Hands Stained Red

One - Kira

I've always hated my school uniform. I think its uncomfortable and takes all shape away from the body I'm proud of. My body that I love is hidden away in blocky clothes that suck all individuality from my outfit.

At this moment however, I would give anything to keep myself hidden away in my thick uniform. The stiff material is my armour hiding me from the prying eyes in the corner of the room.

I glance back over my shoulder at the man sitting in the corner. He's old enough to be my father, maybe older, but he's looking at me in a way that most people are too afraid to do in public.

"Face me," he demands. A trace of an accent floats in his words.

I wrap my arms around my chest and grab at my shoulders. My blazer was ripped from my body as soon as I was grabbed earlier. I watched as they searched my pockets and then tossed the entire thing once they were satisfied.

My shirt gets tangled into my fingers as I imagine the fabric turning to steel.

I slowly turn to look at the man straight on. My knees shake but I press them together in order to stay standing.

The man gets to his feet and starts to walk towards me. He's at least a foot taller than me and a hell of a lot broader. It all seems to be pure muscle too.

I feel something hot on the inside of my clenched thighs as he reaches me.

We both look down at the puddle forming around my feet but I cant even find it within myself to be embarrassed.

He merely sighs and steps back, he turns to the door and shouts something I dont understand.

"Strip," he says sternly.

My eyes go wide as my worst fears come true, "Please," I choke out. Hot tears pour down my face and I step away from him. The back of my knees hit a bed and I fall, "My family have money. Please don't do this."

He doesnt seem fazed by my pleading. The door opens and a woman walks in. She holds a bag and tosses it onto the bed beside me. She doesnt even look at me.

The contents of the bag spill out onto the sheets and I spot deep purple lace underwear.

"Change. We cant have you in wet clothes," he demands.

I gulp and after a few seconds I realise that he's not going anywhere. With shaky hands, I tip the bag out onto the bed to see that theres also a matching bra. I shake the bag to see if theres anything else inside but nothing falls.

I stand up and turn my back on him as I struggle with my buttons on my shirt. Tears drip down onto my hands and it's making the pieces of plastic slippery.

It takes a minute or two but I'm finally able to slip my shirt off my shoulder. A loud sob rips from my chest as I feel the cold air touch my bare skin.

As I slide my skirt down my legs I hear him move behind me and I freeze. In my head I'm screaming but no sound makes it's way from my mouth.

Please dont touch me.

The words echo in my head but I know that voicing them is useless.

I push the skirt to the floor and step out of it. Goosebumps cover my skin and I'm shivering but he makes no move.

I reach back and my body heaves with silent tears as I undo the clasp of my bra. I wrap my arm around my chest to try and shield myself as I reach for my new clothes.

It's too tight and makes me feel even more exposed than I did without it on. The underwear is the hardest though and once I'm in the new clothes I cant look at my own body anymore.

In ten minutes this man has taught me to hate my body. It no longer feels like it belongs to me, not completely.

"You must be cold," a deep voice says into my ear. I can feel his breath on my shoulder and then his hands appear on my arms, "You're so beautiful."

His lips press down on my neck and I feel like he's just branded me with a hot iron. His hands run down my arms and I quickly wrap them around my torso. He doesnt seem to mind and instead runs his hands down onto my hips.

His mouth opens and then I feel his tongue on my skin. One of his hands leaves my hip and moves up to shift my hair off of my neck. He pulls the hairtie from my curls and then tangles his fingers in them.

I screw my eyes closed and try to stop myself from screaming. His grip on my hair is so tight that I dont want to anger him.

With a quick jerk of his hand, he yanks my head back and bites into my shoulder. A short scream escapes my lips as I feel him break skin.

He lets go of my hair and I jump away from him, grabbing at the wound. He slowly wipes my blood from his lip and smiles at me, "You taste delicious."

"What the fuck?" I sob.

He laughs, "Dont worry, I'm just leaving you a reminder of who you belong to."

"And who is that?" I ask.

He smiles, "Silvio Caruso."

Caruso. He's Italian. He's mafia.

"Is this because of Rya?" I question.

He smiles, "Oh yes, your little friend. Partly, yes, but dont you worry your pretty little head about that."

The look on his face tells me that I should be incredibly worried.