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The Bullet and The Rose	By : MrsSaruman Category: S through Z > Snatch Views: 1780 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Snatch, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-One
- 3-Two
- 4-16 December 1998
- 5-Three
- 6-Four
- 7-Five
- 6
- 7
Five

�� There is someone in my
house.� I lay in the dark, eyes closed
and silent, feeling the air shift around me as I strain to listen.� Whoever it is, they�re good.� My hand tenses and I think of the Sig Sauer
.45 beside my bed.� I reach for it, only
to be caught in the glare of a torch.� Damn.
�� Hold on there,
love.� You don�t need to be reaching for
anything now.�
�� The voice is rough and
deep, definitely a man.� All I can tell
is that he is British, and not well-to-do.�
His brogue has that gruffness associated with the working class.� He wasn�t a Cockney;� but he could have been from anywhere.
�� I open my eyes, and
then shut them immediately.� The torch
is aimed directly at my face; he hides himself with light.� It is only then I am conscious of my naked
shoulder and arm protruding from under the covers, the top part of my breast
completely exposed.� I pull my arm down
slowly so not to give him cause to do anything rash, hiding my body with the
sheet.� The stranger chuckles.�
�� I am limp, completely
submissive.� He has won.� My mind races, thinking back on how he could
have come in.� The kitchen door.� My head reels.� I never forget to lock doors!� My adrenaline-addled memory must have been too high on the blood
of tonight to remember something important.�
I curse under my breath.� �Boris
sent you.�
�� It doesn�t matter who
sent me.� Your concern is that I�m here
now.�
�� So you might as well
get it over with and kill me, because if you lay one hand on me I�ll take some
of you with me to Hell,� I spit at him.�
�� He laughs.� �I have no intention of laying a hand on
you.� You�re going to do all the work
for me.�
�� I am stunned and
momentarily confused.� I don�t
understand what he is saying, but suddenly my awareness floods back to me and I
realize that I am, in fact, mad as hell.�
�I won�t do a goddamned thing!� I shout at him, once again reaching for
my gun.
�� He sighs.� I hear the click of a hammer being pulled
back, and I freeze.� �You�re serious,
aren�t you?� I ask.
�� Deadly serious.�
�� Time is passing
slow.� Every moment is drawn out into
hours as I search the darkness around him, trying to pick up some hint of who
he is or where he has come from.� The
air smells like the inside of some pint-soaked boozer, and underneath that I
can smell something spicy, like aftershave.�
I can smell fear, but it�s my fear this time.� I can�t remember the last time I�ve ever been so scared.� I glace towards my digital clock, but then
remember it is still lying broken on the floor.� I have no idea how many minutes have passed.� All I can be sure of is that I am lying
here, completely naked underneath my sheets, and there is a much bigger, much
better prepared stranger aiming some caliber of weapon at me.
�� The stranger
sighs.� �If you�re going to be
difficult, I�ll have to help you along with this.� Believe me, I don�t want to, but I answer to the man that pays.�� I am still.�
The stranger shifts, and all of a sudden the sheets are yanked from my
body, exposing my flesh to the light of his torch.� I struggle to cover myself, but it is of little use.� I feel the fear well up in my throat.
�� Please.�� My voice is thick with unshed tears.� �Please, don�t fuck with me.�
�� For the last time, I
have no intention of fucking with you in the least.� Now please quit your crying and get down to business before I
have to break my intentions and do things the old fashioned way.�� For the first time the stranger begins to show
signs of impatience.� I begin to fear
that he might carry out on his threat.
�� W-what is it that you
want me to do?�� My voice wavers and
against my better judgment I curl out of the ball I had folded myself into.
�� Spread them.�� He makes a motion with his torch, indicating
my legs.� I shake my head and for the
first time all night the tears spill out of my eyes.� The stranger moves to the side of my bed, pushing the torch so
close to my face that I have to close my eyes and turn my head.� The steel of his gun is cold as he presses
the muzzle against my pubic bone.�
�Spread them,� he repeats again in that deadly calm voice.
