut up and take it."
Fine, I'll shut up. I bite the hand that's wrapped around my mouth and he hisses in pain; slaps me. "You little - "
Oh God that hurts. Oh God. "Robert..." Yeah, it's wet now, wet with my own blood. I must lose pints this way; this is why I'm so pale. Because Robert fucks it out of me. "...Please..."
"Please what?" He's pounding away, I can feel the wall slamming against my hips; he's practically sandwiched me up to it. He's going to break my hips sooner or later. Probably thinks fucking a cripple will be fun. Bastard.
"Nothing." So I'll just grit my teeth, close my eyes, and wait it out. It's what I always do. He used to love me, you know. Used to. I can't remember when he stopped, probably because it was so long ago.
It stings when he comes. He slumps against me and sighs, breathing into my neck. There's always a numbing sensation afterward; I like to pretend we're lying together in a big, fluffy bed, wrapped up in silk sheets. He used to lie with me for hours. I like to pretend he's kissing me.
"Robert?" I croak.
"What?"
"I still love you, you know."
That's new. He hasn't heard that in a long, long time, and it confuses him. I can tell because I can feel his heart skip behind me; his chest tightens. "Oh really?"
"Yeah." I pull away, roll, hold him in my arms. I can't see his face in the dark, but I can feel his warm breath against my face. "You can't stop me loving you."
"Fuck you." he snarls, shoving me backward, and then he's out of the closet and walking away. But I'm right. He can't stop me loving him. And that means I have a weapon.
And that means I can win.
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