(AN/warnings: Misogynist and victim-blaming, because this is Rorschach POV, after all. Sorry.)
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She isn’t like the others, he tells himself as a sop to his indignation, fishing through his pockets for something to use as a compress. Victim. Of course it isn’t true; she’s just like all the others, bleeds and blossoms bruises like anyone does who is too often under a fist to notice them—but just as filthy too, just as depraved.
He presses the napkin against the side of her head, ungentle. Grunts for her to take it herself. Asks, expecting the same answer he gets every time—Sure, man or Whatever you say, honey— “Are you going to stop?”
But she just bites her swollen lip, resignation painted through all the run makeup, says, “No, probably not,”—and it is the most honest thing one of them has ever said to him.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 02:14 am (UTC)-
She isn’t like the others, he tells himself as a sop to his indignation, fishing through his pockets for something to use as a compress. Victim. Of course it isn’t true; she’s just like all the others, bleeds and blossoms bruises like anyone does who is too often under a fist to notice them—but just as filthy too, just as depraved.
He presses the napkin against the side of her head, ungentle. Grunts for her to take it herself. Asks, expecting the same answer he gets every time—Sure, man or Whatever you say, honey— “Are you going to stop?”
But she just bites her swollen lip, resignation painted through all the run makeup, says, “No, probably not,”—and it is the most honest thing one of them has ever said to him.