I had lost Ben.

    The best relationship I was ever going to have with one of the sweetest, most caring man I had ever met in my *life*, and I had to run away from it.

    I couldn't love him.

    I was nothing but a heartbreaker.

    Sleep with them, lead them on, you cunning little whore.

    There's no room in my heart. No room for anyone but Reeve.

    No more breaking hearts.

    I would always be alone.

    I felt as though I had been rejected, spat out at the bottom of the human race.

    I had hurt enough people. And I would hurt no more.

    Now I would only hurt myself. I wouldn't get attached. I wouldn't let myself be loved.

    And I could only think of one way to do that.

    I let whoever wanted to fuck me--fuck me.

    I was on my second fuck of the day.

    I was up against the wall, gasping, the hands at my crotch arousing me further. The guy was handsome, and he worked in marketing. He was good with his hands and good with his lips, parting the buttons of my shirt.

    "God..." he whispered, running his hands over my chest. "You're so fucking hot."

    I was moaning, tossing my head back as he undid my pants.

    My soon to be lover cleared his desk with one sweep of his arm, and I found myself on my back, pants around my ankles, and shirt falling open. "Holy shit," he commented, running a finger over the length of my erection, causing me to arch my back and cry out softly. "God, look at this. You really are damn well perfect." He reached for his own pants, working them off. "So I'm gonna find out anyway." He dug some lubricant from his desk. This one prepared me first, some did and some didn't, but he stretched me with his fingers, making me mewl and pant with need.

    "Oh, please!" I gasped. "Oh god! Do it now!"

    "Oh, you want it now?" He pressed his erection to my entrance and I trembled in anticipation.

    "Oh god! Fuck me! Please!" I cried, trying to thrust my hips up, but he held me down.

    "I think I like hearing you beg, you pretty little slut."

    Pretty little slut. That name suited me.

    He fucked me-- and fucked me hard. He was pounding into me, moaning into my ear. I was crying out, loving the feeling of being used, and hating it all the same.

    Damn you, Ben. Damn you for being so damn great. Damn me for loving Reeve so damn much.

    "Oh--! Harder!" I cried.

    "Ugh...you're so god damn tight," he whispered harshly in my ear. "You whore--beg some more and I'll fuck you harder."

    "Ugh...harder!! Harder!" I begged, yielding to him.

    And he met my request, slamming into me nearly hard enough to hurt.

    He came before I did, but I felt next to nothing--he was wearing a condom. But it didn't take long before I arched my back and came--hard.

    He pulled out, threw me a tissue and kept one for himself, wiping the traces of my semen that had gotten on him off.

    I cleaned myself off, then stood, redressing. "Good?" I asked.

    "Hells yes," he answered, buttoning up his  shirt. "That's gotta be the best fuck I ever had."

    And that's all I had been--ever would be--a good fuck.

    I felt nothing for him.

    He felt nothing for me.

    I felt empty.

    But that's the way it had to be.

    "Was it good for you?"

    I couldn't lie. "Oh yes. Very good."

    He checked his watch. "Just in time--break's over."

    "Ah...back to work."

    "If you're ever in the mood, my door is *always* open. At least, for you it is."

    I couldn't help but smile, a little. I was such a good whore, wasn't I? "I'm sure I'll see you again."

    And then I left.

    I passed Reeve in the hallway on my way back to my office. He tried to reach me, tried calling my name, but I didn't listen. It was if he wasn't even there.

    Reeve. It's not your fault. It's my fault. My fault for falling for you.

    My office wasn't empty. I stepped inside, shut the door and found a sexy associate from human resources sitting on the edge of my desk. He was extremely good looking--dark hair, bright blue eyes, plus a body that indicated he spent quite a bit of time in the company gym. He had fucked me two days ago, and now he was back.

    I felt needed.

    "I've been waiting for you," he said.

    I was still on break. I could do this easy, despite the fact that I had just had sex not five minutes ago. Just the way he was sitting on my des, loosening his tie....he was so sexy. I was all ready getting aroused, especially when I remembered how good it had been. "Oh?" I replied lightly, locking the door.

    "Oh, yes." He got up, shed his tie, and headed over to me, starting to unbutton his shirt. "All I can think about it *you* and that beautiful naked body writhing in pleasure beneath me." His shirt parted halfway, he paused to run a single finger down my chest.

    I had to have him.

    "Take me." It was a command, a growl almost, and within a few moments, my jacket and tie were at my feet, and I was lifting my button down shirt over my head, having no time to waste.

