AUTHOR'S NOTE: WARNING: This work is DARK. That is, it contains dark elements that may not be to many tastes even to those of my readers who are accustomed to my other works. The most important element of that is the following:
This work contains a graphic rape scene. It's key to the story and the moral and my position on rape is as always a strongly anti-rape one. Still, since the scene is in there, it behooves me to warn you of it.
That being said, I hope you enjoy reading this work.
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Raven Mallard was bored.
That's a lie.
She was more angry than bored.
That's not the whole truth.
If she kept up the pace she was downing the brandy, soon she'd be neither angry nor bored.
She poured herself another dram into the crappy red plastic cups that always seem to pollute every college party as an asshole in a penis costume elbowed the back of her skull. She wanted to punch him, but he was already out of range heading off to talk to her roommate Heather in the "Naughty Kitty" costume. A craptastic, unoriginal costume idea that consisted of a blonde trying to wear and all black FUR ensemble and pretend like it worked and didn't defy logic. Fuck, if she wasn't stacked like a damn heifer with a size 0 waist, who'd give her the time of day?
She was also the reason Raven was in this Halloween party. Heather had dragged her quite forcibly to this fucking frat house to enjoy the wonderful antics of morons. Actually better than that; these were DRUNK morons. Far dumber, far hornier, and far, far less attractive. She tried to say no, tried to explain that the commercialization and Christianization of Samhain was something she abhorred. She had used too many big words. Thus, the brandy. The brandy was quickly becoming her best friend to keep her from killing her roommate.
Another frat guy far taller than her and dressed comically as a beer can smacked her across the face as he stumbled towards the punch, Raven sullenly thought about bloody murder. As she finished filling up the cup to the brim with hard brandy, another idiot complimented her on her costume for quote-unquote "mocking those stupid fucking Goths." She DID trod on that fuckers toes.
Stupid fucking Goths. Yeah, she'd been one of those for years now. Ever since she'd been old enough to have attitude, old enough to see how the world of women was stacked towards the Aryan and pretty. Sure, she was dark haired. Sure, she was stockily built. Sure her breasts were ground firmly in reality. Did this make her less than bitches like Heather? Cunts whose skulls you could use to store cereal? Hell fucking no.
She slumped down on a couch, before another idiot dressed in, oh yes, a vampire costume, how original, decided to bump her brandy into her lap. She drank sullenly and took a quick look at her couch companions.
There was a couple making out on her left, but they were about to fall off the couch anyway. Probably wouldn't remember each other's names in the morning. On her right, though...on her right was a man in the single best Grim Reaper costume she'd ever seen.
"Hey there."
"Yes," the voice was deep, a bit dry, but overall normal, even a little natural to Raven's booze-enhanced ears.
"Your outfit is perfect."
"Why thanks. I spent a lot of time on it."
"So what're you doing at this shit party?"
"Waiting. I'm supposed to meet somebody here."
"Ah," she said, feeling the desire to talk flee her. Raven was hardly social, in fact she usually was able to put anti-social to shame for not devoting enough time to the withering stare. As a result, her propensity for the inane bullshit of all the other drones, the wasted small talks and meaningless nothings was nonexistent. So, sated with her questions answered, she looked around and Mr. Grim went back to waiting.
She spotted Heather talking with three boys, one of them Mr. Beer Can, all of whom would likely be joining her upstairs for a tete a tete on a beer and jizz soaked carpet. And she would brag about it too. For the rest of the week in her perky little voice with her head turned to one side and a finger astride her lip and ask how many Raven had done. Like getting violated by horny morons was the ultimate goal in life.
She took a big swig. Bad idea, she thought sputtering hard. The coughing just wouldn't end and she could see the frat assholes glancing once at her as if deciding if she was pretty enough to warrant help. Fuck them. Fuck them all to Hell. She pounded her chest as she felt the coughs draw to a close...and turn into nausea. Just fucking great.
She sprinted to the upstairs bathroom, the one that's always open while everyone waits in an hour-and-a-half long line for the downstairs bathroom, and vomited into the open toilet where apparently a urine-filled fire hose with bad aim had tried to go off. She vomited again and again until all that was left was dry heaves and the steady knowledge that she was going to kill Heather for this night. Some time when she was asleep, Raven thought happily.
There was a click behind her of the door closing. She glanced behind her. Bad fucking idea. Sure enough Monsieur Original, the vampire, was staring directly at her ass as she was bent over the toilet. She could see his Neanderthal brain putting together all the wrong ideas and realized it was a bad time to be in here. She began to get up and heard the click of the lock of the door. Oh, no, he just fucking didn't.
A hairy hand clamped over her throat as she tried to pierce his toes with her high-heeled black boots. One good thing about Goth fashion is that you always have at least one legal deadly weapon around you at all times. The problem was that she was far too drunk and nauseous to hit him. Especially since Mr. Vampire looked to be soberer than most of his friends. And less scrupulous too. Joy to the fucking world.
A hand latched onto her right breast. She squealed into the hand around her mouth. Fuck, it was bad enough this asshole was trying to molest her, but did he have to be one of those idiots with no clue what to do with a woman? The ones who believed that painful squeezes and yanks were the same as fondling and that screams of pain were squeals of joy? One of those ignorant sadists who always seem to be one step away from massive rape campaigns, yet still keep their records clean? Already, she knew, as she bungled another attempt to pierce his foot, that if she tried to report this to the police afterwards, he'd have at least twelve friends corroborating that she was a kinky slut who demanded a hard fucking and that'd be the end of it. Bloody hell.
His hand on her breast slipped, tearing off a good chunk of her dress. Damnitt, it had taken a lot of work to make it fit her style right. She cursed herself for thinking about that at this time and tried to swing an elbow to his crotch. Damn loss of motor skills.
Nimbly dodging, he spun her around and kneed her as hard as he could in the stomach forcing her to double over and dry heave once again. Not a good position to be in with an asshole with more dick than brains and not much dick at that. Yup, there went the panties. Ripped off of course. Could have easily pulled them down, but no, had to go for the shredding. Yup, it was definitely that type. She heard the zip of his fly and felt a hand smashing, yes SMASHING her face into the ground. She'd only get one chance.
She dolphin-kicked as hard as she could straight backward catching him full in the stomach and freeing herself from his grip. She stumbled upright desperately. The point of her heels should have bought her enough time to reach up and...
She fell back down to the ground, knocking her chin on the door, her desperate hand still held on the lock, but she only had time to turn it before being dragged back and thrust into the porcelain of the toilet. She rubbed her head painfully, but NOT crying. Never crying for the likes of Vampire boy. Shit, it's sticky. She looked up. Yup, fucking red. Definitely bleeding from the fucking head.
She tried to lift herself up and was treated to a big ass right on her back. She went down again as a hand grabbed her flailing legs and ripped off her heels. Now she truly was weaponless. She could try to call for help, but knowing the crowd at this party, they might just join in instead. Besides, the music was too loud to keep anyone but the people too busy doing it to hear anything. She was truly alone.
Weaponless, helpless, and alone, she stewed. Just about right that this would happen. Perfectly on par with this shit world. She wasn't a virgin, so she wouldn't be losing it all, but still an experience like this confirmed all of one's deepest suspicions about deities and the Universe.
