Chapter Text
When he had rescued her from that godforsaken room, it had been her first time outside in months. She was heavily incapacitated and hardly remembered the drive to his apartment, but she recalled the clammy leather seats of his DeLorean and the warm April air through the cracked window. She remembered the stench of the old food left scattered around his apartment and the bloodstains on every piece of furniture.
It had been nearly three weeks since then. Most days, she cleaned up while he slept through the daylight. A feminine touch was added to the filthy apartment over the weeks. He would buy scented candles upon her request and she had crafted decorative paper flowers during unbearably boring days when television would not suffice.
He sat at the table where the origami flowers were placed in a vase atop a green tablecloth. He had noticed things looked tidier, but was hardly around or awake enough to see the full extent. She liked when he took time to eat, even if it meant cereal at 4pm. He sat with his arms wrapped around a bowl of Cheerios, cheek full of the crunchy cereal. She was at the sink washing dishes. She liked to keep busy. Idle hands made her think of everything before she had been literally carried to this new place.
“I, uh…” She paused and brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear with a soapy hand. “I went outside today.”
His loud crunching stopped. From behind her, she heard the sudden scraping of his chair against the kitchen floor and the sound of his spoon clinking against the bowl as it fell. When she turned to see why he had gotten up so quickly, her lips were met with a milky kiss. Wide-eyed, she stared at his bruised eyelids and smiled as he pulled away and continued munching his mouthful of Cheerios and returned to the table, silent and emotionless as always.
She blushed heavily, as she did any time he would even brush past her, but it was on rare occasion he showed emotion. She supposed he had to be calm and collected most of the time, to hold back everything that came with whatever he did after hearing those messages and jetting from the apartment into the night.
“Nothing major- just to get the mail,” she said, trying to hide her smile and shake the mystery surrounding this man. While she had only just stepped out onto the dirty sidewalk beyond the apartment foyer doors to approach the community mailbox, she felt extremely accomplished and was glad he shared this feeling with her.
“Only bills and junk mail, but a voicemail came while you were sleeping.” Just as quickly as he had leapt up to kiss her, he darted from the room towards the phone. He clicked on the answering machine and she listened from the sink. She overheard something about a burst pipe and flooding.
Some days, when she recalled the nonsensical messages, she would shut her eyes tight and pretend the blood must have come from clumsy mistakes during his odd jobs babysitting or exterminating- but she knew better. She tried her best not to imagine what he was really doing, but in the back of her mind, she seemed to remember bodies scattered about the villa that day, including the producer’s bloody face. That was all a drugged blur, but at night she would silently cry into her pillow about the things she thought she saw as he carried her away.
When he slumbered (usually from sunrise to the later afternoon), she would sometimes find his jacket discarded on the bathroom floor and would try her best to scrub the blood from it. It scared her- the disappearing in the night, the coming home drenched in bodily fluids- but she sensed in him a goodness she could not fear. Whatever it was he did, she not only knew better than to ask, but she trusted that his actions were justified. After all, she thought, he had saved her life, so something within him was gentle.
She found this kindness in his kisses, which were rare, but true. When he would press his lips to hers, there was the passion of a man who could not stand to lose her, but she had been through so much that he respected her boundaries and never took more time than she would graciously give.
The next morning, she woke, expecting to turn towards his bed beside her own and see him sprawled out on his stomach. He was missing. She slid out of bed and changed from the soft pajamas he had placed at the end of her bed one day. He never spoke, but his actions were quite thoughtful in regards to her needs. He had bought her a plastic hairbrush among many other things he imagined girls might like to have: ponytail holders, colorful socks, a pink toothbrush. She stepped into the hallway to make her way to the bathroom to brush away her bedhead. As she walked in, she saw him standing at the sink mirror, looking himself straight in the eye. In his hand was a throwing knife and he spun the handle around one finger without looking.
It was odd for him to be awake, much less watching himself in the mirror. Something important had happened, she could sense it. She wondered where the knife had come from. “Good morning,” she said hesitantly, quietly. He did not look over, but ceased the spinning and caught the knife up in his palm. She stepped behind him and looked into the mirror over his shoulder. His face was bleeding and bruised. She bent down under the sink to scoop up a tattered first aid kit. She had learned to use it when he would come home with deep gashes or slices. She became quite skilled with a needle, though he tended to rip out his stitches after she applied them in repulsion.
He put up his other hand to halt her. He wanted no treatment today. She set the box down, confused. She wondered what had happened that made him so out of sorts. She decided it was best to leave him to his thoughts. Backing out of the bathroom, she quietly shut the door.
She clicked on the light in the kitchen and crossed the room towards the toaster. She took two paper plates from a stack and placed two slices of white bread on one, and two slices in the toaster. She looked around bored as the bread cooked. Her eye was caught by something out the window on the street below. Where his DeLorean was normally parked, there was a blue motorcycle. She was about to call out to inquire about it, but she heard the shower start up and the bathroom door shut.
WORK IN PROGRESS