A/N: The first scene is loosely based off of one tiny scene from the book The Taker, by Alma Katsu. But the rest of the story is by my original genius.

*Everyone should read this book, it's absolutely fantastic. Alma Katsu really knows how to write a tear jerker!*

Description: He had never seen her before… she was definitely from out of town. There was something about her that was different, and dangerous… and saddening. He wanted to peel back those layers, one by one, to find what burned beneath the surface… But will Ichigo be able to stand the fire?

Warning: This story is sad, and has many suggestive themes!

Pairing: Ichigo/Orihime, Orihime/Aizen

Disclaimer: I do own Bleach, but we're talking about two different brands here. I don't own The Taker, that wonderful book belongs to Alma!

Orihime's eyes rapidly scanned the map. She needed to leave and fast. He would surely know that she was gone by now.

"Excuse me, sir. Which train is leaving now?"

The station clerk looked up from his computer. "The train to Tokyo is leaving at 10:30 pm. The train to Kyoto is leaving around 12."

Tokyo was big. He'd never find her there. Right?

"Can I have one ticket to Tokyo, please?"

"One way or round trip?"

"One way, please."

The station clerk typed quickly on his keyboard. "That'll be two hundred yen, please."

Orihime slid the bill under the glass as he exchanged it for the ticket.

"Thank you…" Orihime sat on the bench by the counter. She pulled out her wallet and counted her money. There wasn't a lot, but just enough to get her the hell out of there.

Orihime snuggled down in her chair and closed her eyes. She took her first breath since leaving the god forsaken place.

She was going to be free. In about ten minutes, tops, she was going to be a free woman.

Then, suddenly, a thick, pale, firm hand came around her forearm and lifted her up. "Come with me, quietly. And try not to make a scene, woman."

Orihime whimpered at the tightness of his grip, but didn't say at word, for she knew better. Orihime was tugged out the station by Ulquiorra and thrown into the back of a car.

Orihime's heart raced. She banged on the door and window, and tried to leave the moving vehicle. "Please! Don't send me back there! Ple-"

"Orihime."

She slowly sat down in her seat correctly and turned to the voice.

The man unhurriedly slid off his gray jacket.

"Aizen..." her lips trembled as she watched him remove his solid gold ring. "I'm sor-"

She could barely get her words out before he struck her hard across the face.

"Where the hell did you think you were going?" Aizen climbed on top of her and slapped her again and again.

"I said I was sorry!" Orihime held her cheek as pain seared through the right side of her face.

"You're mine. Do you hear me?" He hit her again and again until her whole mouth tasted like the metallic and iron mixture of blood. The rage in his voice alone was too painful to hear. Hitting her only made it that much worse. "You'll never leave."

Aizen sat back and straightened out his bloodied shirt.

It felt like hours before she sat up too. The woman still held her face and felt her clear tears mingle with the red blood as they slid down her face.

"Take us home," Aizen called out to Ulquiorra.

Orihime bit her swollen lip to keep from whimpering. Aizen hated whimpering. The woman stole a quick peek at the man. His hands fisted and unfisted over and over again.

He was debating on whether to hit her again.

She knew this was only the beginning. She knew that there was more to be done for her insubordination when they got home.

Her stomach turned at the thought of that horrid dungeon. The terrible contraptions he placed her in because she was disobedient.

One week later.

The girl walked through the door and his eyes immediately followed her to her seat.

She set her bag down next to her and cracked open a book.

Ichigo sat up straighter in his seat and watched her intently.

She was beautiful. Her hair had a golden shimmer in the light that reflected through the diner's window. Each bob of her head gave her hair the similarities to a cascading waterfall.

The woman heavily flipped each page, at first, she looked sad, mad even. Then, ever so slowly, a smile on her face spread wider and wider as though something was funnier on each page.

"Ichigo," someone nudged him on the shoulder. "Ichigo, don't you agree?"

"Huh?" Ichigo looked over at his friends who were previously in a heated argument of something or another.

Ichigo's eyes traveled back to the mysterious beauty.

The woman placed a bookmark inside of the book and set it to the side. She then got up and went to the counter.

Ichigo stood up too.

He had to know who she was.

The man walked over to the counter at the exact same time she did.

The woman jumped at his presence. "Oh! Sorry. Were you here?"

"No... no." Ichigo was stunned. The woman was even more beautiful up close. "Uh, you can go first." Ichigo took a step back.

Her gray eyes widened.

The woman suddenly shook her head. "No... I must go." She shot to her table, grabbed her things, dropping something in her wake, and ran out of the diner just as quickly as she came in.

Ichigo crouched on the ground and picked up a book, her book. On the spine, it said The Taker in golden letters.

...

Orihime held her bag against her tightly. She hurriedly walked down the sidewalk, avoiding anyone and everyone's eyes.

She was tired and hungry. Everything still hurt, but not as much as before.

Orihime walked across the street and into a random diner. Inside the aroma's coffee and pastries surrounded her like a warm blanket.

Orihime sat down on a soft chair in the corner of the room.

It was a cute diner. Small but cozy. People were walking in empty-handed, and out with full bellies, so she guessed the food was good.

Orihime dug through her bag and found her book, The Taker. It was one of those books you could read over and over again, and get the same sad feelings deep down inside every time.

Orihime flipped through until she found her favorite part. It was the part where the protagonist was telling the audience about her love for Jonathan.

Orihime frowned. Love... She'd never understand it. It was such an overrated word. To Orihime, love didn't exist.

Orihime flipped another page and realization crept into her heart.

She was free…

She was free from the manacles of the so called "Love". She had gotten away from him, from everything.

