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{Wide Open (Francis&Nico)} (warning: slight nsfw suggestive yes ok well yeah just sex ok.)

There were times when Nicoleta had to shut her eyes and scream in the night until her voice became raw from the hitched moans and breathy whimpers. They had grabbed her neck sometimes, wringing their calloused hands underneath her jaw to bare their jagged grin at her. By morning light, she would lay on the wrinkled sheets, dank with testosterone, with bruises down her neck and breasts. At times, there would be a trail of tears, sticky and wet, down her cheek, but her fingers often dared not wipe them. Instead, those slender fingers would grip the sheets, clinging on to its softness to remind her of that gentleness still existed.

On those nights, her eyes seldom opened, mostly because she always liked to pretend she was dead. She had wished she were dead so many times. Then, all of the anguish would slip away like a faltering heartbeat. These nightmares followed her, even while she was awake.

Nicoleta felt a headache crawl up her nape, and it hurt enough to crack her head open. She shakily reached for her black bag. Her trembling fingers rummaged through the things until she felt the familiar surface of her cigarette box. Her eyes were glossy, endowed by the light, lethargic shadows around her eyes. Once the smoke was lit, she inhaled, feeling the rush glide down her throat, and then she exhaled in a ball of plume between her rosy lips. The moment’s respite was in gazing at the starless night sky.

She took a step back against the brick wall, the cigarette dangling in between her fingers. The thought of Francis made her feel sick in the chest, mixed with yearning and contempt. Francis was a blond haired French man she had met only several days ago. He was kind to her, kinder than she was comfortable with. There was a certain gentleness about him, soft like those cotton sheets. Words came out from him like silk, ribbons and ribbons of pleasantries that had tied her emotions in knots.

But it was all in his gaze. His eyes were blue, blue like the iris fields near her home in Romania. They were blue, swaying here and there like the flowers, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and waxing and waning like the moon. There she went again, romanticizing silly things.

Nicoleta sucked in a fresh hit of the nicotine, and let out the spirit of her anxieties in a coil of smoke.

This was her chance. She could just leave and not look back.

“Veronica?” Francis called from inside the house. Peeking out from the space between the ajar door, he gave Nicoleta a cheery smile. His hair was tied back to an easy-going ponytail, and the stubble on his chin was reflecting off the golden glow from inside.

Nicoleta almost forgot to reply. Veronica was the name she introduced herself with; she didn’t want anyone to know her real name. Subtly, she scraped the head of the cigarette against the wall with an unspoken fury and then tossed it aside. Too late to run now.

She smiled in return, albeit it was poorly executed. Francis gave her a concerned look.

“I just needed some air.” Nicoleta assured as she walked up the steps to be invited in.

When the doors closed, she knew she was trapped once again inside a stranger’s home. Her fingers twitched and curled in. She wondered that if, behind that sweet guise, was a man as cruel as the rest?

“You were acting strangely.” Francis commented, his voice thick with an accent, “You’re sure you’re feeling better now?”

Nicoleta was no fan of answering twice, but decided to be tolerable. Instead, she nodded as she sat on the couch and nodded. The plush depressed to her weight, and it felt so spongy and comfortable.

“I get headaches sometimes, and my hands just go crazy.” Her hands were shaking so much earlier. It usually happened whenever she got nervous, or whenever she went long without a smoke.

He seemed to buy it, nodding once while he looked ready to walk towards the kitchen.

“Anything to drink? Water, wine?”

“Wine?” She raised a brow, her eyes glinting with interest. “That would certainly set the mood.”

“Wine it is.” He snorted with approval. “A moment, if you can, madame.”

He was gone, and moments later, she heard the clings and rings of glassware from inside the kitchen. Nicoleta did not feel like this was her place—it was too tidy, too grand, and no place for a common street girl like her. There were a few, golden things that caught her eye, but she found no foul temptation in her to take it. Francis had been too good to her. She couldn’t possibly steal from him, yet she would make no promises the next morning if faced with this situation again.

He brought out the wine and wine glasses, with the bottle clasped in his other hand and the glass stems racked against the web between his fingers. A couple of drinks in, their conversations became slurs and simpers, to mouthy whispers against each other’s lips. They were both sober, yes definitely still sober, but the electricity of the alcohol fueled them to make a bee-line for the bedroom.

