Therapist Report: Allison

Missed most appointments last week. I went by his office and he is still showing signs of severe stress. Will report back to any improvements after offering shock therapy.

Allison McIntyre
Therapist for Maritime Medical

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Allison found herself sitting alone in her apartment, thankful Evan wasn't here. She was figuring out several different ways to break up with him that would result in less bodily harm.

What was she supposed to say, "Evan, the sex is vanilla and you're an abusive asshole"? He would probably kill her if those words left his mouth.

She sighed and shifted her position on her bed. It's been a while since she had good sex, maybe back in college before she dated Evan. She didn't have to fake pleasure then. 

But then there was Harry...

Allison was convinced that she only felt that tantalizing and wanton lust because she'd been depraved of something like that for so long. He made her feel things, and he barely touched her. There was always promise in his voice, that he was going to take it further but it seemed like he was waiting. For what, she has yet to find out.

It was astonishing how he made her feel with just a look of his eyes.

She could feel damp panties in between her legs and was now fully aware of her loose tank top brushing her hardened nipples. She needed a fix, and she needed it now.

Sliding her fingers into her shorts, she stroked her clįt and envisioned Harry'a fingers instead of her own. She thought about how his eyes would darken and look almost black when he looked at her, and that made her moan out his name.

She realized that just her fingers wouldn't be enough, so she reached into her bedside drawer to pull out a vibrator. If Evan wasn't going to make her feel good, she had to compensate elsewhere.

This makes me orgasm more than Evan has since college, she thought drily as she inserted the device into herself.

Harry was the only one on her mind when she used it. She groaned his name loudly, as she came and after she laid back on her bed, exhausted and panting for breath, she felt disgusted.

Did I actually just do that? She asked herself, running a hand over her sweaty face.

Sighing to herself, she used the bathroom to clean herself up.

As she walked out the bathroom, she threw her braids up in a loose bun and covered herself with a robe. Yawning, she stepped outside her bedroom, wanting to go to the kitchen so she could decide on ordering takeout or cooking herself.

What she saw made her stop in her tracks, and clutched the doorframe.

Evan sat on the couch, reading her most recent copy of Rolling Stone, his body leaned back into the couch.

"Did you read this article about Barack Obama?" He asked, glancing at her for a second before going back to the magazine. "Although, it should give more information on what to do if your girlfriend was screaming someone else's name while getting off. It may come in handy in situations, like right now."

Allison couldn't move, she was frozen still with fear and shock.

"You moaned 'Harry', which is the same name of that asshole you work with," he concluded calmly, before placing the magazine on the table. "So you're cheating on me with him?"

"N-no-" she stammered out, but he shot up out of his seat and slammed his hand down on the table.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" He shouted, anger blazing his steely grey eyes.

Allison moved back into her bedroom and slammed the door shut to lock it.

"Open the fucking door, Allison!" He screamed, banging his heavy fists against the wood.

Looking around, she glanced around for her cell phone and saw it on her bedside table. She ran over and quickly unlocked it, and she scrolled down to Fiori's contact, not knowing who else to call.

The phone rang and she could feel her heartbeat faster with every second it took for Fiori's to pick up her phone.

When the banging ceased, Allison took a deep breath in, relishing the oxygen that flowed into her system. Heartbreakingly, Fiori did not pick up her phone and her voicemail sounded in her ear just as Evan ripped the doorknob from its place and bust through the door.

"You think you can just walk away from me like that?" He asked, a smirk clear on his face.

Her hands and bottom lip trembled as he took a step closer. In a flash, his hand shot out to grab her phone and throw it against the wall and she watched the screen shatter irreparably. He then gripped her jaw painfully, causing a whimper to leave her mouth.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he growled, squeezing tighter. She nodded her head, and he let go but not before saying: "take all your clothes off."

"W-what?" She asked, taken aback. Was he expecting them to have sex after what he just did?

"Strip," he repeated, scanning his eyes down her body. "You need to forget that you're mine, and only mine."

"No," she said, her eyes now full of anger. "How dare you-"

She didn't see it coming until his palm descended on her face with enough force to send her flying into her bed.

"I didn't ask."

He removed his jacket to threw it on the floor and climb on top of a crying Allison.

"Evan, stop!" She cried, writhing underneath him while using her arms to push him away, but he pinned her hands down with one of his own.

His hands jerked her shorts down in one motion, and before she knew it, he was buried deep inside of her.

She cried out in pain, since she wasn't wet. Shutting her eyes tightly, her resistance became weaker and weaker, until she became limp in his hold.

"If," thrust, "you," another thrust, "ever even think," he buried himself balls deep and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "about another guy like you did today..."

He pulled his dick out of her quickly and came on her stomach.

"...I will not hesitate to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until you see your mother again."

Wiping himself off with her bedsheets, he got up and walked out of her room without another word.

Once Allison heard the front door slam, she let a sob leave her mouth and she let the tears flow freely from her eyes.

She never felt so dirty in her life. She could feel the severe pain from between her legs as she force herself to move to her bathroom in order to get his cum off her stomach.

But instead, minutes later she found herself sitting under the spray of the shower with her bathrobe and tank top still on. She was so numb that she didn't even care if her braids were getting wet. She didn't care.

"Filthy," she repeated to herself over and over again. "Filthy, filthy, filthy."

This was all my fault, she told herself, while sobbing until the warm water of the shower.

My fault.

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a/n: y'all don't know how heartbreaking it was just write this chapter

{P.S.A.} Råpe is never the victim's fault. It's the fucking råpist's fault, and their fault only.

It's not because of the clothes they wear, or the race they are, or how much money someone has. If someone is not consenting to having sex with you, and you do it anyway, THAT IS RÂPE. EVEN IF THEY SAID YES BEFORE, THAT DOES NOT MAKE IT OKAY FOR YOU TO DO IT AGAIN IF THEY DID NOT CONSENT TO IT.

the next chapter is where it actually gets interesting and they'll be some Harry in it, don't worry.

even though this was a somber update, please vote, comment and share.

all the love, rachel.

(p.s. I don't just put little details and things in my writing for no reason. read carefully.)