Mind Games


Why? A question of why fuels our search for answers that we scarcely have the questions for. We seek them out without knowing what it is in this life that we're hunting for. This means, as you would imagine, that when you know that you've found whatever the fuck it is you were looking for all that time…you still don't know what it is.

She dreamed in shades of blue. A perfect insanity cast in blue and aqua across her mind's eye. Blue and black, like the bruises on her body, the marks on her throat, her breasts, her thighs and god knows where else.

She stood quietly in front of the mirror, staring at herself. She had stripped before in a fit of rage, tearing off her clothes, ripping them apart. They stunk of him. They stunk of her crime, their crime. Why was she calling it a crime, this brutality, when it wasn't? She traced her fingertips over a bruise on her left breast, the violent purple contrasting with her pallid skin. His mark. One of many that he'd chosen to leave on her after… She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head and dropping her hand, resting it against her stomach.

He had marked her. His teeth left imprints in her collarbone, her shoulder. Her lips were bruised from the force of his kiss. Her muscles ached. It hadn't lasted long, but it felt as though he had slammed her into the ground and crushed her. He had crushed her, even if it wasn't in the literal sense.

The apex of her thighs hurt, throbbing with an exquisite pain of which she'd never experienced before. It felt like slow licks of flame, a cautious, burning tongue on her most sensitive flesh. He hadn't pleasured her, he'd overpowered her. Anything she had wanted to feel was on his terms, even if after the first minute he had ceased being human and turned into some kind of otherworldly…creature. A beast.

Amanda cupped her breasts, points of her nipples pressing into her palms. She wanted to remember what his hands had felt like on her…rough, brutal, vicious and unforgiving to the point where it felt like he had broken her mind as well as her body. She remembered screaming, begging for him to hurt her. He said she moaned like a whore, that he'd make her a whore. His whore. She heard his voice echoing inside her head, the usual cool control lost in lieu of the impulsive demon that had taken over the moment the bite became a kiss.

'You fucking like this, don't you? Scream, you bitch! You want me to fuck you harder, you scream it!'

She hadn't seen his eyes, hadn't wanted to see the look on his face as he brutalized her. In a way, she was glad he had turned her to the wall. When a man like him lost control, you could see everything in his eyes. Rage. Hate. Lust. Misery. Pain. If she had even slightly turned to look at him…she shuddered, turning away from the mirror. She didn't want to think about what she might have seen in the depths of his cerulean eyes.

He had left her body a roadmap of pain and unimaginable ecstasy, pale flesh marred with bruises, bite-marks and hickeys. She wondered if he even knew what he was doing all those times he put his mouth on her, all the times he sunk his teeth into her and sucked hard on her skin, leaving those marks.
Naked, Amanda collapsed onto her bed and sighed, staring up at the ceiling, lacking the energy necessary to get up and put some clothes on. She was so tired…so fucking tired. It was cold here, in the Gideon building. There hadn't ever been any kind of heating system and sometimes a few layers of blankets weren't enough to block out the cold.
She wanted fire-

"You're fucking doing it wrong, as usual," he spat coldly at her, reaching across her and switching the furnace off, the sound and smell of fire abruptly cutting off. "Just sit down and shut up and let me handle this."

Amanda sent a glare his way, well aware that his bad mood wasn't born of her so much as it was the test ahead and the fact that it meant one of his own would be suffering. One of his own…another fucking corrupt cop.

"I designed this, asshole," she shot at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I think I'd know the blueprints better than you would."

He merely chuckled in response, tightening a screw. "You might have designed it, but from what I've seen…you've proved an incredible lack in the ability to build anything." He shot a smirk over his shoulder, stepping away from the device. "Me, on the other hand, I've done a little bit more than you…and I've been around a hell of a lot longer."

"And that, Detective, means absolute shit," she snarled back, stalking the length of the room before circling back and jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "You don't understand a fucking thing about what John's trying to do here—"

"Don't tell me what I do and don't understand," he replied coolly, the beginnings of irritation showing in his icy blue eyes. "Whatever John wants to delude himself into thinking is his fucking business. And that includes you."