Orihime's stomach grumbled. It was only a matter of time her appetite got the better of her.

The woman placed her bookmark in its rightful place and pushed it aside. Orihime stood and walked to the counter when someone bumped into her.

Orihime jumped. "Oh! Sorry. Were you here?"

Orihime looked him up and down. The first thing she noticed was his striking tangelo colored hair, similar to her own. Then she noticed his height. He was tall… very broad… and powerful. He could throw her over his shoulder in a hot second.

He was also handsome.

"No... no." The tall man stared for what seemed like forever. His amber eyes digging deep into hers. "Uh, you can go first." He took a step back, letting her go before him.

He kept staring at her, like he knew her, or like he wanted to know her.

No one was supposed to know her. No one was supposed to recognize or even memorize her face.

Orihime's heart sped up. She shook her head and looked all around her in panic.

"No... I must go."

Orihime ran to her table and gathered her things as fast as she could.

She didn't look back.

…

Aizen pumped himself into her once more, filled his warm fluid with her for the last time, and fell over on his side.

Sweat and blood matted both their bodies. Her blood.

Aizen's hair clung to his neck in shiny dark curls and Orihime could feel the breeze chill her wet body from the tiny beads of sweat.

Her arms were still strapped to the bed's headboard by leather harnesses. They were the least of his torture implements.

Aizen looped a strand of burnt-orange hair over his long fingers in one hand, and rubbed her slick, flat belly with the other. "I don't want to hurt you, Orihime."

Orihime struggled to catch her breath. He whole abdomen pang with abuse. "I won't... run away... again..."

"You said that last time." Aizen slithered back on top of her and grinded himself against her entrance. "How am I to know that you mean it?"

Orihime turned her face from his'. She couldn't stand to say the words while looking in his eyes. "Because... I love you..."

Aizen's white smiled appeared behind full, soft lips. It was so beautiful yet so wicked.

He bent down and whispered, "That's a good girl," and thrust himself inside.

…

Ichigo waited on the elevator to stop and walked down the empty hallway. He paused in front of his door and looked across the hall at the empty number fifteen apartment. A good friend of his' lived there once.

Ichigo opened his apartment door and immediately slouched down on his couch. The day had been tiring. Not physically, but mentally.

It was that girl... He'd known everyone in town since he was a child. There was no face he'd never seen.

But hers was new. Yet, it was so familiar... So beautiful... So delicate...

Ichigo sat up when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a simple text from his friend Rukia. He hadn't seen her in ages.

*Done stairs. Where r u?*

Ichigo quickly texted back, *B done n a sec,* and walked back out.

He made his way back down to the lobby, and as he was walking out, his hand pushing on the glass doors, he saw her again. He saw her long burnt-orange hair that stretched down her back.

It was the same girl. It had to be the same girl.

She was filling out a form and was handed keys. She then walked away, towards the elevator.

And as the doors were closing, she happened to catch his eye.

They stared at each other until the metal doors completely blocked their vision.

...

After wandering the city for about eight hours, Orihime decided that she needed a place to stay.

She refused to sleep in the park (although she had to once or twice before). And there weren't any hotels in walking distance.

Orihime couldn't even read her book until she dozed off because she left it at the diner like an idiot.

The woman roamed through the city until she found a small apartment building with a sign that stated: Now Renting.

Orihime pushed the glass doors open and walked through the lobby and to the front desk.

"Hi. I, um, would like to rent a room."

The receptionist looked up from her magazine. "Just fill out these forms for me."

Orihime found a pen in the bottom of her bag and scribbled in anything that seemed feasible.

Orihime was handed the keys and walked over to the elevator. The key had a number fifteen engraved on the surface.

Orihime tucked the key in her bag and looked up.

It was him.

It was the tall man from the diner.

He stood halfway out the glass doors, staring at her.

Orihime stared back as the thick elevator doors slammed shut.

...

Orihime slowly sat up, careful not to move too much, or make too much noise.

She painfully straddled the sleeping man under her. His face was peaceful and content.

What a monster.

Orihime reached for the letter opener and gripped it tight.

The woman raised the weapon high above his chest, ready to stab at any sign of movement.

You're not a killer.

"No, shut up. I can do this." She whispered angrily.

Don't be like him. You're better than this.

"It's the only way..."

Orihime lifted the letter opener higher and stabbed it's blade into the pillow inches from Aizen's face.

Her conscious was right. She wasn't a killer.

A thief, yes. A whore… maybe. But a killer would never be on the list.

The woman crawled off the bed and staggered to the ground. If she wanted to leave again, she had to move quickly.

Orihime threw on an over-sized shirt and slid up a pair of pants. She found a bag in his large closet and threw in some more random cloths and her favorite book.

The woman tiptoed past the bed. The letter opener reflected off the light from the moon. Impulsively, Orihime walked over and wrapped her hands around the handle. Orihime held her breath. Aizen took a deep breath and turned over.

Orihime exhaled and ripped the weapon from the pillow.

Just as quiet as the night, the woman slowly opened and closed the heavy bedroom doors.

So I know where I'm going with this story. But I'm a little on the edge about it. I'm so used to angst, but not all of the abusive stuff, so please bare with me here.

And if this was hard to read, think about how hard it was to write!

Rocka.

P.S. Sorry that it took me so long to put up another story, guys. Every time I write I always want to put my best work out there so it might take me a while to post until I think that it's readable.

P.P.S. For those who know of it, SD's sequel is coming along fine. Though I am having trouble with timing and there are a few family related situations going on at the moment. I can't promise anything right now, but I'll try not to disappoint.