The lights were switched off, and the door was shut, and the only invasion of the outside world was the sliver of light from the street lamp that shone in between the curtains. Nicoleta sat on the bed and groped her hands against the fine, maroon velvet sheets. She crawled back, feigning the cornered animal, as Francis approached her on all fours against the mattress until he was on top of her.

She could see it, the tide of his eyes glistening at her with desire and intrigue. Nicoleta ran her fingers up his silken golden hair, tugging the pony tail loose to let it fall down the frame of his face. The buttons were pressed and unfastened, and their clothes were strewn into the floor until only their skins clothed their souls.

He was not as haste and strong as she wanted, but a couple of minutes in, she began to appreciate it. His love was very emotional, very sensuous--it almost seemed real to her.

Their kisses were long and their hands were always busy, moving, gliding, and shifting over each other’s tender bodies. Nicoleta let out a stifled moan as his fingers revealed how ready she was. Her heart skipped beats, as he was about to enter, she felt a pain shoot up her head. Her fingers trembled, shaking as she gasped and let out a blood curdling scream. She backed up against the bedframe, away from him, and propped her legs up to close herself away.

Startled, Francis immediately backed away. Under the pale ray of light, he looked as frightened as she.

“V-Veronica? What’s wrong—did I…? Was it too abrupt or--.” He was at a loss for words.

“No,” Nicoleta croaked, swallowing as touched her forehead. She shook her head. “No, no, sorry. I’m sorry. I just, I was just…”

Shit, shit, shit. This wasn’t how she was trained to act. Nicoleta was programmed to be a liar and she was doing this wrong. There is truth in fear.

“We can just stop.” Francis suggested, his lips taut with concern. All traces of alcohol and carnal lust evaporated from his pale complexion. “I’m sorry Veronica I…”

Nicoleta closed her mouth and exhaled from her nostrils. She inched over to Francis, he sat still and weary. As she brushed his jawline, he made no move. He was afraid that he’d hurt her with a touch.

“Francis...” she murmured as she thumbed his arm gently, coaxing him as well as herself. There were so many things to say, so many lies she could weave. For some reason, she could not think of any. The frustration made her want to cry. Nicoleta closed her eyes, and placed a dry kiss on his lips. When she opened them again, she saw that deep emotion in his expression.

“Somebody had done something to you,” he concluded as he cupped her face. As he studied her expression, Nicoleta could not help but to feel as if her facades were peeling away. She stared at him, her doe eyes merely watching him examine her countenance. “Who hurt you?”

Silence.

“People.” Nicoleta replied, her tone brittle and tight. “And me. I hurt myself.”

It was as if he could not fathom the response. “Why?”

Nicoleta felt a pulse of anger. She couldn’t comprehend why Francis appeared to care so much. But it was that look, that look he gave her. It made it impossible for her to conjure any strength to rip him away from her sight.

“I don’t know why,” Nicoleta replied vacantly. “I just want to forget. Francis, make me forget and love me tonight, and I promise, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

He gave her a hard stare. “I don’t want you gone tomorrow.”

She swallowed. Those words sounded so foreign, so out of place in this bitter reality. “Then love me today, and love me tomorrow, then I’ll stay.”

Nicoleta moved away from him and set her head on the pillow, spreading her legs wide open and placing one hand over the entrance. She made no other move other than looking at him, beckoning him silently. He paused, seemingly hesitant, before he hovered over her. Despite all of the happenings, he hadn’t gone soft.

“No,” he said suddenly before sitting up again. “If it’s alright, you should go on top, so that you can stop whenever you want.”

Nicoleta stirred up thoughtlessly to the idea, shifting her body until she was over him. Rarely, had she been able to be in this position. The bedfellows she had in the past were very violent and forceful, and hardly allowed her the liberty to take charge during sex.

She placed her hands on the junction between his neck and shoulder, her fingers trembling against his skin. Sensing her anxiety, he softly grasped her waist. “We don’t have to do this, Veronica.”

“But I want to.” She replied softly.

He tried to interject, “If it hurts--.”

Nicoleta dipped in to give him a kiss to quell his worries. It might hurt, and it was always a possibility. After what she had gone through, her body might not be able to take him in. However, it couldn’t be worse than what she had received before—no, nothing could be worse. Yet when she lowered herself, she felt his length drive deep in her, making her sigh. There was no pain.

They went on a mindless rhythm, slow, and steady. They were lost, breathing and heavy and touching again as if nothing had happened earlier. During that whole time, Nicoleta barely shut her eyes. She kept them open, just so she could see him smile at her.