Amanda shuddered at the memory, curling up slightly. For a while afterward, she had believed that whatever happened…had been her fault. Maybe if she hadn't prodded him in the chest, challenged him, hit him…maybe he wouldn't have-


She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the sounds that had haunted her since that night. Her moaning, her screaming…her begs for more. Her voice filled her head, her eyes rolling back. It was so wrong. It shouldn't have happened at all. There was no reason. Prior to those minutes, she had never felt anything less that distaste and disgust for him and everything he represented. He might have been an attractive man, but it meant nothing. He was in her way, in their way. Mark Hoffman stood smack in the middle between her and John. The first apprentice. Her upper lip curled and she glared at the ceiling above her head. He wasn't a fucking apprentice. He was the brawn, the fucking human forklift. It was all he was good for in her book.

He eyed the furnace with an air of revulsion, his lips curved into a sneer as he looked over it. Amanda watched him from her place on the table across the room, utterly silent. They'd argued briefly before settling back into a tense silence. It was always that way with them, always uncomfortable with the air sizzling with hate and fury. It was almost expected. They could never be friendly and the times that it seemed like it could be a borderline possibility, something would be said and they'd retreat to their respective positions on the fucking chess board. That was the expected behaviour of two individuals when you worked for…well…a 'supposed' serial killer.

"I don't really see the point of this trap for Tate," he commented, moving away from the furnace in search of one of his tools. "The whole reason why he's being tested is for being a masochist-"

"An arsonist!"

"It's not like he cares about his life," Hoffman continued as if he hadn't heard her, sorting through the large variety of spanners. "He strikes me as the kind of human being that'd let himself die just to see what it felt like."

Amanda felt a spike of fury lance her at his words, amplified by his tone of disinterest towards the topic at hand. Fucking bastard! He had no fucking clue what being faced with death could do to somebody and he was in no position to make assumptions based on his own opinion. He hadn't been made to cut someone open to save his life, so what the hell did he know about how John's method worked?

"You haven't got any fucking idea how people change when they're about to die," she snapped at him, eyes blazing at the back of his head. "People die when they're trying to help someone they care about."

He made a soft noise of disdainful amusement.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. When it comes to survival, people prefer to see someone else die than themselves…you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

Colour and heat flooded to Amanda's cheeks and she jumped down off the table. Anger boiled deep in her stomach and she was seized by the overwhelming urge to smack him across the face. She raised a hand and was about to bring it down across the side of his smug face…when he whipped around to face her and seized her wrist, preventing the close connection with her palm to his cheek. Something flashed in his eyes, a primal rage that burned like cold, blue fire within him. He didn't say anything at first, his glare piercing Amanda's soul as he pressed her against the wall.

"Keep struggling," he said quietly, his voice laced with venom, "and you're gonna get hurt."

Her nostrils flared with anger and she attempted to deliver a kick to his side, desperate to escape his iron grip and hurt him in the same moment. The anguished look of pain on any man's face was an endless source of satisfaction and pleasure for her. His was no exception. He blocked her leg easily, those full lips twisting into his trademark smirk.

"You're really going to hurt yourself if you keep that up," he said tauntingly, tightening his grip on her. Her teeth clenched together in fury, eyes narrowed. That unbelievable bastard! He had to shut up. He had to shut the fuckup!

She growled, hardly conscious of the sound at all, lunged forward, all other thought absent aside from the need to see him in some kind of pain and bit down hard on his lip. She locked her teeth down, sinking her teeth in as deeply as she could and glaring at him as she struggled. Aside from the spark of pain in his eyes, there was no response.

Then he bit back.

Amanda swallowed hard, a hot tightening in her stomach as she remembered what she could of what had happened. She'd be lying if she said she didn't replay what images she still could see in her mind's eye after that night…that she didn't wake up in a cold sweat over what he'd done to her. Or how much she'd-


She bit her lip hard, trying to prevent the rapid spread of heat through her body. Her mind spun, reconstructing what had happened that night. She couldn't remember all of it…her mind had blacked out halfway through and all she could do was feel everything he wanted her to.

