I was eight the first time a man forced himself on me.

I was in eighth grade the first time my boyfriend took my virginity. Took because he didn't ask. It wasn't given.

I was eighteen the last time a man pinned me down, trying to take what he thought was owed to him.

Eight is my unlucky number I guess.

My sobs come in waves. Each time I think I'm done, more come forth. It's like dry heaving. Unexpected, body-wrenching, and unproductive. I have nothing left to give when I start to sob against the soft material of his shirt. I've practically crawled inside his vest. I don't even really know what I'm crying for at this point, it just feels like a much needed release.

Each sob represents something different and something the same. Every tear is like a metaphor for something that was taken from me. A time that was out of my control.

Wulf doesn't say anything. He just holds me. Eventually though, he forces me to stop. "Look at me," he says sternly.

I raise my head, blinking away tears. He kisses each one that stains my cheek. His lips are warm against my face that for some reason feels ice cold.

"I need you to be brave," he says it just like he did that first night. And just like I did before, I cling to those words.

"What happened?" he asks. His voice is scarily calm, but I can feel a thunderous heart beating in his chest.

Laying my head against him, I tell the story. We were passing a bottle of Jameson by the fire. After a few shots, some of the girls and I started dancing. Just having fun, nothing serious. And definitely nothing crazy. People fuck on lawn chairs around here for fuck's sake. Some of the girls wanted to do belly shots. Brigett convinced me to do one. "Just one, she begged me," I whispered to him.

The next thing I knew, Anthony had his mouth on my stomach. It still feels like I can feel his tongue on me. His chin rubbing my skin. He started trying to pull down my pants. At first we were surrounded by people. Several girls laid beside me on that picnic table, then somehow they were all gone. Before I realized it, we were alone and I was fighting with him.

"Did he..." Wulf's voice trails off, like he can't even say the words.

"Rape me?" I say it for him, finding more strength in my voice. "He didn't get the chance."

He lifts me up and carries me to the bed. Kissing me with all the passion he can muster in the moment, he then leaves without saying another word.

I lay in bed trying to understand what's happening. There are so many sounds. Doors slamming upstairs. Then outside, the music grows quiet. A hush spreads over the crowd. It's now eerily calm. Then there is a sound like wood breaking, like a thousand splinters cracking all at once. Someone is yelling. It's like a low growl that I can't even process let alone make out the words. More voices join in. And then silence.

Long moments of quiet pass and it's deafening. No one speaks. No music plays.

Nothing.

It's the scariest moment I've experienced in this house.

After what was either five hours or fifteen minutes, the door slowly opens. Wulf enters and he's only a shadow. The room is completely dark and I can't see his face. He doesn't say a word. Just shuts the door quietly behind him and goes straight into the bathroom.

The shower turns on and that's when I creep out of bed. Turning on a bedside light, I see tiny drops in the carpet. Like I'm Gretel following the trail of breadcrumbs, I let the red droplets lead me to the bathroom door.

"Wulf?" I whisper. No answer. I realize he can't hear me over the shower.

I straighten my spine and step over the soiled pile of clothes on the floor. I didn't care what I put on earlier. After the incident, I just wanted to change. Now, looking at myself I realize I've managed to recreate my outfit from the night I was taken. Baggy Def Leppard shirt, this time though, I have on silk shorts instead of cheap cotton ones.

The shower makes an L shape. I stand near the entrance, beyond the reach of the spray. Naked, rock hard, and totally wet, Wulf wipes the water from his eyes as a sea of red blood runs down from him. It dilutes in the water as it twists down the drain. My heart stills in my chest. He is nothing but blood, tattoos, and man. He looks so much like that vicious god I first met.

In a quick movement, his hands tense around me. Pulling me into the water, fully clothed, I shriek. He lifts me, pressing my back against the wall. His thick erection presses against my soaking wet clothes that cling to my skin. I can feel every pulsing inch of him.

"Just be with me," he says before sealing his lips to mine.

He kisses me furiously. Like he's a rabid dog possessed by his blood lust. His lips are punishing, bruising, but I won't pull myself away.

"I would fucking kill for you. Do you know that?" he rasps against my lips.

Breaking free I search his eyes. "Did you?"

He looks back, unblinking. "I don't know."