    He pressed his bare chest to mine, and I gasped at the contact as he backed me against the wall, starting to kiss me deeply.

    I moaned, accepting his kiss eagerly and returning it.

    Our lips parted, gently almost, and he started whispering in my ear, unbuttoning my pants and slipping his hand inside. "I can get so hard, just thinking about you."

    I moaned, lightly.

    "And I want to bury myself in that pretty little ass of yours and fuck you till you scream."

    I moaned again, louder. And I knew he had more planned than giving me a hand job. This guy loved his dirty talking, and although I was unused to it, I found it very welcome. "Oh... Oh..." I gasped, feeling close to peak. "Oh, take me. I need to feel your cock inside me."

    He grinned. "Your wish is my command."

    Then I was facing the wall, my pants and underwear around my ankles. His fingers were probing my entrance, and my moans became consistent and consecutive. I couldn't stop, couldn't wait. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted to be needed---now.

    Then he sank into me, and I cried out, still sore from before. He reached for my shaft, taking it in his hand and stroking it. I moaned and gasped at the familiar pleasure coursing through my veins.

    "This feels good, doesn't it?" He slowed his thrusts.

    "Y-yes," I forced out, swearing dripping down my face. "H-harder!"

    "Harder?" He moved a little faster. "You like my cock inside you?"

    "Y-yes!" I gasped, throwing my head back. "Oh *god*, yes! Harder!"

    And he thrusted harder. "Ugh... Oh god yes, god you feel good!"

    "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"

    "Oh god you're tight..."

    And then he came. I could tell by the way he was moaning. I came soon after, arching my back, and dripping all over his hand.

    He left me panting against the wall after he pulled out to clean himself off. I shut my eyes, panting.

    "Damn, that was good."

    "Yes, it was," I sighed, still trying to catch my breath.

    "You're a good fuck."

    I know I am.

    Later I was alone in the shower, after I had spent some time sweating at the gym. I took some time away to myself, time I really needed. And now there I was, in a group shower, alone, putting on some bath gel as my mind wandered.

    It wandered to the one thing it shouldn't.

    Reeve.

    I shut my eyes as I leaned against the wall, stroking my chest, unconsciously stroking my own nipples. I imagined Reeve's hand touching me instead of my own. I so longed for him to touch me so intimately.

    The more I touched myself, the more images of Reeve flashed through my mind. And his eyes were meeting mine and he was touching me, arousing me to madness.

    My hand slipped over my water coated stomach to my shaft. I took it in my hand and stroked myself, moaning softly.

    It wasn't my hand anymore.

    I moaned louder as I stroked faster. I wasn't even aware of my surroundings anymore. All I could think of was Reeve, Reeve, Reeve. Reeve's hands on me, Reeve pressing a kiss to my lips, Reeve stroking my shaft. I mewled almost under my breath as I fondled my balls, continuing to jerk off. I shouldn't have needed to jerk off---I was having so much sex, but something was missing all the same--what I really wanted. What I had always wanted.

    But I couldn't have it.

    I didn't deserve it.

    As I stroked faster, tugging, I bent my head back, moaning now even louder than before. I wanted Reeve so badly. I wanted him to kiss me, to touch me, to hold me. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to know what that was like.

    I squeezed some bath gel onto my fingers, needing more than simple masturbation. I reached back, seeking out and probing my own entrance. I moaned softly, still stroking my shaft as I started to finger myself.  I didn't do this often, but I couldn't stop. Not now.

    Crying out softly as my own finger entered me, I arched my back and added another. I couldn't help but sigh Reeve's name as I added a third. A shuddered breath left me, and I started to thrust, slipping the fingers in and out of my body, my other hand stroking my shaft punishingly. I hit my prostate and hit it again and again, crying out as I saw only Reeve. Then I came with a cry of his name, the water washing my seed down the drain.

    My orgasm shook me and I leaned against the wall, trembling and panting, my eyes still tightly shut.

    It was a few minutes before I opened my eyes again.

    I felt defeated.

    I was alone.

    I washed thoroughly every inch of my body, trying to rid myself of the shame I felt. But I didn't felt clean. How could I? I was a whore. The one everyone wanted---but who still was worthless.

    Sometimes life seemed so futile.

    I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home and curl up in my covers with someone to hold--with someone who would hold me..

    But that just wasn't possible.

    I dressed myself up, brushed my hair. I stared at my reflection.

    But I didn't see much.

    Then I checked the time. I had five minutes before I had to go outside and meet my next fuck.

