[sexual+]
You are absolutely terrified. The usual thrill of arousal is missing and you're desperately searching for it because she has a knife buried in the wall next to your head and you know how easy it is for her to just pull the knife out and stick it in your gut. She would. She's that mad, and for something you didn't even do. The tears were going to come next, she knew it. The raven-haired woman is talking, hurting you with her words just as much as the grip that's pinning you against the wall hurts. You're terrified of her and you start to cry.
That only pleases her it seems, because she licks your tears away and kisses you. It's enough to make you think that maybe there's hope. The arousal comes because even though you're just a whore, worthless and good for nothing, she still wants you on some level. She promises she'll kill you if you're ever with someone else and you believe her. It doesn't matter right now though, because you know what's coming next.
She's fumbling with your jeans and you try to help her but it doesn't make much of a difference. Two fingers slam into you so harshly that you're forced up the wall and it hurts. That's all you can focus on, how painful it is, and you want to find the pleasure in it because that's how she is, but it's not coming. Just as you try to spread your legs, hoping to ease the pain, hoping to find the pleasure, but then she's pulling away and you're left with your pants open and just a bra.
You watch, confused, as she all but runs to the sink and begins to scrub her hands. Then it dawns on you. She touched you. And it's all your fault. You run. You run because you're going to be in so much trouble when she's done washing her hands. It's always your fault.