Run. That's what she should have done. Too late, it's already over. His light blue eyes, glinting demonically in the half-light. Her arms too weak to push him away. In her head she isn't there, in her mind she runs over the poppy fields outside the house she used to live in as a child, away from this, back to her mothers' arms. Soon, he is finished with her, time to make his escape. He leaves her broken spirit inside her limp body on the bed. He knows nothing of guilt; women are there for his pleasure. He is a man, strong, young, powerful. There is nothing and no one that he should not have if he so desires.
He saw her in a bar, hours ago now. Her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and the curve of her back made his stomach flip. It was not love, for he loves no one. He buys her a drink, speaks to her. He can sense that she likes him. Maybe this will be easier than usual; maybe today his needs will be fulfilled quicker. He wants to help her make her decision; she goes to the bathroom and he slips a vial of something into her wine. It won't be long before it's all over now. She comes back, it's not long before her eyes get the same hazy look that all of his conquests gain before long. He helps her out of the bar, takes her home but does not leave her. She is nothing but helpless prey to him now. He helps her to her room and takes her clothes off. She does not want this but he does not care. She fights him away, he tries to convince himself that the fighting is all part of a kinky game. Soon, the deed is done. He escapes, leaving her lying on the bed, he does not look back to see what he has done. On to the next one.