His lips against hers, replacing his teeth and his hands…god, his hands…he stroked every inch of her, ripping apart clothing like wings off a butterfly. She could still feel him, the heat of his body as he pinned her to the wall, devouring her mouth with his. A hand began travelling down the length of her torso, her eyes closed, her breathing picking up.

He tore off her top, scattering buttons across the room. It didn't stop him. She could feel his erection pressing into her thigh and her eyes widened. She began to struggle, trying to push him away from her.

"Take your fucking hands off me, you son of a bitch!"

He turned blazing eyes to her, panting heavily. Amanda felt another shout die in her throat at his expression, her knees turning to rubber and her centre igniting.

He was a monster. A hungry wolf intent on eating her alive, just like Little Red Riding Hood. His eyes gleamed with a potent combination of rage and lust, of deliciously deadly intent. She could see everything he wanted to do to her in that one second of eye contact before he spun her around and pressed her against the wall, one hand working her belt and undoing her jeans, tugging them down her legs, ignoring any yelps of pain as the material scraped her on the way down.

Amanda bit her lip, her hips arching as she touched herself, one hand finding her breast.


She tried to stay quiet but the sensations…she couldn't help but imagine him touching her. A shot of intense pleasure shot through her and she gasped aloud, plunging a finger inside herself, her thumb circling over her suddenly swollen clit. His eyes burned into her mind's eye, his eyes…

Amanda lost herself to insanity, to mind-numbingly powerful pleasure as he thrust into her, gripping her hips tightly and digging his nails into her soft, willing flesh. His movements lacked any kind of discernable rhythm, but every time he moved, he hit places inside her she hadn't known existed. Her nerves were on fire, spasming with desperation for more contact. Her mind was locked away in a box somewhere deep within the reassesses of her psyche and she was a slave to feeling, a slave to him.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" he panted, one hand in her hair. "You wanted me to fuck you, you little bitch! And now you fucking get to feel everything I'm gonna do to you."

Her voice wasn't her own, robbed from her as she screamed, moaned, begged for more. He had stolen her mind, her body, her will to break away and run.
He slammed hard into her. "Scream for me, whore!
Beg me for more."

"Oh…god…PLEASE!" she howled, clutching the wall for support. "Don't stop. Please, God, don't stop!"

It hadn't taken him long to get her here. After the first moment he had entered her, her mind ceased being hers. Amanda Young no longer existed as long as Detective Mark Hoffman was inside of her.
She could only feel him plundering her depths with his length, his hands on her hips, his nails, the throbbing pain in her nipples from where he had brutally plucked at them and her own intense shame overshadowed by need and lust.

"What's my fucking name, whore?"


"I asked you what my fucking name was, bitch!" he snarled, his voice almost inhuman as he leaned forward, biting down hard on her shoulder, never once faltering in his brutal thrusts that bordered on causing her actual pain.

"FUCK! H-Hoffman!"

"Full name, slut!"



Her lips formed the name against her own will as she stroked herself, spreading her legs wider, her back arching.


God, it was so fucking wrong. She dared not open her eyes; she didn't want to break the spell he had over her. She could see him touching her, kneeling between her spread legs and pleasuring her in ways only he knew how. She could see the gleam in his eyes as his fingers moved in and out of her, the sensation of his breath over her most sensitive flesh…flesh that he had mindlessly violated the night before.

It was a different Hoffman in her mind, one who was devoted to making her shudder with ecstasy…instead of the monster who had fucked her until she bled. He touched his lips to her and she moaned louder, her movements becoming erratic as she watched him devouring her, his tongue flicking over her and his mouth curving into a smirk as she groaned in pleasure.

"Hoffman…oh, fuck…yes!"
Another finger joined the first and she abandoned any attempts to stay quiet. She couldn't. He wouldn't let her.

"Scream, bitch! Fucking scream!"


Her own voice sounded foreign to her, a high-pitched mewling cry that split the silence of her room as she jolted violently. She could feel his eyes burning into her, roaming her body with an all-consuming hunger and rage that would envy that of the Gods themselves. It was a delusion, a perfect…wonderful delusion that clouded her mind and lifted her above the dregs of humanity.

