I had to think about that one. Finally I shrugged and gave him the best answer I could come up with. "I don't care enough about dying to face going home without the money. I don't know what I want. What difference does it make anyway?" Instead of answering me (I hadn't expected him to) he nodded. "Take off your shirt." I did. "Now. What did Grandaddy call you?" I turned my face away. This one hurt. How did they always find the places that still hurt? There was genuine glee in his voice when he said, "Come now, little Raven, surely you've been a whore long enough to know all men are beasts. If you don't give me your pain willingly, I'll take it from you." I sighed again, and closed my eyes. He was right. I'd been a whore in one way or another all my life, and I certainly knew what beasts men could be. I gave him my pain willingly. "He called me cunt." He cackled with delight. "And that hurts you still doesn't it?" "Yes." "Take off your skirt." I stood before him in my bra and boots. With complete knowledge of what I was doing I took the knife out of my boot and handed it to him. Willingly I had given him all the weapons with which to destroy me.
