A New Day -Teaser

[Shevey]

prologue

Deception. A form of the word: deceive. Tricked.

She had, indeed, been deceived by the one she loved. ?I love him.? Love. Him? Those words brought a sudden jolt to her soul waking her senses completely but due to weakness, fear, and soreness, she kept her eyes shut.

Hn. She loved him from the bottom of her toes but even then, her love contained an empty void. She couldn?t love someone for long who tricked her. Who deceived her. Who used her. It hurt. For once she found something that hurt more than the death of her family and loss of her friends. Her life. Her home.

Him.

The pain was always there, even though it was coated with lies, illusions, and what -he- called love. Through all that, the pain still seeped through like the light rays from the moon slipping through the curtains at midnight. His curtains. Blocking her view of the outside. He was her master basically. When did the balance lean to his side? When did he gain the leverage over her?

She felt the throb of her pulse in each breath and rubbed her temples to soothe the pressure. She became aware of the raw skin between her legs. The bloody finger prints on her inside thighs. Most of all the ache in her chest would not let up. She had to clutch the sheets to inhale; or what was left of the ripped sheets.

Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes and quickly enough wished she hadn?t.

Morning greeted her. Morning. A new morning. A fresh morning. Fresh with the smell of her sex hanging over her like a dreadful blanket reminding her of his bitter taste.

She blinked a few times and shifted. The breathing beside her grew heavy and once again the pain in her chest wrapped around her and strangled her as each breath entered the figure?s lungs.

He was home. He was home? He was suppose to be at work by now. Did he loose his gig? Why was he not having band practice today? He was never home this early. He never stayed through the night. She didn?t know what she hated more. Him being there when she woke up; arms in a possessive embrace of herself. Or him devouring her and then leaving in the morning for work, come home at night, and do it all over again.

She decided it was the pain in general.


She closed her eyes again and willed the tears to go away but surprisingly no tears came. He was here, and she couldn?t cry. Was she growing cold? No. That couldn?t happen. She promised herself no matter how much he took, how much he ripped from the inside of her, she would always remain the warm girl she was -who always had a grin to spare. She would cry if that meant she was human. If that meant she was the warm girl. The one who wore her emotions. Warmth. She needed warmth. She needed to cry.

But to cry was to give out your emotions. ?I have nothing to give anymore.? she admitted dimly. She had to find something to breath into her again. Give her life. Instead, she had a dim one, with him controlling every movement; in bed or not.

It wasn?t always so. Where did her life go? Damn it, how did she lose the balance? Feeling the need to get out of his sluggish embrace she quickly pried the hands around her waist and crawled out of the bed, swaying for a moment when she stood. It was cold, so cold. She wrapped a neglected blanket around her tiny, limp form, and ran a hand through her locks roughly.

Aspirin. She needed aspirin. She grinned and silently thanked the twentyith century technology. Turning slightly, she shuffled to the door- quiet enough to not wake him.

The kitchen was lit up with a silky glow sending rays across the wall where dust motes danced. Oranges in a bowl on the beige counter top caressed the sun beams and faded with a blink of her eyes. Blurry. Her eyes were blurred. Tears? No, her eyes were dry. Just pure pain that hazed her mind. She couldn?t focus. Straining to see straight she counted to ten and huffed out a breath. Ironically she smiled. A sweet, innocent smile that welcomed the morning rays.

Shuffling through the box they kept on touch of the refrigerator she looked for the bottle with red printed letters stating ?aspirin?. They weren?t there.

She swallowed a moan before it could escape. She wouldn?t let this take her down. She was stronger than that. Wasn?t she? She looked outside the window for a moment. The sun was raising and clouds were scattered among the sky in no particular order. ?Like my life.?

A breeze played with an evergreen in the distance. She always loved that tree. So tall, strong, it held a magic glow. She once thought she owned the same glow, but now it was beaten into her skin and covered with filth by his hands. Or perhaps he just pulled the filth under her mask out.

?No.? She reminded herself. She wasn?t the one at fault here. She never was. She was, and would always remain, Relena Peacecraft, the cheery girl who had a voice of an angel and could sing to old men with cigars and make pennies by their wives.

She smiled bitterly now. She was ?Cocos? to them. There was no honor in her anymore and if there was it was closed by a dark door with no key to unlock it?s door. A door with no window. Metal, unmoveable. Instead she would try to smile. She. Not Cocos. Cocos was a mask. One that he fell in love with, not her. Cocos would give him what he wanted but she wouldn?t so instead he took it from her.

But she would smile. Try to brighten up. It wasn?t the end of the world. Right? Just the beginning of the end. She would smile. And if that metal door couldn?t open she would just hang a taspistry over the dull gray. One with bright colors like the oranges in the bowl. One that indulged her to the point where the grayness was only part of the tapestry. In-between the lines.

Yes, she would smile.

She could taste blood in the corner of her lip. Salty and sickening. Her own blood. It was then she noticed the bruises on her arms covering the ones from the other night that yet to fade.

Shivering, she ran a hand down her arms. ?My dress, it?s ripped.? She found it amusing how she cared more about the dress then the bruises. But true, the rest of her clothes were ripped, or he had taken them to use as washcloths. Typical man.

This ?thing? was the only thing she had to wear.

More and more reality seemed to hang over her increasing her headache.

?Is this better than the streets?? She asked herself. Taking a glance towards the bedroom where the snoring was coming from; she casted her eyes downwards. The ache between her legs grew stronger with the slightest shift.

?Burning. It burns.?

The memory of his hands on her, touching her and bringing her to a cliff she did not want to go over. A spasm she resisted. It wasn?t -he- who was suppose to bring her here. She knew that. Why didn?t he see that?

She could still feel the beating of his heart in her own, his breath on her neck, his lips crushing her own. With her finger tips she brushed the chapped, swollen lips. Was it worth it? His smile was still etched into her mind but it slowly faded. Instead it was replaced by the image of her pulling him out of her, shaking immensely, when he had fallen asleep on top of her. His sex running down her swollen thighs. His hands clamped into her hair.

She could still taste him.

Was this better than the streets? A calm panic slowly emerged in her lower belly and spreaded to her lungs ending at her lips. She knew the answer. But she couldn?t just leave. He would follow her. He would find her. He would take her again, drown her with his sweet words. He was sweet, but he couldn?t control. He was a man.

Again, she looked towards the door where her only friend, companion, manager, singer instructor, drinking buddy, trumpet player; holder of her innocence, thief of her virginity, and beater of her bruises slept.

Her gaze ended on his form as he awoken and called for her. As she took a breath and made her way back to the bedroom where he claimed her once again, she was aware of the sleeping pills in the bathroom.

He smiled to her and she paused her tears. Somewhere she was sure he knew this was wrong, but still he pulled her down on him. Dimly he could hear her cries saying no, but that only drove him farther.

She was beautiful. So beautiful. Her flesh, the peach soft flesh in the soft glow of the morning sun. He could feel her pulse around him him and he sighed. However Relena, was crying her answer. Was this better than the cold? ?No.? -It was not better.

[kmf]

Wonderful teaser. You have got my attention with this one. Poor Relena, she doesnt seem to have the strength to get out of this very destructive relationship. And those sleeping pills are now tempting her. Please continue this, I am very much interested in where you take this. Well done!