Primal

So that’s why it’d happened. That’s why he’d wanted her so badly and why he’d eventually fallen a total victim to it. Vergil was never said to be one without control, yet she made him lose it, the day he saw her life as what it was; to be a caged prostitute to her own fucking father.

Now Vergil never pretended to know much about love, about its counteraction with sex or why the two seemed to be linked together in the human world. He never could guess how emotions needed to be any part of reproduction or the practice thereof. Sex was just a unique form of exercise, the occasional need for a mental and physical release of pent up stress. He chalked it up to a very primal human need that his hybrid body occasionally bowed down to.

But as he heard gagging from the other side of the door, his own belly aching with disgust, he understood things a little bit more. As much as sex was used for reproducing, for release, for enjoyment, it could also be a means for torture and for control when one didn’t have the right to such.

He understood suddenly how someone could actually hate it.

Vergil had left through her window, his feet upon the ground quicker than he’d anticipated, feeling like he’d just run from something. He felt the oddest sensations, emotions he’d read about in books yet had never been truly able to grasp. Concepts of embarrassment, guilt and overall shame (at obliviousness) came to him in those moments, the sound of the sea unable to calm them.

How had he not known? How had he lived in that house and never seen it for the home of such horrors? How had he looked into her eyes, known such secrets about her, yet never put two and two together?

A young girl, always hidden from the world, yet somehow well versed in the ideas of sex. He should have known.

Later he’d gone once more into her room, knowing that Arkham had retired to bed, sexually sated from his own daughter. It made Vergil want to hurl. Yet his disgust didn’t stem from her, didn’t make him see her as a monster. She was just a girl to him, a silly human girl with a sick and twisted daddy.

So where was the part where he felt the obligation to give a shit? He battled with himself, walking so silently into her bedroom. Why did he care? Since when did he even grasp the concept of care?

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it even more that Mary was crying or the fact that she tried so hard to conceal it from him. She was draped once more on her bed, though the erotic effect was gone and rather than a pretty doll, Mary now was like a crushed puppet, her invisible, broken strings fallen around her.

“I thought you were gone,” She said, lying on her stomach and trying to feverishly wipe her tears away.

“Never too far Mary,” he’d said simply.

Vergil had been her rescuer, had shown her the moon and stars as she had never seen them, shown her the way that the sea pelted so powerfully against the shore. He made her smell the salt in the air, the way it came in a rush when the ocean clashed with the land. And so once more, in a different way, he became her rescuer again, crawling over her body and throwing her on her back.

She had been so startled, staring in horror and shame, knowing that all of her secrets had been laid open. She’d stared into his eyes, so close as they loomed above her, so inhuman in their fierceness. Mary looked at him with fear and he decided quite quickly that he hated it, hated that she would recognize sex with shame and fear.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He scolded softly. “I’m not him.”

Before that time, he’d never even acknowledged wanting her, never once let up his guard. For all she knew, she might as well have been a serpent to him, a particularly ugly bug. He saw that insecurity, that bewilderment that he even wanted to be so close to her.

And then he understood something else; her self disgust. She must have thought he’d be repulsed, the daughter of a pedophile, down on her knees beneath the pelt of a shower head, eyes closed so tight as she performed her obligation.

She hated sex, she hated the shame and the revulsion of it. It was the abominable duty and suddenly Vergil wanted to take her away from all that. He wanted to show her…. to show her how incredible it could be, how beautiful it could feel and how far from herself, from this awful place, it could take her.

He let her suddenly hold him, let her cry like she’d been holding the tears away for years. She actually bawled, his face against her throat as he felt every single gasp, every single heave of breath that she’d kept in for so long. Her arms went around his neck, her body convulsing with the sorrow.

“Why?” She just kept whispering. “Why does he…….”

When it seemed she’d calmed, the quietness of the room only occasionally interrupted by a hurtful sigh, he pulled away, staring down at her. Her face looked like a doll’s and he hated that he could think of no other word for it. She was just a doll; sad doll with tear tracks.

She must have seen it then, the slight slant in his lower eyelid, the way his facial features remained forever stoic yet always altered in a manner that would seem invisible to anyone who didn’t know him. But Mary’s eyes widened, her hands slowly coming from his shoulders as she recognized a very carnal desire burning behind his lashes.

He wanted to show her something and in contradiction to her usual naïve nature, she knew precisely what it was.

“Let me do this for you,” He whispered, moving his mouth to her throat.

She’d shuttered beneath him and he still felt (in his moment of remembrance), how nervous she was as he disposed of her clothes, his mouth moving over every exposed inch, covering her skin with his breath.

