<span style="color: #FF80FF"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/>Lea relaxed some as Carlos put his hand on her cheek and the fear left her at his tender action. The ice soothed her some, as she was incredibly thirsty. This was the Carlos she knew, this was the Carlos she had worked with. The one who cared about her and her feelings. She felt guilty for how she had treated him—but only until he grabbed her by her hair, tipping her head back painfully enough for a whimper to escape and the fear to return full force.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“…something is wrong with you, something in your psyche, but it has nothing to do with that guy you nicked…They should have never allowed you to join the force, but you did…I have failed once to pull you out of your downward spiral, I make another try…this time you get the rough Delgado method…” </span><br/><br/>Lea listened to his words, her breathing heavy and fearful, green eyes watery and wide as they looked for some escape. Even though she could not move, she probed her mind for any way to tune him out. Any way to silence his threats and promises, any way to ignore the truths behind his words. He finally let go of her hair and her head dropped back on the pillow. Was he telling the truth? Would she really become addicted to him?<br/><br/>He had some nerve saying there was something wrong with her psyche when he was sitting there in his boxers calling himself the ‘Puppet Master.’ He was the one who had paralyzed a girl to abuse and use her. He didn’t care about her, he just cared about his sadistic pleasure and tried to fool himself into thinking he was helping her in some twisted way. She wasn’t the one who was crazy—he was.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Now back to your body, slut,”</span>he said as he began to circle her breasts with the ice cubes causing her nipples to harden painfully. He then grabbed her nipples, twisting and pulling until tears sprang from her eyes and a whimper escaped her. Why was he doing this? He gave his reasons, but she couldn’t believe them. Wouldn’t. No one ever wanted to help her and she did not fool herself into believing that this abuse was to cure her, to save her from herself. There was nothing wrong with her except a fucked up past and a track record of drug abuse.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF80FF">“F-fuck y-you!”</span>she managed to choke out with sheer will power. He could go fuck himself.