CROSS

Seven

Wide blue eyes fly open staring up at a brick ceiling where a single light bulb hangs from a wire. The floor is cold and the smell of dampness and mould makes her nose itch. Her head hammers with a piercing pain like someone had hit her over the head with a pan.

A horrible sense of Deja vu hits her like crashing waves to a shoreline. Nauseating. She's been here before but the place isn't familiar. It's smaller, the size of a family bathroom. There's perhaps enough space to fit a single bed and leave enough room for her to pace back and forth.

A metal sink and matching toilet seat stands in one corner of the room. Is this a prison?

The door, a thick metal one, scratches open letting in a massive shadow in the shape of Roman Cross. When the dim light shines on his face, her heart races pumping fear and anxiety into her blood stream.

"You're up."

His flat tone ricochets off the walls - it's a deep grunting sound; one that suits the face of a man like him. He's wearing a tight short sleeve army green shirt that clings to his body. It shows off his thick arms that bulge with eye catching veins. His pectoral muscles are enormous, his shoulders and triceps - the size of mountains.

When their gaze moulds into each other, the sound of her rapid heart beats fills her ears. It is no longer nervousness or fear she feels when the memories of the past few days resurfaces. Anger, she's so fucking angry that she pushes off the ground and darts at him.

Winter leaps up, barring her teeth and nails. She flings her arms at his face, wanting to claw out his eyes for what he did.

He killed them; her entire family gone and she has no idea why. Why did they die?

"Fuck you!" She screams out in frustration. Her fists pound against his chest again and again until her wrist bone aches. She punches, kicks and frays out her arms and legs. "Fuck you, fuck you! I hate you!"

Roman grabs bother her wrist in on hand, immobilising her movements. With ease, he throws against the concrete walls and roars, "Enough!"

His hazel eyes flashes in annoyance and his nostrils flare in anger. Roman did not expect her to attack him especially not in her state. She hadn't had food and water in days. Taking in her limb figure sliding to the floor, she's starving and extremely dehydrated. All the screaming must be like sandpaper rubbing against the insides of her throat.

Her lips are chapped, her skin pale and she's filthy. There's dried blood covering her legs mixed with the smell of his cum. She's soiled herself, he notices because he could smell the urine on her.

"You smell foul." He comments.

"Fuck you." Winter responses weakly . It's all she could offer; the only two words she could think of. Her mind is weak, switched off even - locked away somewhere safe.

She peers at him from between her matted strands of hair. He's looking at her with repulsion before crouching in front of her.

"Let's clean you up."

Thick fingers wraps around her hair. Roman tugs her onto her feet and drags out of the cell. He leads her down a dimly lit hallway. Her legs are weak, unable to hold up her weight so she could barely keep up with his long strides. Her eyes are so exhausted she couldn't even make out where they were going.

Everything is blur until she feels his hand reaching for the hem of Gregory's sweatshirt. His skin brushes against her thighs and she instantly recoils in fright. Adrenaline shoots up her spine making her become hyper aware of her surroundings and what this man standing before her is capable of.