Gabriel

44. The Woman

Sorry for the short chapter, but I just wanted to give you something <3

Wonderful cover change thanks to @0420emilie !

UNEDITED

     _

     MAEVE

     This is the coldest I have ever been in my life. My lips feel blue and my hands would probably have turned completely purple by now if I hadn't had the sense to put them close to my core to keep them warm. And the pain, oh god, the pain. I hurt everywhere. Stuck, quaking and shivering on this ancient, creaking bed the hurting in my stomach and face won't go away. My breasts ache terribly as well, and I'm sure bruises in the shapes fingerprints have formed by now.

     After they left with a photo of me and something engraved into my abdomen in sharpie, it was like nothing ever existed. As the sun set and the chill completely set in, the cold replaced any previous thoughts. In the process of ripping off my clothes, they had reduced my shirt, bra, and sweater to ribbons, but luckily, my thin coat had stayed intact, allowing me a bit of warmth as I curled up in the corner. It wasn't the kind that zipped up thought, so unless I held it tightly shut, I was left exposed.

     The concrete seemed to amplify the temperature and although I couldn't see much, I could feel the frigid air leaving and entering my lungs. I wanted to forget the way they had looked at me, the way that he touched my and stolen any hope I had left. I just wanted to remember the shape of Gabriel's face, the shade of his eyes, the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, or the occasional laugh that escaped his mouth. I just want to remember what we talked about and he told me he loved me and how he respected all my boundaries and how he helped me help myself.

     How he made me realize that my body wasn't a weapon to be used against me.

     I think of our life together. I like the idea of growing old and becoming one of those odd married couples. I like the idea of fighting over where to go to dinner and how he's always at work too late and how we always end up staying home watching a movie. I like the idea of him hating me for picking out a chick flick but then hating me more for making him love it. I like how he's just a huge soft teddy bear with a concrete exterior for the world and the sweet insides left only for me. I like how I could watch him talk for hours without really listening to what he says because of his lips. I like the way that those three words rolled off his tongue so effortlessly and unapologetically, and how he knows when to go and when to stop. I just want that back. I just want him back so bad that it aches almost as much as the rest of my physical wounds.

     I honestly don't know if I'll make it through the night. It's just so cold and silent. Like nobody is here anymore. All I hear is silence and it would scare me if not for my distractions from the current weather.

     Maybe if I fall asleep, them he can come to me in my dreams and we can help me escape! But I know the dangers of falling asleep in this weather are too high.

     Suddenly the loud sound of footsteps thundering down the hall grabs my attention. My heart rate picks up and I back further into the corner for fear of what could come through the door. It bursts open suddenly, almost making me jump.

     Gabriel.

     "Come on Maeve, we have to go now!" He exclaims, and although the shadow covers his face almost completely, I can still tell it's him. In my shock, I climb off the bed, not aware of the repercussions until I stumble back at the pain coming back everywhere.

     "Are you hurt? What have they done to you?" He asks with outraged concern, examining my body from head to toe. I wobble on my feet barley able to stand.

     "I-I'm fine, please. L-let's just–", my scratchy voice, sore from my own screams, falls flat.

     He's gone and the door is closed.

     It takes me a moment to realize: he was never there in the first place. Tears gather at my eyes and I stand unsteady, alone and quiet, before the pain and the cold clouds my mind one again. And I let myself fall to the floor, never wanting to get up again.

     –

     As my eyes open, the first thing I notice is that I'm not as cold as I was before as I lay on the floor, directly in the flow of morning light through the one small window. The second thing I notice is that I'm not alone.

     The sound of shoes on concrete vibrate beneath me and a set of black heels come into my view. A woman bends down tilting her head as her eyes squint in frustration.

     "Is this where they've been keeping you?" She asks, cold and domineering. I look up from where I lay on the floor, the pressure of lifting my neck making my head pound. She looks young, surprisingly so. Not much older than myself. But what she seems to lack in age, she makes up for in hardness. Her eyes are cold and detached, seemingly lifeless. She's quite beautiful, thought. Her raven hair runs long, complementing her pale skin and dark eyes. Her figure is accentuated by black slacks and a gray blouse as she stands once again.

     Too impossibly tired, confused and in pain to respond, I just stare up at her imposing frame in front of me.

     She says something in the direction of the door, in what I believe to be Russian. Before I know it, two sets of hands are lifting me up by my arms. I become away of my exposed chest, but am barely capable standing with the help of two muscle men, so trying anything beyond that is too much work. I let my head droop as they carry me to god-knows-where with her a few steps in front of me. I whimper as their grips tighten over my already bruised and beaten biceps. She stops completely, swiveling on her heels and holds the men in a steely glare. I feel their holds loosen and relax my arms a bit as the pain recedes slightly. I stumble along, following painstakingly slow up a flight of stairs and outside. The morning sun assaults my eyes and if it weren't for the extreme fear of the woman in front of me, I would probably be relieved.

     I don't have the energy to look up, but from the wild grass growing beneath my feet, I can tell we're in the woods. I hear her footsteps echo on concrete again and she pushes open a door. I look up just in time to see another concrete building with rust dripping down the walls like tears and hollow windows build around the stone. It's at least three levels high, and very wide, and as the muscle men push me through the door, I'm lead immediately up another flight of wooden stairs. They creek beneath my feet unstably and my nerves bundle up more as the pain increases with every step. Another door, similar to the one where they were keeping me prisoner before swings open at her touch and they drag me behind.

     The room has white walls, and contrary to the outside of the building, it's very modernized and fresh looking with a white theme and gray accents.

     "Set her on the bed", she commands and before I know it, I'm being dropped onto a soft mattress. I try to keep my eyes open, but the exhaustion from walking to the room prevents my consciousness. Although she scares the living shit out of me, I feel safer with her in the room that I would with any man.

     Just before my eyes drift shut, she mutters something to me in Russian again, pushing me back into the mattress.

     –

     When I awake, the familiar feeling of cold metal encasing my wrists greets me. The strain on my shoulders, stretching out my bruised and cut up stomach hurts like a bitch.

     "You're much bigger than I thought you'd be", the woman says, monotonously. I remain silent, staring at the white, cracking ceiling above me.

     "But that's probably just a side affect, as are your scars", she observers, trailing up my bare body with her gaze. My jacket has been removed once again, as well as my socks and shoes, but thankfully the heating in the room gives me the relief that I didn't have last night.

     "A side effect of what?" I spit out angrily, confused by her statement and in pain from talking.

     "My father."

     "Who?" I spit out.

     "I'm surprised you don't remember him", she starts, standing from her place on the chair across the room, "your mate was the one that killed him after all."