Bjayzl
Bjayzl
Raffi breathed.
In, out, in, out, each breath harsh and audible in the dark room.
Each restless breath held within it a burden of panic, alarm and sheer anguish, as all emotions which had taken over Raffi occurred at once.
Seven remained knelt behind Raffi, holding her firm where she sat on the edge of the bed entirely dependant on Seven’s safekeeping.
With a tight grip she maintained the hold of her right arm around Raffi, supporting both the body and mind she had so selflessly surrendered to Seven just minutes earlier.
Seven’s still eyes remained fixed on the entry point in Raffi’s neck where her Borg tubules remained sharply penetrating her neural pathways.
While unmoving and concentrating, Seven held a full awareness of precisely which transferred memories had just hit her lover.... The terror of childhood, assimilation, Borg, freedom, Voyager, learning to trust....
“Shhhh Raff... I’ve got you... It’s okay... You’re safe...”.
Seven adjusted her grip on Raffi, feeling her cherished curls and pulling herself close enough to almost consider her position an embrace as she readied Raffi for the next flow of memories... a time Seven herself looked back on with shame.
Bjayzl.
*******
Lies, all lies.
You took perverse pleasure in luring a naive young woman firmly into your grasp.
A young woman who had not yet learned to understand the concepts of lies or deception.
A young woman who’s recent years had been all about learning to trust, to understand friendship.
A young woman who had not yet learned that some individuals did not necessarily mean what they say.
You silently planted thoughts and manipulated emotion with every glance of those dark Betazoid eyes.
Even in sleep you sent me dreams of yourself, made me want, made me desire.
You planted your deception like seeds.
You crept your way closer and closer to me, masking your intentions with lies and compliments.
You manipulated me into trusting you with expert precision.
You began every evening with the offer of a strong drink.
You said it was to relax me, that I was often tense.
Of course I tasted the chemical laced within the liquid but you gave reassurance.
You claimed that this was normal, that everyone did it.
I knew no different than to simply accept your word and comply.
You touched me gently and planted more thoughts.
It was pleasurable.
In turn I touched you and you found pleasure.
You were inviting, confident and perhaps more than a little intoxicating.
These nights were something new, warm, daring, lustful...
You differed greatly from the gentleness of Chakotay’s soft touch.
Why did I not see through it?
See through the Betazoid web you had spun around me!
Once more you laced my drink at night and I lay at your mercy again.
Pain.
Pain, again.
Half intoxicated I remember you sat astride me holding a Ranger scanning device, you were probing my implants - you hurt me.
You claimed it was mere curiosity, that I was in your words “exotic”.
You were curious about me.
You wanted to know more.
More Betazoid lies.
You asked many questions.
I foolishly answered.
How much Borg remained within me?
You laced the question with kisses.
Night after night you explored my body.
You stopped at each implant to ask it’s purpose.
You gave immense pleasure as a reward for each answer, putting me at ease.
Would I choose to have my implants removed, you asked.
I told you I could not, that an ex-Borg stripped of implants would die.
“Oh...”, you merely said.
You continued to caress my body, our intimacy now a regular release from the daily struggles and hard graft of the Fenris Rangers.
Some days you even patched up wounds I acquired in our work, always ensuring my implants were safe and undamaged.
I mistook this for caring.
You reached in with your Betazoid senses relaxing my mind, my body, my soul.
You whispered trust into my mind, you lowered my guard and my defences.
You were slow, lacing your manipulations like a poison.
We often lay together facing one another afterwards and your fingers trace the implant above my eye.
You’re not looking at me though, you’re looking at my implant with your tired eyes.
You’re feeling it as if to establish how it is fixed to me, I know, I can feel it.
Your other hand feels my spine, your fingers probing to understand precisely where and how tritanium erupts through flesh.
Perhaps this is simply your ‘thing’, perhaps Borg augmentation excites you?
Perhaps your interest and fascination with my implants is innocent after all?
Or do you see latinum where others see tritanium?
Were there more like me? You asked with intimate touches.
I answered with the truthfulness of a naive fool.
Once more you gave pleasure as reward and to make up for your probing.
I traced my fingers down your warm body.
You did the same in reciprocation.
Why did I not see the truth then?
Because “Annika” was blinded by the deception of your every touch.
And now with a smile so sweet you ask one more thing of me...
You say you have to leave soon, but you will come back for me.
You have to check on some arrangements because there is a place you want to take me. A place you have prepared in the Hypatia system. A place you cannot wait for me to see.
But before all of this, you would like me to introduce you to Icheb...
I complied.
I complied and now Icheb is dead.
Annika was a fool.
Annika is dead to me now.
All that remains is Seven.