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Part Two

(The next part is some time after the first part, I will try to link them together later, but the time gap is a bit big. This next bit gets a tad violent and there is some implied(?) noncon. And I'm not really sure how comfortable I am writing that, so I might just skip it (I skipped the graphic bits, you can thank me later). Anyways, enjoy.)

Her feet were rooted to the floor. Her entire being was frozen, so still her chest was barely moving with the weight of her breaths. The sting of the cold air flushed her face a soft pink, contrasting her pale skin.

She sat on her bed, the metal of the base digging into her tailbone, the mattress less than a centimetre thick. Her clothes hung on her skeletal body loosely, the once pristine white uniform stained a dull grey from wear.

Her heart raced, the beats making her whole body shudder. She glanced at the clock that hung above the entrance door.

Ten minutes.

Only ten minutes. She shut her eyes in hopes of regulating her breathing. Her hands began to shake. She couldn't move. She wasn't allowed to. She could do nothing but watch as the minutes ticked by, dreading when they struck twelve.

He would be here soon, She thought, the truth settling in her stomach. She wished more than anything to have the freedom to cry. To scream. To do anything.

But she couldn't. That was something she had learnt to accept.

A soft knock on the door wrenched her back to reality. Her breath stuttered, her gaze moving toward the shadow lining the window on the door. The door opened with its usual squeak.

Standing in the doorway was the familiar face of a man. He wore small glasses that framed his round face, his dishevelled brown hair messy from lack of care. His immaculate white coat hung over his slim frame, the friendly smile on his face sending a shiver down her spine. She had been told his name once, but it is lost in her mind. She referred to him as 'The Doctor'.

"Hello there, Twenty Eight." He said, his voice bright and cheerful. "How are you feeling today?"

It's the same question he asked every time he visited. She never answered him. Instead of waiting for a reply, The Doctor moved to shut the door then approached the girl. He gave her a reassuring smile as he knelt down to her eye level.

He pressed two fingers underneath her jaw, searching for her pulse. The Doctor tilted his head as he spoke to her, lessening the distance between them.

"Your heart rate and breathing is irregular," His words weren't directed to her, more notes to himself. His eyes raked over her body. "Your complexion has worsened since I saw you last." His tone was quiet, his breath ghosting over her throat. His eyes met hers. "Have you been eating properly?"

She didn't know how to reply, he was so close. Too close. She desperately needed space. Away from everything. Away from him. Her mind was clogged with fear, but she managed a stiff nod.

"That's good." The Doctor said, his hand brushing over her cheek. She wanted so badly to flinch backwards, but she couldn't.

"I would hate for anything to happen to you." He said, his voice a deep rumble.

He must be in a good mood, She thought, distantly. He is usually more direct than this.

His face remained in that sickly sweet grin, but his eyes betrayed his expression. They held the same cruelty as a wolf stalking its prey, a deep malicious hunger. One that couldn't be satisfied by anything.

Anything, but her.

She was his meal. Just as she was every time he needed an escape. He had told her that she was special. That he didn't do this to anyone else. That she had drawn him in, led him on. That if she didn't want it, she would say something.

That it was her own fault, really.

She could cope with this fate. If she blocked out everything, she could pretend it wasn't happening. Better to let him devour her than try to fight it. It wasn't like she could anyway, not with the pill in her system.

He knew that.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost forget about the teeth at her neck, about the hand that slid down her frail legs, about the fingers that undid the buttons on her blouse.

Almost.

***

When she next came to her senses, The Doctor was gone. She had been abandoned on her cold bed, the sheets strewn across the mattress. Her head pounded, legs shaking. They were peppered with bruises and marks, the continuous ache of her thighs making her wince. She could still smell him on her clothes, on her skin, in her mouth. Her skin felt as though it wasn't her own, like she had been tainted. Like she was unclean.

Her head felt clearer than usual, the fuzz that occupied her brain temporarily being lifted.

It must have worn off. She thought, sitting up carefully.

Every day for an hour or so, the pill wore off enough for her to control her body. It was hardly freedom, but it was something.

A horrible acidic taste flooded her mouth, her hands flying up to cover her gagging. With all the strength she had left, she forced herself to stand, moving towards the flimsy sliding door to her left.

She could hardly call it a bathroom. A lone toilet stood in the corner of the cupboard sized room, beside the sink and mirror. She didn't care how her feet scraped painfully against the tile floor, or how her nails bent at the force of her clutching the rim of the bowl.

The sounds of her retching filled her ears, the tears leaking from her eyes a steady stream down her face. Her body shuddered with the effort of every gasp, her stomach heaving and throbbing. She knelt on the floor longer than she should have, the vomiting sounds melting into broken sobs and strangled breaths. Her arms clawed at her sides, desperately trying to hold herself, to try ease the unbearable weight of pain.

She stayed like that, curled up on the cold floor hugging herself, cheeks wet and eyes raw. The minutes ticked by and she still didn't move, deathly still. When she finally collected enough motivation to stand, her legs nearly buckled at her weight. Her knees stung, but she managed to keep herself upright. As she staggered to the door, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

Her wide blue eyes were bloodshot, deep bags lining the edges. Her hair was a mess, limp and sad like the rest of her. She hadn't noticed the marks on her neck before, the teeth indents and the angry red blotches that spotted all over her throat. A new wave of nausea tightened around her like a vice. She reached up to brush over one of the bites, each tooth a visible notch on her skin.

Something deep inside the girl started to fester. At that moment, it began as a feeling. Not yet a thought, but something almost animalistic. Something that took hold of her heart and clamped its jaws on her mind. A hunger of her own.

A hunger for revenge.

Revenge against the atrocities she had been subjected to. Against the childhood that had been robbed from her.

As soon as the idea came to her, she refused to let it go. She clung to it as one would to a mother. Standing there, a weak little girl in front of a grimy mirror, she felt something she hadn't in years.

Hope.