She’s got me apologizing to her now. Going to have to watch that, it wasn’t something I had intended. Let it slip before I even thought about it. Wasn’t something I just said for the hell of it either. I really was sorry for having said what I said to her. Doesn’t mean I want to go around apologizing to her all the time.
She’s an escaped slave. Probably had even less say in being a slave than I did in being a prisoner. I don’t go around referring to myself as a prisoner forever, when I’ve escaped. Probably piss me off if someone kept referring to me as one. Probably wasn’t too nice to call her a whore either, or tell her I’d chain her to the floor, for that matter.
Curl up behind her, she fights it, at first. She laid there stiffly at first, before giving in to sleep. Nightmares. She has nightmares. Kick the dog off the bed. Doesn’t want to leave her side. I don’t want him here with her. I win.
Run my finger over the jagged tear in her lip, where she threw the bit when she first got here. She hasn’t said a word about it. It should hurt like hell, but she hasn’t said a word. I’ve been wondering about that. Lots of things that should have hurt like hell. Those mercs weren’t supposed to mark her up, but they weren’t exactly gentle with her. She had a few older marks on her as well. Hasn’t complained once. The only hurt she’s commented on is the things I’ve said to her.
Whimper in her sleep. The dog’s nose sticks up from the side of the bed. One pointed finger at him is enough to make him sink back to the floor. Look back at him, at her. It’s probably better to just let the dog comfort her. But I curl up around her anyways, brushing her hair out of the way, her nightmares easing, at my touch. She settles, at my hand on her belly. Pull her close, my nose in her neck, and fall asleep.
I’ve never slept well, so it’s not really a surprise that I wake up after a few hours. Getting out from under Riddick’s arm is another matter. He’s holding me tightly, his arm a steel bar around me, his hand resting between my breasts.
It’s an odd sensation. I’m not accustomed to comfort. I would never have expected to find comfort here. From dogs sent to hunt me. From a man who, for all intents and purposes, raped me, or damned close to it. It’s a crazy sort of laughter that grabs me, my hands jammed over my mouth to stifle it, before I lose control. I don’t want to wake Riddick, but he won’t let me go.
“You’re better then?”
Look over at him, my hand in my mouth, near hysteria. The fact that I don’t have to worry about waking him any more only makes it worse. He pulls me over onto my back, his hand lowering to stroke my belly. Leaning on his elbow, looking down at me. Hand reaches up, taking my hand out of my mouth. Lingering on my jaw. A laugh breaks loose, I try to hold it in, biting my lip. I don’t know if I’m better or not.
My lip is bleeding now, I must have opened it up again, trying to stifle my laughter. His lips capture mine, gently, far more gently than I would have thought possible.
“Does it hurt?”
His thumb traces the line of my bottom lip where it’s torn. “I wouldn’t know anymore.” A quizzical look at that, but why would he know. He thought I was being kept as a whore, afterall. Pleasure doesn’t do it for everyone. I’m lost, remembering, the notion of laughing long forgotten. I must have been quiet for a while.
“My owner was a sadist. I’ve grown accustomed to pain.” Answering a look…”No, it wasn’t a matter of choice, I was about six or seven when I was sold.”
“So you don’t feel any pain at all any more?”
His hand has dropped from my jaw, resting on my breast, I doubt he’s even aware of it. His voice is quiet, all the menace gone from it.
“I didn’t say that, Riddick. I’ve just grown accustomed to it. He would torture me until I screamed. Sometimes, if I could hold out long enough without screaming, he would get tired, bored, or annoyed. Then he would stop torturing me and just leave me chained to the floor in the dark. Didn’t want to risk damaging his ‘property’ .”
Six or seven. Fuck. To think I played with her, fucking with her head about the dark, about leaving her chained to the floor.
“Then the chips went in. I don’t know what they do exactly. I was eleven when they went in. Intensify pain. Even then, I shut everything out, refused to scream. I’ve been left in the dark since I was sixteen. So, no, I don’t know if it hurts. I’d guess it would have to, but I wouldn’t know anymore.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty three.”
She’s not laughing anymore, her head resting back, eyes closed, resigned. In the dark for seven years. Usually I have a smartass answer for just about anything. I don’t know what to say, where to begin, what to ask. She tries to get up. I don’t let her. Just curl back up with her, hold her tight.
© 18 Jan 2006, 19:10