�� I sob unashamedly as I
spread my legs.� Every fiber in my being
tries to resist, but through sheer force of will I expose myself to this
unknown man, leaving my most intimate parts open to his exploration.� I hear his footsteps move off to the end of
the bed and the intense light of the torch is somewhat diminished.� I keep waiting for a calloused hand to take
advantage of the lewd invitation, but as the seconds tick by I realize that
moment is not coming.
�� I barely open my
eyes.� My vision is blurred by the tears
that stand in my eyes, but at least now I know this man is not going to rape
me.� At least I hope he will not rape
me.
�� Beautiful,� the
stranger says.� �Spread them wider.�
�� I oblige grudgingly,
even reaching my hand down between my legs to spread myself even more.� I hear the stranger groan as I slip one
finger inside of myself, biting my lip hard to keep from crying out in
shame.� �Is this what you wanted?� I
spit at him in a hoarse whisper.
�� I want you to make
yourself come.� That satisfies both ends
of the bargain without compromising anyone�s integrity.�� When he notices my hesitation he adds, �The
faster you get it finished, the faster I can leave you be.�
�� Fresh tears fall as I
realize I have no way out of this.� It�s
either shame myself in front of a stranger or have this man take advantage of
me in the worst way possible.� I stifle
my sobs as I run one finger along the slit of my vagina and then spread myself
open with the other hand.� I close my
eyes and begin to play my thumb over my clitoris.� Against my will, my body tingles with unshed sensation.� The stranger sighs.
�� I feel the orgasm
building in my groin and I rub myself harder, hoping to end this ordeal as soon
as possible.� I clamp my teeth together
in a grimace as I slip two fingers inside myself.� The wet sound fills my ears.
�Deeper,� the stranger whispers.� I oblige him, burying my fingers up to the
knuckles inside myself.� As much as my
mind abhors the situation, my body responds as it always does.� The intense feeling bursts loose and my cunt
clamps down on my fingers.� I groan
against my will as I surrender to the orgasm, and as I come I picture the stranger�s
head separated from body.� I swear I can
almost hear the swish of the axe, that I can smell the blood.� At last, I take my fingers out of my soaked
passage and lick them.� The taste of my
body mixes with the taste of my tears and I know that for the rest of my life I
will associate that taste with utter humiliation.
In the silence that follows, all that can be
heard is my heaving breath and the shuffling feet of the man who has forced his
way into my flat and bared witness to the degradation of my person.� My traitor of a body shudders one last time
and I clamp my legs tighter together.�
�You�ve got what you came for,� I whisper, absolutely shamed.� �Now go.�
�Much obliged, Missus,� says the
stranger.� He does not take the light
off of my face, but backs out of my bedroom and down the hall.� I hear the door to the kitchen open and
shut, and I am out of the bed in seconds, gun in hand.� I run to one of the windows facing the alley
and look outside.� I see nothing.� The view onto the front street provides
nothing either.� I lock the kitchen
door, making sure it is secured, and slump onto the cold wooden floor.�
I sob unashamedly, clutching my knees to my
chest to cover my nakedness.� Never in
my life have I felt so violated.�
Without even touching me, this man has stripped me bare and made me like
a child.� For the first time in many
years, I want my mother.� I force myself
to stand, but I cannot put my mind at ease; I walk aimlessly through the flat
and look for some sign of who he was.�
The logical part of my mind tells me that he was too smart to leave
anything that could identify him, but I look none the less.� I can swear I still smell the odor of sour
pints and smoke lingering in the air.
