A Starr is Born

I didn’t sleep well last night. How could I? After I finished weeping in the bathroom, I developed my sense of shame again and thought about the embarrassing likelihood that he was, in fact, listening in on me the whole time while cleaning his pipes all over again. I deduced that his rebound rate must be extraordinary because he’s crazy. Of course listening from the other side of a door has given me no luck thus far. He has a way of appearing in the most unlikely of places in the most horrific of times, but when I opened the door. I was alone, at least in the hallway.

I realized I had nowhere to go besides his/our bedroom, so I quickly changed into something incredibly unattractive and sat in the bed. I sat at the head of the bed and hugged my knees into my body, trying to quiet my breath. Sleeping was not going to be an option that night. I had a feeling my active mind would not allow it. I was waiting for his reappearance considering this would be the optimum time to psychologically torture me, but he left me alone that night, perhaps realizing I was capable of psychologically torturing myself.

I was feeling a sickness develop in my stomach. I wanted to vomit and shit all the nastiness out of my body and feel cleansed and better. I wanted to breath fresh air. The pain turned from something very psychological to something very physical. I literally felt a deep and dulling pain in my abdomen, and I was wondering if it was some literal manifestation of all my stress.

Suffice to say I did not sleep last night. I spent the whole twilight hours in a perpetual state of fear, pain, and fatigue. Now it’s the early, early morning, and I think I need out, now, before it’s too late.

I make my way through the downstairs and the kitchen. I see the remnants of last night: some uneaten food, an overturned chair, a half eaten and squashed cupcake. I establish I’m quite alone, again, in the house. I stand at the back door, trying to take deep breaths. The pain in my stomach hasn’t gone away, and that compounded with the lack of sleep, I’m having a hard time even standing. I’m wondering if this is the best time to attempt another escape.

I look at the knob. I think about the threat of those men, the fact that they have “permission to rape me” if I dare try to leave. However, I haven’t seen anyone here for so long, so I wonder if the threat is, perhaps, empty. I wonder if it’s worth the risk. I wonder if I’m better off waiting it out with him.

I go for the doorknob, my hand shaking. I can feel the tears actually swelling in my eyes as I reach for it. My hand is at the handle when I bring it back to my side.

I can’t open the door, rather, I won’t open that door.

I try to think of excuses for myself. Now is not the practical time to attempt this. If his men are out there, I’m going to have to run, and I can barely stand. While he’s unpredictable, he seems to be playing a game by some kind of rule system that amuses him, but his men, I don’t know them. I also wonder if it’s worth punishing myself if he happens to be just on the other side of that door. I know it’s unlikely, but actually, it isn’t unlikely at all.

My focus returns to the crippling pain in my stomach. I begin to wonder if he actually did poison the cupcake, but he ate it too. Maybe cumming is the antidote? Nevermind. I think the pains I’ve felt for the past weeks have finally manifested themselves in one physical affront against my body.

I go to the upstairs master bathroom. I try to make myself vomit, but I gag on my fingers before I can get anything up. I realize I have no experience with bulimia. I feel like I should take a crap, and it’s only then I realize the source of the pain, and it’s then I realize how I can finally end it all.

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I draw a warm bath for myself. I savor the bliss of immersing myself in the warmth, and I let my wounds bleed. Oh! Sweet relief, finally.

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I must have nodded off because I’m woken up by a loud noise. I look behind myself and see the Joker standing at the door. I’m hunched over myself, bubbles thankfully covering my privates, if only slightly, and I realize the water in front of me is turning crimson. He notices this too and comes charging at me, and he grabs my wrists, wrenching my body to face him. He looks at me with blazing eyes, then he examines my wrists. He looks back at me, his eyes on fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts at me.

“I’m taking a bath…”

“I can see that!” he cuts me off, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“No…”

“Then why is the water red,” he screams back at me, shaking my body. I can feel his warm spit landing on my face.

“I have my period, you dumbass.”

His expression changes. The awkwardness of the situation is undeniable. He lets go of my wrists, and I turn away from him rubbing away the soreness.

I look back at him, “Is that a problem?” I brace myself on the edge of the tub, “If it is, I can leave and-“

“Ah ta-ta-ta,” he points a gun at me, “You stay there.”

I sit back into the tub. Even though the water if warm, I have goosebumps. He leaves the room, and I collect all the bubbles I can find and try to cover as much of my body as possible.

He returns with his trench coat off and his sleeves rolled up as I’m gathering the bubbles. He stares at me with his face contorted in a crooked smile, and I stare back with my face contorted in the opposite direction.

He sits on the side of the tub and gathers the free-floating sponge inside.

“Turn around!” He commands.

I don’t like that idea very much.

He grabs me by both of my shoulders and twists me back forward.

I don’t like having my back to him. I don’t like it at all. I hear him running the sponge around the water, and then he brings it to my back and begins rubbing it soothingly. He rubs it around the base of my neck where it meets my shoulders, and with the warmth of the water and the accuracy of his touch, I can’t help but melting a little. He makes circular motions all around my upper back digging deeply into all of my knots, and I temporarily forget who he is and try to go into my happy place where I imagine he’s someone else only to stiffen when I feel the sponge come around to my front body.

He brings the sponge under my breast and I go to hit it away, but his free hand grabs me around the neck, and he brings his face close to my ear, “Hey! I have free reign in that area. Just relax. I’m not going to touch you,” he releases his grip and I attempt to relax, but then he comes back, “unless you want me to.”

I nod my head “no” having finally retrieved some of my sanity, and he brings his face away and continues massaging the front of my body from behind being very, very mindful to only scrub under my breasts, around my stomach, even around my upper thighs. He retreats the sponge back to my lower back, kneading very nicely into my lower spine, making his way back up my spine.

