Stained

Train

***
Turns out, he literally meant he'd train me until I begged. He kept throwing the knives, even if I obeyed him. I had gotten cut in the leg twice, the arm three times, and once in the stomach, though, thank god, the knife only grazed it.
I finally obliged to his request,
"Please! Please, stop!" I yelled and fell down onto the concrete floor.
"Is that the best you can do?"
"At least I'm trying."
He threw another knife, aimed at my head. My head shot down, as it whizzed past. I lifted my head as it hit the floor right were my head was.
"Please, just let me go. I'm tired and injured. Please." I begged, practically spitting the words out.
"That's not very convincing. Here, let me help you."
In a second, he was over me and pressing the hilt of a knife into my stomach wound. I screamed and tried to push him off, but I was too weak.
"Please," I gasped, "please, stop! I'll do anything!"
He lessened the pressure.
"Anything?"
"Anything." I whispered.
"Okay." He took the knife away, put it in his pocket, and pulled me up by my collar.
He dragged me after him out the door.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"How can you—Nevermind."
I followed him out of the hallway, and down the stairs again, to a bathroom.
"What?-"
"Take a shower. You'll get regular showers if you obey me."
I stared at him for a second then rushed in, shut the door behind me, and stripped down.
I immediately turned the water on and jumped in. The hot water soothed my aching muscles and cuts.
There was shampoo, conditioner, razors, everything I needed.
I shaved my tiny stubble (I never grew hair that fast), washed my hair, and scrubbed my skin. Of course, being careful of the still-bleeding wounds. As I washed up, I hummed along to a happy tune, ecstatic that I could finally shower..
When I was done, I stepped out, and checked my face in the mirror. My eyes were sunken a bit, with small, dark circles under them, other than that and a few cuts and bruises, I looked fine.
I sighed and watched the mirror fog up from my breath. Then, I noticed a figure in the mirror. A shadowy, dark figure.
I turned and he was there.
"What are you doing in here?!" I grabbed the towel I had wrapped around myself and pulled it higher to cover my boobs.
He chuckled and walked out of the shadowy corner.
"What does it look like? Watching you shower."
"Ugh! You sick bastard!" I grabbed a hairbrush and threw it at him. He easily caught it and set it down next to the bath.
Then he walked over to me. I watched as he parted the towel a bit. I reached down to cover my privates, as he traced the mark again.
"Good, still there." The he left me there, shivering from my wet body and his cold temperature.
Whenever he entered a room, the temperature dropped a few degrees.
So, when I finished, I walked to the door and was going to open it when it swung open and he yanked me out.
"Hey!"
"Oh, stop being such a drama queen."
"I am not a drama queen!"
He fixed me with a look that said, Oh, really?
I scoffed.
"Follow me. I've got clothes for you."
I followed him back to my room, where he opened the closet and picked out a sweater and skinny jeans.
I sighed as I motioned for him to turn around, thinking he'd scoff and tell me to just change. But, he didn't. He turned and I got dressed quickly.
"Okay, done."
He turned around, and swore.
"What?"
"Your wounds need to be treated."
"Fuck me."
"Oh, I would."
I looked at him and his stupid smirk and sneered.
"Well, let's get a move on."
He took me to a treating room, and lay me on a table. He lifted my shirt, I pushed it down, he trapped my arm and lifted it up again. I tried to push it down with my other arm, but he trapped that one, too. We both sat there, him holding my arms, me glaring at him. He put my arms in two restraints and moved back to my stomach. As he lifted the shirt, he sucked in a breath.
"Wow. That's not pretty."
I tried to look at the wound, but he pushed my head down. I blew out some air. Then, winced as he put some rubbing alcohol on it.
He stuck his tongue out as he worked. I snickered, he looked up, I went quiet, he looked down, and I repeated this about two more time before he looked up and asked,
"What is so funny?"
"Nothing. Just nothing."
"No, really," he set down the alcohol. "I'd like to know."
"Its noth-"
"Tell me."
I hesitated, then mumbled, "You stick your tongue out when you concentrate."
"And that's funny?"
"It was..."
"We'll see what's funny when you're running from me later."
"That's not fair!"
"Neither is life. Get over it."
I growled and let him do his work. He rubbed the alcohol on each cut, numbed the soon-to-be stitched up the ones that were too deep to heal on their own.
"There. Done."
I sat up, and gently touched the neatly done stitches.
"What, not even a thank you?'
"No. After what you've put me through, I think you don't deserve a thank you."
He laughed humorlessly.
"Then get off my table."
I scoffed and slid off the table. I waited for him to clean up then followed him up to my room.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow, more training."
I groaned but obeyed him. He clapped, saying
"Wow. You learn fast."
"Shut up." I said and walked over to the bed. I plopped down and closed my eyes. When the door didn't close, I opened an eye to stare at him.
"Are you going to close that anytime soon?"
"I was waiting for you to apologize."
"For what? You know what, nevermind. I'm sorry."
He sighed. "You're no fun when you're tired. Go to sleep."
"I don't need you to tell me that. I'm tired enough."
"There's the sass I like."
He walked out and closed the door. I fell asleep a few minutes later.
***