The lamb and the slaughter (Hannibal Fanficton: Book One)

Introduction: The Monster

The Monster's heavy hands stroked across the smooth pale skin of the girl's thin legs. She inhaled sharply and shakily, preparing herself to be ripped apart at the seams...again. There was no sounds other than her shaky breaths and the occasional creak of the mattress springs as It moved, all of it sounding much too loud before it was drowned out by the creature's deep growl. Crying out would be futile, she'd learnt that years ago, and it would just make the whole experiance worse; better she just let It do what It needed and then it'd be over with. It never spoke; It growled and It snarled and It took heavy breaths that smelt rotten. Its fingers ended in what felt like stone against her delicate flesh, It always pushed her down so hard she couldn't breathe and she felt like she was going to die. She always hoped that It'd finish her off.

It pushed her nightdress up and she buried her face into the traitorously soft pillow. It hooked a finger around her underwear and she closed her eyes tightly as to not cry. It took Its time as It dragged the crude amount of fabric off her and she took tight handfuls of the blanket. Then It lifted her hips up and...It fucked her. She bit back every sob and every whimper and every plea for It to stop because she knew nothing would make It stop. Ten minutes passed and tears started to soak into the pillow. Fifteen and her throat started to ache from holding back screams. Twenty and It bent over her body to kiss at the back of her neck and breathe into her ear. After twenty five minutes, It was finished. It moved to lie beside her as It caught Its breath and drifted off to sleep. She tried not to think of the things that It had said to her; It had acted like It loved her and It was making sure she was alright, which was a load of bullshit. She tried not to think how It called her Its pretty girl, Its sweet baby. She tried not to think of how much putrid emotion It gave when It sighed her name, "Annabel", as It stroked Its hand through her long red hair. Her trying never worked, because there was nothing else to think about.

This monster did have a name, it meant 'Little King' in its Irish origins but to Annabel it meant violation and impurity and a loss of her childhood in every way possible. She tried to never utter it nor even think it because then it gave this creature a human identity; the mask It put on around Its family and friends, Its girlfriend and Its colleagues. This thing didn't deserve a human identity, just the foul twisted abomination that it truly was. Oh, how she wished It would be found out by someone before it was too late for her, if it wasn't too late already. How she wished to one day have that wooden door unlock and for it not to be the monster coming to get her, but the police coming to save her.

Oh, how she wished she could be free from Its heavy grasp forever.

How she wished that she could die.