The Gray Man [sixxreader]

~Chapter Five~

You were at the diner with Lloyd, staring into his eyes as he talked about his dreams. 

"I wanna fight," he told you.

"Fight for what?"

"Somebody I love," and he looked at you as if you were going to be that person. 

You smiled bashfully and looked down to your plate.

"Your hair is still wet, princess."

"Well we should go dry it then shouldn't we?"

He smiled knowingly at you. "Don't have to ask me twice."

You took him to your dorm that night where he taught you more than one feeling.

The cold feeling lasted a few hours, and the pain in the side of your head still mercilessly throbbed.

You didn't know how long you'd been there, but it had been long enough for the blood to dry and brown along your skin.

Any feeling you had slowly faded away, other than anxiety for Claire.

After what you guessed was a day, Lloyd bounced his way merrily through the door, carrying a tray.

He pulled up a small table, the metal legs screeching against the floor.

The tray clattered noisily onto the surface of the table. On half of it was some food and a cup of water, the other was a pair of bloodied pliers.

"Well, eat up princess, I brought it here for you," Lloyd said happily. 

Humiliation bit its way up your throat and the bonds on your wrists suddenly felt heavier. 

"Oh, right," he drawled out. "I almost forgot."

Lloyd leaned forward and undid the ties on your wrists, but you didn't move your hands from where they were gripping the arm of the chair. 

He waited a moment, before he got up and started walking away with the tray.

He almost made it to the door before you interrupted. "Wait," you said quietly.

He turned his head and cocked it to the side, waiting.

"Come back."

"Come back, what?"

You forced the bile back down your throat. "Come back, please."

"Aww, see? I knew we had manners."

You didn't respond, holding in your retorts. 

He once again walked toward you and placed the tray back on the table. 

The pliers were too close to your food for comfort. "Whose blood?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied curtly. 

"Is it Claire's?" You didn't want to know. But you had to.

"No."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why don't you graciously take what I've given you and when you're done, I'll tell you whose blood it is?"

You glanced at him once, before slowly picking up the sandwich from the plate. 

He watched you with a smile like the two of you were on a date, watched you like the day you met. 

It took fifteen minutes for you to finish the food, your stomach having shrunk from being tied up and dormant for so long. 

"You must have to go to the bathroom, yeah?" Every word he spoke was laced with mockery. 

You leaned in close to his face. "Whose. Blood?"