Act 1. The violation
violation early 15c., from L. violationem (nom. violatio) "an injury, irreverence," from violatus, pp. of violare "to violate, treat with violence, outrage, dishonor," perhaps related to vis "violence, strength."
He had had a bad day. His girlfriend had texted him early telling him not to bother calling her, she would always be out to him. They were finished. He had half expected it, they didn't have that much in common and she had been a bit of a tease, always promising so much, but then rarely delivering. When they did have sex it was never a joyous moment between two lovers, it was always as if she was reluctantly paying back some unforgotten debt. He always had to chase her; she never pursued him to his bed. She didn't like holding hands in public, she didn't like it when he kissed her and she rarely stayed over. It was as if he wasn't good enough for her. His money had certainly been good enough when he took her out, when they went to the cinema or to a restaurant for a meal, she was quite happy to pay, but then, somehow, not happy to stay. "Bitch" he said to his empty passenger seat as he parked up. "Women, you are all bitches, money grabbing bitches, just take, take take."¬
He stood on the train in his usual mid carriage position, his mood dark, his temper on edge. He watched a woman get on the train, she looked just like his bitch of a girlfriend, ex girlfriend. The woman was dressed the same today as every day. Shoulder length black glossy hair, skirt above the knee, low cut cleavage revealing blouse and open jacket that matched the skirt. Stockings, or tights, he wasn't sure, and heels. Red heels. Every day she caught the 8:15 train, and stood in the lobby at the end of the carriage for the two stops before she got off. Every day she stood and looked straight through him. He didn't exist to her, she was like all the other bitches, showing it but not giving it. 'Bitch'. It did not matter what the weather was, she was always dressed the same. This told him a lot. The bitch either lived very near to the station that she got on at, or drove there, and worked very near the station she got off at, or was picked up.
The train pulled up at the station and he followed the bitch as she got off and watched from a distance as she went down the station steps and walked towards the office block across the station car park. As he stood waiting for the next train so that he could continue his journey, he thought 'well that is half the mystery solved. Bitch has an easy journey, showing off her body like that, flaunting it but then not giving anyone a real taste, bitch needs some bringing down, she needs someone to show her what it is all about.'
He had never seen the bitch on his return journey and was not sure how he could resolve the other half of the mystery of where the bitch lived. He sat in the office, almost as an automaton as he checked customer account details, resolving to himself how he could solve the other half, find out where the bitch lived. His mood darkened as the day went on.
"Hi John, I need some time tomorrow. I have no meetings in the afternoon, and have my annual medical, so I plan to finish at lunch, is that okay with you?" A quick call to his supervisor and all was in place. If the bitch got on the train as usual, then he would finish at midday, sit at the station and wait for her to get her train and then follow her when she got off. If she didn't follow her usual routine, he would simply postpone his medical for another day.
He was on his third railway coffee of the afternoon. He was beginning to get bored, waiting for her to appear at the station and collect her car. That morning the Bitch had, as usual, got on the train wearing her little skimpy two-piece suit showing her breasts off to all the world. 'Such a slut' he thought from across the carriage before turning his face away from her. He was sure that she didn't even know he existed, but there was no point in tempting fate. Her fate was going to be in his hands from now on. Bloody women, they were all the same. His slut of a girlfriend, put it all out there for him, but when it came to it, she just closed her legs. Bitch. All the same.
Before leaving work he had mulled over the options, and had decided to get his train home as usual, and then drive to the station that The Bitch normally got on at. He assumed that is where she would go back to after work, and he could then follow her home. If he lost her, at least he would know what sort of time she usually left for home, and he could park up on another night somewhere near where he had lost her, and pick up her trail again.
After parking his truck he had a moment of panic when he realised he had to buy a parking ticket, and that had to be done via credit card to a phone number. All very traceable, he considered leaving and parking elsewhere, possibly on the street. But he reasoned that there would be hundreds of travellers and commuters using the service every day, and his purchase would just be lost in the noise. Knowing his luck, if he parked in the street, he would be parked facing the wrong way. He bought a ticket for a half day of parking.
The Bitch worked a longer day than him. Finally he saw her, she was on the train two after his. No wonder he never saw her in the evenings. She got into a small VW Golf and headed out of the car park. He had been right. Drive to the station and work next to the next station. No need for a coat. He felt quite smug at how clever his deductions had been. He let a car get between them and followed her for about twenty minutes to a small housing estate. He didn't go into the estate, but pulled up just past in to a pub car park. He would let her park up and then drive around the estate looking for her car when she would be safely inside her house. No point in drawing attention to himself. If she garaged her car, then he would just get to the estate before her and park up waiting for her. He knew he may have to do that a few times before he tracked her down, but he had time. Time was on his hands and he planned to have a real good time with her, brazen bitch that she was.
There it was. On a small drive at the end of a cul-de-sac outside a semi. Excellent. Now he knew what car The Bitch drove, where she worked, where she lived and the train she caught morning and evenings. That was enough. He could plan the next phase. He would watch her house a few times evenings and weekends, seeing if she had regular other visitors, other cars on the drive, try and get a sense of her routine, prior to his visit.
Each evening that week he went to her estate and watched. Parking as inconspicuously as he could, never blocking anyone's drive or access, and always sitting low in the seat. He watched The Bitch come home, he watched and followed her come and go to the supermarket; he watched as she closed up and went to bed. He had her routine. She was single. She had no visitors. The Bitch was his for the taking.
Thursday came and he could wait no longer. It had to be today. He had an empty cardboard box in his truck and a long peaked baseball cap. He pulled up parking away from her house down the street, locked the truck, and carrying the box, for all intents he was delivering something, he had his cap down shielding his eyes, he knocked on her door.
The door part opened, the security chain in place.
"Yes?" came her voice.