‘Don’t fear this,’ he thought, wondering if it was some how received. His icy fingertips moved over her stomach, sliding over her hips and taking her skirt down with them, her body trembling as she let him do it.

He never really understood what she might have been thinking, her eyes still tracked with tears as he removed his shirt, knowing that the moonlight cherished every vein and muscle.

Tentatively she moved her hand to his chest, exploring the smoothness of his skin as he undid every button of her shirt, taking her hand into his own while he slid the clothing from her body.

Vergil had to smile suddenly, caught in the midst of his own memories, the angry, powerful female before him an entirely different person than the one he’d had sex with so long ago for the first time. She’d been terrified, her pulse pounding beneath her cream colored skin. He could see her heart, working beneath the roundness of her chest, the white bra barely covering it.

He kissed away the straps, letting his teeth drop them from her shoulders, quick fingers unfastening the clasp. She grabbed it suddenly, holding the top to conceal herself.

“Vergil, wait,” She swallowed, trying to tell him something that might at one point have been useful information that instead he’d, at the time, totally discarded. “Vergil I haven’t…”

He silenced her with a kiss. The first kiss they’d shared and one of the last with any merit, her fear forgotten as she let her arms wind around his throat, let him more or less tear the panties from her body.

He’d slowly let himself push inside, figuring that taking it slowly would keep her more at ease, her breath hitching when the length and width felt too immense, the sensation like being filled up with something you’d never even known was missing. Her head was thrown back, his mind filled with the images of her masturbating, unknowingly quickening his pace as he plunged deep inside of her.

Unfortunately and yet possibly fortunately, Vergil was totally unaware that as he pushed inside of her, sweat soaking every inch of their sheets, breaths caught and then forced out, that he had taken Mary’s virginity.

He smiled, coming back to reality, Lady’s face twisted in confusion. Mary and Lady, he grinned, two entirely different women.

“What are you smiling about?” She demanded, fiery and demanding as always. God how he loved that.

“I was just thinking about you,” He winked, letting her know precisely what had caused such a rare smirk to cross his face.

“Hm,” she rolled her eyes. “and I can’t imagine what it was about.”

He lifted an eyebrow, moving with serpent-like grace around her.

“I was thinking of our first time,” He whispered in her ear, standing behind her as he let his hands roam over her throat and shoulders. “Do you remember?”

Yeah, because she’d so easily forget. Lady crossed her arms, face tight as she let her mind roam back to that memory, never long forgotten. Even as it was so long ago, just thinking about it made her pulse quicken, her body remembering every thrust, every pain, every minute when she’d decided she loved both.

“I was so scared,” she breathed. “God, I was just fucking petrified of you.”

But even as the good memories came, the bad inevitably rode along. It had been one of the most magical times of her life and the most painful too. Because he’d changed.

Hell yeah, he’d changed.

It was like she’d seen him, the real him, for the first and last time. Or that’s what she’d made herself believe for so long. When he’d been so cruel to her, so dismissive, she’d just smiled to herself, thinking, knowing that it was all just an act.

When he’d call her awful things, when he’d borderline rape her, she knew it was just his way.

Sex had been fucking brutal after that, Mary constantly undecided at who was the bigger monster, her father or Vergil. The demon would wake her at night, already plunging painfully inside her tired body, never even having given her the courtesy of asking. He would just take, always just take, grabbing her hair so painfully in a twisted knot, banging against her body.

“You filthy fucker,” he’d whispered one night, tongue shoved inside her body as he peered up from between her legs. “you just love this don’t you?”

Another night she had been woken by her body being flung through the air, landing violently on her stomach. She’d squirmed along the floor, terrified, her tiny fingertips scratching for any type of weapon when he’d pulled her back, pinning her down.

“Shhhhhh Mary,” Her teeth had clenched as she felt his smile against her cheek. “wouldn’t want to wake daddy would you?”

She was sick with herself, knowing she couldn’t or more importantly, wouldn’t say no. He may or may not have even listened to her, knowing what her body wanted, knowing that anything she’d whisper against it was a lie.

He’d fucked her raw from behind, her head yanked back until she thought her neck would break. Blood finally trickled between her thighs, sating the beast for a moment. Or so she had thought, eyes flying open when she felt the tip of him against her ass, whimpering like a fucking dog when he’d forced inside.

He’d clamped a hand over her mouth when she’d cried out, insisting a hundred times that she’d like it, promising that she’d learn to love it all.

Fucker.