"Oh, god, yes!"

Lifted by gods, angels, saints-she couldn't be sure- Amanda came plummeting back to ground with an earth-shattering, orgasmic cry, his name swirled in around moans and pleads and begs.

He came hard, spilling himself inside her with a roar as he climaxed, his teeth buried deep in her shoulder. He had marked her permanently, she could tell that much. She could feel her own blood dripping down her spine, having reached her own orgasm moments before he did. Her body ached in places she hadn't known even existed and she could still feel him inside her…invading her.
She choked back a sob as he moved his mouth from her shoulder. His teeth would be stained red, his face would be covered with sweat, his hair stuck at odd angles…but she couldn't bring herself to turn around and see just who had done this to her.


He remained still for a long moment, breathing heavily through his nose.


He abruptly pulled out of her, letting her fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. She curled up, her eyes filling with tears, suddenly very glad her back was to him. She didn't want him to see…to know...

She heard him exhale, moving around in search of his clothes. He dressed in silence as she cried silently, clutching herself. She could almost see him standing over her, customary scowl in place.

"I'll see you later."

His voice cut through the silence as his footsteps announced his departure, leaving her with the knowledge that he was finally gone. She wasn't sure how long she laid there, shaking and crying and begging for mercy from a non-existent God.

"Oh, god…no…why…"

Her words were whimpered, lacking any kind of sentence structure. She was cold, the sweat on her skin rapidly cooling and all her wounds throbbing with pain. She could feel liquid warmth on the insides of her thighs, trickling down. His come, no doubt. He'd climaxed hard, filled her with everything that he was more times than her broken mind could count. She rolled over and sat up, realizing that it was not only Hoffman's semen but also her own blood that soaked her thighs and the floor beneath her.

She broke into dry sobs again at the sight. He'd made her bleed…the fucking son of a bitch bastard had made her bleed…but worst of all, he'd made her like it.

Amanda's hand dropped from her swollen pussy almost guiltily, her eyes filling with tears as she realized exactly how much she'd succumbed to him. He'd made her do this, made her want more; she craved him like she'd craved the needle and the knife from her former life.

She wanted to hurt and he could do that to her. He could dig his nails in, split her in half with the force of his brutal thrusting, bite through her skin and bruise her body. He was a fucking psychopathic sadist who didn't care about her, John, the legacy but god.. in that moment…he had made her feel more alive than she had in years. Her body thrummed with adrenaline, fear, horror, self-hatred and lust for a monster than thrived on her suffering, her screams of pleasure and the horror residing deep in her soul…knowing that she'd let him do horrible…delicious things to her again…and again…


She slapped herself hard across the face and screamed furiously. No, no, no, no, NO! Fuck Mark Hoffman and all his pretentious bullshit! He'd gotten her at a weak goddamn moment and if he thought he could do that to her, he had another thing coming.

Breathing hard, she rolled herself out of bed and pulled on a tank top and her underwear, climbing under the covers defiantly and curling up. She needed to stay the hell away from him and he needed to extend her the same courtesy. She idly rubbed the finger-shaped bruises around her wrist and cursed Mark Hoffman's name all the way to Hell. As long as she was away from him, the fucked up feelings would go away and she could…just…go back to the way things were, however that might be. She sighed, closing her eyes against the sight and trying in vain to relax. She needed to sleep. No dreams. She'd had just about enough of his cold, blue eyes haunting her thoughts, his powerful body, his bruising hands…

Amanda punched her pillow, reflecting that despite all the self-help books about letting out aggression this way, punching a pillow…accomplished almost nothing. Even if she did envision Mark Hoffman's smirking face in place of the faded white pillow…

"You've wanted this from the beginning, haven't you?"

His voice tormented her. His face haunted her. His eyes pierced what little soul she had left.
So blue…

She curled further into her protective ball and buried herself under the blankets, finally alone with herself and the darkness, away from her own treacherous mind and Mark Hoffman's burning eyes.