As I wander back into the kitchen I check the
clock by the stove.� 4:07 a.m.� Boris has had plenty of time to get my
message and find someone to take care of the situation.� There was any number of thugs on call,
especially if someone could pay like Boris could.� It did strike me as strange that this particular man had
not touched me.� Not one single time did
he lay his hand on my flesh.� Most men
would have taken any advantage they could have and to hell with the
consequences.� As awkward as it sounds,
maybe this man was a criminal with a conscience.� I had met a few men like that over the course of the years, but
they were rare.� Most geezers were more
than happy to take an easy piece of ass.�
But this man, this stranger had left me with a shred of my dignity in a
situation that could have become far worse.�
��
I return to my room and lay back down,
pulling the sheets over myself and closing my eyes.� I hope I will be able to drift off to sleep before the sun comes
up, but I know that scenario is highly unlikely.� My mind is on fire with rage and shame.� One day, I will find the man who made me feel this way and make
him pay for it.� Boris would pay as
well.� One day, I will rain destruction
upon all those who have wronged me, but today is not that day.� I brush my hand across the place where his
gun pressed into me and shudder.�
Thinking of that cold steel down by my nether regions sends a chill up
my spine, but in my heart-of-hearts, I find it strangely arousing.� Not the actions of tonight, but perhaps in a
more controlled and voluntary situation��
I push that thought right out of my head.� Who was to say that an act like that wouldn�t remind me of what
has taken place here tonight?� That
would be the perfect end-all: my laddie buck finding me sobbing with a gun in
my cunt.� That would lead to
questions.� I can�t help but crack a
smile as I picture it.
I continue to toss and turn as the night
progresses, and I am awake to see dawn break.�
I sit at my kitchen table, watching the sun rise over the metropolis of
London.� It fills my front windows with
warm light, which would normally gladden my soul.� Today, however, I am in a dark mood.� The events of last night weigh heavily on my conscience, and I
can�t help but feel like a goose for leaving the door unlocked.� My home no longer feels secure.� I will not move, however.� I shall remain here, as if to spit in the
face of my attacker, a way to say, �Piss off, you haven�t ruined me yet.�� The coffee is bitter in my mouth, and I pour
it into the sink.
I wonder what happened to those two toughs,
the ones that tried to assault me last night.�
I find it strangely ironic that in a much-hairier situation of attempted
rape I was on my game, whereas a peeping tom had brought me to my knees.� I get up from the table, trying to decide on
what to eat, but nothing sounds appetizing.�
I had tried some toast earlier, but it felt like dust in my mouth.� I decide to ring Pauline.
Her voice sounds groggy on the other end of
the line.� �What time is it, Seda?�
�It�s seven a.m., and I don�t want to be
alone.� Fancy early breakfast?�
�I�m not alone, Seda.� Wait, let me see�� Her voice trails off and I hear her talking to someone in the
background, a soft feminine voice answers her.�
�Hullo, you still there?�
�Yes,� I answer, swirling my empty coffee mug
around on the table.
�Give me thirty minutes to clear me head, and
see Veronica off, and I�ll meet you at the kebab place on the corner.� You�d better have a damn good reason for
calling me so early in the bloody morning.��
�� She rings off and I
return the phone to its cradle.�� I
begin pacing my flat again, the wood floors warm on my bare feet.� I pause by the door to my room, staring at
my disheveled bed and shattered clock.�
I enter tentatively and begin to pick up the pieces, not so much for
cleanliness as for something to do.� I
am filled with nervous energy and I can�t seem to sit still.� His scent still fills my nose.� If only I could have caught a glimpse of his
face!� I put the remains of the
shattered clock into the waste bin and decide to dress.
�� I select a pair of old
Levi�s and a black undershirt that clings to my breasts, understated but
provocative.� I have always enjoyed
quietly flaunting the assets the good Lord endowed me with; if he was against
it, then why did he put these melons on my chest?� In the bathroom I splash water on my face and marvel that nothing
of last night outwardly registers on my skin.�
I half expected to see a scarlet �whore� marking my forehead like some
kind of talisman.� I don�t bother with
makeup, at least not this early on a Sunday.�
Deeming myself presentable, I leave the flat out the back stairs, the
very stairs the stranger had come up last night.� I make sure the door is locked this time.
