Stitched Up Hearts (Alucard X Fem! reader)

Bad Dreams

(six years prior)                                                                                                                                                              TW: sexual assault

It was impossible to avoid sex workers in the city. They were everywhere, it seemed. Every corner I passed there was a brothel of some kind, or a tavern where girls would work. A lot of them were mothers, driven to this kind of work only as a last resort to feed their families. Still, walking down the streets after dark you saw that type of thing. I could hear them too, if it was really quiet out, though typically the taverns that had them also played music to drown out the sound.

Synthia had an aunt who was one of those girls, she worked at one of the more popular houses. The poor woman's husband had gotten sick and died, leaving her with three small children and no money to take care of them. She tried everything before she resorted to prostitution, any other job she could get her frail hands on, but it was never enough for everyone.

I saw the types of men that went into those places, the husbands of women who were sitting at home taking care of their children. It made me sick to think about those girls, at home wondering when their husbands were going to come back from sleeping with other women. I had heard the things they said too, about their wives. They spoke of how they no longer looked the same after bearing children, how after marriage they had become dull, not like the woman they had met before. It made me wonder if any of them had ever loved those women, or if that word was only something they threw around to make women swoon.

Those girls, only used for their bodies and what purpose they served, and when they no longer had any use for them they were cast aside for a newer, prettier toy. Those were just the kinds of things I saw, nearly every day.

It was that realization that made me think perhaps I should give up on ever finding someone. Synthia was the only person in my life who I felt like valued me, but how long would that last for? Surely some other better person would come whisk her away and I would be left in the cold streets, alone. No man would over love me beyond what I could do for him while I was pretty. Of course, since I am immortal, I would stop aging and be young forever. But the moment I began to change, perhaps whatever man claimed to love me would fade away, following after whatever other woman suited his needs. I would be left, wondering where my life went, and why I wasted so much time.

I was wandering alone by the church, trying to smuggle the book I'd stolen back to my home so I could read it there. I had tried not to make a habit of walking around by myself after dark, but in recent weeks I had become overconfident. The last person that tried to follow me got killed, and I left his body behind the pub he frequented.

"How cute, the witch and her books." one of the men called out from behind me. I paid him no mind, hoping that if I ignored him maybe he would go away. "Come on, don't be like that. Even if you are a witch you're such a pretty young thing.'' The man grabbed my wrist.

"Let me go." I finally turned, trying to wrench my hand away from his grasp. His hold was strong, his fingers pressing into my skin, and I knew that by morning small bruises would remind me of his touch. "Let me go before I take your hands off." I tried again, twisting my arm around to pry his fingers off of me, and taking several steps back. My fingernails had changed and hardened into sharp claws now. As I stepped back, I felt my back press against someone else, and my blood turned cold.

The second man pulled at my hair, my neck exposed. "If she doesn't open her mouth that is." the second man said, lip curled in disgust. I tried to pull away, but his hand remained firmly in my hair, yanking at my scalp.

I grabbed his hands, my claws digging into the skin of his hands and making him cry out in pain, releasing me. The moment I felt his hand leave my hair I tried to run, moving in whatever direction was away.