She’d hated herself.

She looked at him now, how handsome he was, how totally aware of it he’d always been. So chiseled, so masculine, so powerful.

She’d hated herself so much. She looked up, blinking hard. God, she could have killed herself back then, unable to tell him no when he’d rub his cock against her cheeks, unable to tell him no when he’d brutalize her insides.

She would look across the dinner table, seeing him watch her, seeing her naked body flash across his eyes, seeing every disgusting scenario he would practice on her later. She would hear him, whispering the most vile, demeaning things in her ear, even as her father would be prattling on and on about his latest discoveries and experiments.

She became Vergil’s victim just as much as she’d ever been her father’s.

Another ball, another charitable event that all benefits would end up in daddy’s pocket. She hated herself, staring in the bathroom mirror. The face inside was a little older, the eyes a little more tired, the body a little more wrecked. Makeup smeared over bruised arms, face just a porcelain doll, she’d let herself cry.

The heart that had once pumped so furiously for him, the heart that had once inspired embarrassing poems, the heart, was broken. She wanted him to love her, but he didn’t. She wanted him to save her, but he wouldn’t.

Mary was in love with Vergil and Vergil was in love with a little doll he could play with.

She’d gasped in shock when she realized she was being watched, her fingers going numb, her hands trembling when she figured it was Vergil. But instead, dark brown hair and deep gray eyes came into the light, sorrowful with sympathy that she hated.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” She’d snapped, embarrassed as she wiped away tears. “The party is outside.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” the boy had said, at least a year or two older than her. “I just….”

He’d glanced away, the side profile of his face coming into view. Mary had blushed, realizing that she hadn’t taken the time to realize how handsome he was, how familiar he was to her father’s banquets. Aaron, that was his name, son to a wealthy inventor.

“I see you every year Mary,” he’d sighed, eyes sad. Sad for her. “and every year I see it.”

“What do you see,” she’d scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“How sad you are.”

Lady swallowed, coming back to herself, walking away from Vergil’s touch. His fingertips slid from her shoulders, the skin so deceivingly soft for a monster.

“Every year it gets worse,” Aaron had whispered. “every year you’re further from everything around you. Your smiles are harder, your laughing so mechanical. You play along with everything like it’s a chore, playing the perfect part when anyone can see that you’re miserable.”

He’d moved even closer, Mary backing up against the sink of the bathroom.

“You cry inside,” He’d breathed, seeing that her body sank away from him almost in fear. “You’re crying all the time, especially when you’re smiling.”

She’d wanted to cry then.

She’d wanted someone to hug her, someone to hold her tight and not just because it was a means to fool her heart into feeling something. She’d wanted real, human touch from someone who saw her as what and who she was: Mary….not the fucking doll.

But it was when Aaron had touched her, three fingers smoothing softly down her cheek that she’d seen them; burning silver eyes illuminated through the shadows of the doorframe.

Vergil had seen, concealed in the darkness, waiting, watching like a wild animal stalking the injured. His gaze was sharp and fierce, absolute madness sparking behind wild eyes.

She had known then, blood flushed from her face as she excused herself. She’d known that he would punish her later, known just as well as anything that the sex would be vicious and cruel as ever.

So she’d waited for it and it hadn’t come. She’d waited and waited, sitting like a naughty child, banished to their bedroom, hands wringing themselves out. But he hadn’t come.

She’d trembled in fear and awful excitement, cursing herself for wanting it, for expecting it. A storm quaked outside, the sea crashing in the distance. Lightening illuminated the room and she’d held her breath, expecting at any second she’d see him.

Yet only later had Vergil come, face a mask of complete insanity as he’d furiously walked towards her. Seeing madness raging behind his eyes, Mary had feared for her life, crawling back in terror, crying out his name as if she had to remind him of it.

It was only when he’d stopped at the edge of the bed, staring at her, that she’d seen it. His pupils had shrunk to tiny, almost invisible dots, the outside of his eyes a volcanic red. As often as she’d thought it, as often as she’d figured it, her suspicions had been ultimately confirmed in that very moment; Vergil was a monster.

“What are you,” she’d cried out, the lightening crashing outside and revealing the shape of his true form. Like awesome shadows crawling around him, she’d caught glimpses of what he truly was, the demon inside trying to claw its way out. Wings flashed behind him, there one second, gone the next as thunder made the entire house tremble.

“What are you?” She’d suddenly screamed, lightening flashing, blood covering his whole body. “What have you done?!”

It was only then that he’d thrown them, one by one, three fingers, right on her bed.