I’m sleepy, I’m emotionally disturbed, I’m menstruating, I’m off-guard because I realize the sponge on my upper back has been replaced by his lips, and he kisses around my upper back making his way back to the base of my neck. The tingling sensation makes my body stiffen, and I let out an involuntary gasp, which I immediately stifle, but seconds too late because I hear him laugh a little.

He places his lips back onto my back, making his way to my shoulder, to the crook of my neck, and I melt even more. I’m ashamed that it feels undeniably good, and I’m not sure I have the energy to maintain my integrity.

He nestles his head more and more into that area, kissing more and more. I would say that if he was not who he is, it would be the most sensational feeling I’ve ever had. Then he makes his way up my neck, kissing it gently all the way, and then up to my jawline where I close my tired eyes savoring the ecstasy. I turn my face slightly, and my lips meet his.

My eyes widen, and in the instant I go to move my head away, he has one of his hands on the back of my head forcing me to keep contact. I try to push him away, and he brings his other arm around my back, twisting me in the tub. Then he pulls me up, and I have no chose, but to follow, which I do very reluctantly, still trying my best to push my body away from his. Before I know it, he’s practically dragged me out of the tub, out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, all the while keeping our lips locked.

He releases me and pushes me onto the bed.

“That was a mistake!” I scream back while scooting to the head of the bed away from him.

“Too late,” he responds as he crawls on top of my naked and wet body, straddling me and pinning my arms to either side of my head. He goes to kiss me again and I move my head away, and he grabs my face with both hands and kisses me on the lips again. He releases me.

“So now you’re going to rape me, you prick?” I shout back at him once my lips are free.

“Oh, no, this isn’t going to be rape,” he responds.

“What?” I’m appalled, “It’s not your term to define, jack ass!”

“No, no, no, “ he runs his hands down my body, and brings himself between my thighs, using his hands to pin my thighs to the bed, “You’re going to enjoy this, in fact,” he slips his finger into my pussy, “I think you already are,” and he slips the finger out of my very slick entrance, and the bloody juices are undeniable. He licks his finger savagely and plunges the finger back into my pussy.

I grip the sides of the bed, and moan and he pumps my vagina with his finger. I think about withdrawing my hips, but they have nowhere to go. I close my eyes and bring my head back, trying my best to repress any outward expression of pleasure, pleasure which I refuse to believe I’m having.

“Look at me!” he grabs my face with his free hand and forces me to look him directly in the eyes as he jackhammers me with his finger.

The pressure if like none I’ve ever felt before, and I’m not sure if I’m about to orgasm, piss, or go blind. He takes one finger out, and I welcome the relief only until he re-enters me with two fingers. I let out a gasp and this time there’s no hiding. He’s looking directly into my eyes, and he would see through any shallow attempt to stop this.

I’m moaning with his thrusts, and I can’t tell if it’s from pleasure, from pain, or from fear because I’ve never felt this before, and I have no idea what it leads to. He jackhammers me even quicker, and I’m stunned silent, my eyes wide open, He’s growling, “let it go, let it go, let it go,” I can’t even breath, I feel like I’m about to explode, and it becomes quicker and quicker, until finally I scream with a climax that shudders through my entire body. His pacing slackens, and I look him in the eyes, begging him to let me go, and he does.

I collapse back onto the bed, unable to hold myself up. My eyes roll back into my head, and I’m ready to pass out until I hear, “My turn!” and my eyes shoot open to see he’s frantically stripping the layers of his costume off. I feel handicapped by my mind-blowing orgasm, that even if I was about to defend myself, I couldn’t. I prop myself on my elbows, muttering weakly, “please?”

He looks at me quickly, like I’m the demented one. He gets off of me only to practically rip his pants off. He’s now completely naked, save for his socks.

He comes back on top of me, and I feebly push him away with one hand, “please?” I try to say with more earnest.

He knocks my hand away and it falls to my side. I see he’s prepping to put his dick into me, unsheathed. “You aren’t going to wear a condom?”

He looks at me like I’m mentally incapacitated.

“I don’t want your clown STDS,” I try to press my case, “or babies.”

He gives me that look again.

“What happens if I get pregnant?” I scream back.

“Then I’ll push you down the stairs,” and on that, he penetrates me unreservedly..

I’m undeniably tight, and he doesn’t give me anytime to prepare around his girth.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it sweetie?” He pumps me relentlessly.

I don’t answer.

He takes that as a conformation.

It doesn’t take very long for my entrance to accept him because my body is betraying me and becoming turned on against my will. I cling onto the bed and crane my neck back, away from him, only to have him take that as an invitation to bite into my neck. I gasp as he sucks, not sure if he’s actually broken skin. He cups another hand around my breast using his thumb and forefinger to squeeze tightly around my nipple. It sends jolts through my body, and I’m wondering if it’s time for me to give up.

His thrusting becomes more and more intense and he presses his forehead and naked body against mine entirely. He stifles a scream as he cums into my body. His thrusts become quieter as he empties his semen into me, finally relaxing totally and slipping himself out of me, totally out of breath.

My eyes are closed and I’m ready to pass out, and so is he, apparently, because he collapses onto my body, and I black out, thankfully, into a disturbed slumber.


In the middle of the night, I stir, only to be reminded I have no wiggle room with his body still collapsed on top of mine. I finally manage, with some success, to wrench my body away, only to have him grab me from behind forcing me into a spooning position. He still seems asleep or at least quiet enough to give me some space to think things over.

After deciding that I can't blame my period, I can’t deny that from his perspective, he won, and I’m completely powerless. He’s weakened my mind in such a way as to allow himself to take over my body. I begin to wonder what happens now that he’s “won.”

After weighing my options, I’ve decided that in order to survive, I’m going to have to start lying to myself.