"Xavier, what are doing?"
He took off his shirt.
"Ziva, you know you want it."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He rushed at me and smashed me against the wall.
His mean, cold hands were all over me. His lips were crashing down on mine, and his tongue tried to force its way into my mouth. I squirmed and tried to pull away, but he had pinned me against the wall with his huge, muscular body.
"Please, Xavier! Stop!" I sobbed, choking for air.
He tore at my shirt, leaving it as tatters of fabric. He grinned evilly. "You know you want to."
I was begging now. His hand reached lower. "Xavier! Stop!"
"You don't have a choice." He unbuttoned my shorts.
"NOOO!" I ripped myself from the nightmare. I was tangled in the sweaty tan sheets of my bed. I was panting, and tears streamed down my face. This was the third night I had that damn nightmare!
I walked into my kitchen and got a glass of water. I sat at my table, watching little beads of water drip down the glass. I let the tears roll down my face. Being a Mossad agent, I was trained to hide my emotions. Emotions were a weakness, in my father's eyes.
But this was uncontrollable. I quietly sobbed into my nightgown, wishing this excruciating mental battle would end. I went into the bathroom, thinking I was going to throw up. I stared into the mirror, and saw a girl I did not recognize. Her eyes were red and puffy and she was sniffling. Where was Ziva David, the tough, NCIS Agent? Suddenly, I was thirteen again.
I thought he loved me. I should've known better when he invited me over to his house that terrible night. How could I have been so blind? He said his parents weren't home, and he said we were going to be out late. I should have known, and I was stupid not to. He said we would be studying, but he didn't give a damn about anything to do with school.
How could I have fallen for it?
I collapsed, sobbing, on the counter. No pain I had ever felt matched this one. Not when I was tortured by Saleem, not when I took on the three soldiers. Not even when Ray left. This pain, it took over all, making it impossible to think or reason. It simply dominated. I felt the scratches and bruises from that night. The searing pain, the terrible aches, and stinging scratches. It was all too much.
I sat, crying, in the corner of the bathroom, begging for it to stop.
Okay. Crappy ending, but I really couldn't think of a good one…