    Part of me just did not want to go.

    But another part of me need to go. *Had* to go.

    I turned away from the mirror, and went.

    He really was disgusting.

    Hojo's lips curled up in a pleased smile as he looked me over with a satisfied nod.

    "It really isn't fair that you should be so beautiful, Tseng. Thoughts of you occupy far too much of my time." He kissed my hand drew me closer to him, closer to the bed. I tried not to grimace.

    He had raped me before.

    And here I was, in this room, willing.

    How much did I hate myself?

    An arm slinked around my waist and he pulled his hips against mine. He was already hard, and I gasped at the contact. With a laugh of amusement, he stroked my cheek. "I think you underestimate just what you do to me, my dear." His nails grazed my flesh and I winced away slightly. "You're beautiful."

    I'm nothing.

    He practically tore my clothes from my body before he pressed me against the mattress, my chest against the sheets. He straddled me from behind, pressing wet kisses my skin.

    I just laid there.

    I was tainted.

    No one could love me now. I was a whore.

    He bit me, and I cried out. It was a pain I didn't want, but a pain I deserved.

    I put up no resistance.

    I didn't deserve to.

    I let him fuck me.

    And god it hurt. He hurt me deeply. He never seemed to bother with any lubrication. He didn't care.

    He didn't care about me.

    Then again, neither did I.

    To him, I was just a piece of ass.

    Oh, how perfect.

    He pushed harder. Ripping. Tearing. I bit my lip and held the sheets in my fisted hands. The pleasure was mixed in there...somewhere... It was mixed in deep so I couldn't find it.

    Maybe I didn't deserve it.

    Why can't I have you, Reeve? Why can't you love me? Why do I have to love you? Why? Why? Why?!

    Something whispered in my ear. Maybe it was Hojo. Maybe it wasn't. But I heard it.

    "You pretty little whore. Take it any way you can get it. You're not worth a cent. You're not even worth caring about. You don't even deserve pleasure. This is what it is like to be completely worthless. This is what it's like to be you."

    A tear escaped my eye.

    I was crying.

    We spoke no words afterwards, I left, the pain still lingering inside of me.

    I wrapped my arms around  myself as I walked away, walked home to my empty bed, where there was no one to hold me, and no one to love me.

    Ben used to do that for me.

    But I wasn't worthy of him anymore.

    I was barely worth what I had now.

    I deserved to feel empty.

    That's what I made others feel.

    And I knew that pain.

    I knew how it hurt, and how it made you want to cry, and how it made you feel like no one would ever *ever* love you back.

    Reeve would never love me back.

    And I don't think I would ever be able to truly accept that.

    My apartment was as empty as my soul was.

    I showered again, but had no thoughts. I only stood under the the pounding spray, washing the last traces of his body from mine.

    I still didn't feel clean enough.

    My bed felt foreign to me. I never spent the night with anyone--never--but my hours beneath the comforting blankets were few, and not very restful.

    From across the room I could see the blinking red light of my answering machine slowly torturing me. I had a message.

    It was probably from Reeve.

    I turned away, onto my stomach.

    I couldn't fall asleep.

    I wondered a little what he would say this time.

    Would he beg me? Plead with me? Would he sound angry? Sad? Would he cry?

    I wasn't worth crying over.

    Even my own tears felt fake.

    The clock flipped to one A.M. From my position I could glance out the window, catching sight of the yellowed moon hovering in the sky, and spying on all below. I saw a few stars sprinkled around it, and I wondered briefly if heaven existed.

    If it did, was Bryatt there? Could he look down at me?

    If he was, he was hating me now, I knew it.

    And what about my parents? And my siblings?

    I buried my face in the pillow.

    And for a long time, I just lay there, feeling the rise and fall of my own breath, and thinking that tomorrow, I would get up and go to work.

    People would give me weird looks and stare at me beyond my back.

    They would talk about me behind my back.

    I wasn't sure if I even cared. I couldn't afford to care.

    I couldn't afford to stop.

    Without it... I was more unwanted.

    I thought about answering machine again...

    ...I thought about Reeve's voice on it....

    ...Begging me to stop...

    ...Begging me to be the person he knew again....

    But I was the person he knew.

    He just... didn't understand.

    He didn't understand what it felt like to be me.

    ....I wish I didn't either.

    Tomorrow I was going back to work.

    And I would walk past all their staring eyes.

    And I would do it again.

    It was the only thing I knew how to.

    Be a torn up fuck toy who meant nothing to no one.

    No one.