�� After popping into the
neighborhood store for a pack of cigarettes, I walk down to the kebab kiosk on
the corner, still closed at this early hour.�
I tap a smoke out of the pack and put it to my lips.� I fumble in my pocket for a lighter, and
find only a packet of matches.� I strike
one and cup my hand around the small flame, praying that an errant gust of air
does not put it out.� I light my fag and
puff greedily, realizing I have not had one for almost a day.� The sudden nicotine rush reels in my head,
but I soon acclimate and continue to draw on it.� I lean against the kebab shack, watching for my friend.
�� It is not long before
I see Pauline ambling along the curb, looking particularly hung over.� �Have a bit of a boozer last night?� I ask
her, smirking.
�� She shoots me a dirty
look and does not answer.� Instead, she
rubs her red-rimmed eyes and runs a hand across the stubble of her hair.� �So why did you feel the urge to call me so
damned early today, Seda?�
�� I sigh and drop the
cigarette to the ground, stepping on it to extinguish it.� �We might want to sit down for this.� Fancy a coffee?�
�� She nods, and we make
our way down the street to a local diner that�s known for greasy food and
strong coffee.� We sit at one of the
tables; Pauline orders fried eggs and tea, I simply take coffee.� With my head in my hands I begin the tale of
the two would-be toughs that tried to assault me last night.� When I finish that story, Pauline shrugs.
�� I�ve always known you
to take care of yourself, but that�s not all, is there?�
�� I shake my head no and
continue.� Throughout the retelling,
Pauline�s eyes grow more and more troubled and her mouth tightens to a thin
line.� Finally, she speaks.� �You told him off last night, didn�t you?�
�� You�re the one that
suggested it, in case you�ve forgotten.�
Maybe it was bravado or booze, but I did it, and this is where it�s
landed me.�� I put my clammy hands to my
cheeks and sigh.� �It looks like I�m
going to have to pay him his money after all.�
�� Pauline nods.� �That�s what it seems like.� As tough as it is, at least this stranger
didn�t rape you.��
�� It was like soul
rape, Pauline.� It was utterly humiliating.��
�� Now, Seda, I�m not
saying that it�s any less offensive or degrading.� What I am saying is that it could have been much, much
worse.�� She looks at me over the top of
her steaming teacup and cocks and eyebrow.�
�I�m just trying to put it into perspective.� He didn�t touch you at all?�
�� Except for a torch in
my face and a gun in my minge when I wouldn�t comply immediately, no.�
�� That gun part sounds
like something you might be into.�
�� I shoot her a look
meant to kill and she holds up her hands.�
�All right, Seda, I�m sorry.�
Probably wasn�t the best thing to say.�
�� We go quiet as a
server brings Pauline�s eggs.� At any
other time I would find the sight of them delicious, but this morning, fried
eggs swimming in grease threaten to turn my stomach.� I take another slug of coffee and set the mug down.
�� The worst thing about
it all,� I continue, �is that it seems like he didn�t want to be associated
with it.� He said something about
�answering to the man that pays.�� I
don�t really know how to take it, except that he was just following orders and
that he took no pleasure from it.�
�� Pauline snorts.� �Every man is going to take pleasure from a
spread cunt,� she says to me, her mouth full of eggs.
�� Except the poofters.�
�� Except the poofters.�
�� There is silence for a
while, the only sounds being the chatter of other patrons and Pauline�s
satisfied chewing.� �What I take from
this,� she finally says, �is not to cross Boris again.� Find some other way out of it.� I don�t know, move to Brighton.�� She shrugs and I can�t help but crack a
smile.� �Do you think you could
recognize him if you saw him again?�
�� I shake my head.� �I never saw his face, he had a torch in my
eyes the entire time.� I heard his voice
though, and I think I could recognize that.�
It was distinctive.�
�� My friend nods.� �So, keep your ears open.� In this underworld of ours, we�re bound to
run into him again, and pray to the gods above that we�re well prepared.�
- 6
- 7
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The Bullet and The Rose