Memory Logs

Vulnerability

10. Vulnerability

[ Meeting 103-2; Unknown. ]

The rush of memories left Meg feeling breathless, hopeless, full of absolute horror - both at him, and at herself.

That was what had happened between them, and that insight led her to the knowledge that it wasn't the only sexual encounter they might've had. And furthermore, the fact that she'd liked it... That fact reminded her what a cruel creature Evan - no, the Trapper - really was.

When Meg came to the present, gasping and choking and feeling tears burn the corners of her eyes, she saw him looking at her with furrowed brows; probably his best attempt at concern. Evan said nothing, simply waited for her to speak, but he was hovering over her cautiously, as if trying to protect her from... well, anything. But the moment Meg looked at him, all she could see was his thick, hard member; the cruel twist of his face under his mask; the cold, sick pleasure in his husky voice. The feeling of him gliding against her. Torturing her. Sending shockwaves through her body.

With a cry, the red-head scrambled out from under him and scurried away as quickly as she could - right until she got to the edge of the terrain they were on, peering down in horror over the edge. Below them was... nothing. A vast, empty plane. Fear clutched her chest when she realized she was truly trapped here with him, the man that had killed her friends, the man that had... that had... touched her in a way that left fire burning in her veins... the man that had taken such pleasure in her misery.

But a man who'd also endured his own torture... just to spare her.

Conflicted feelings rose so violently in her chest that she keeled over onto her stomach and vomited. Not much came out of her; so she continued to dry-heave until her stomach and her throat couldn't take it anymore. All the while, Evan hadn't moved a muscle, remaining on his knees and watching her with an enigmatic expression. Feeling raw from head to toe, Meg wheeled on him, enraged. "HOW COULD YOU?" she exploded. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

He was infuriatingly silent. Whether he didn't have an answer, or simply chose not to speak, Meg didn't know, but she felt anger and hatred churning in her stomach, spilling furious word-vomit out of her mouth. "You make my own body betray me; you take sick pleasure in humiliating me, hunting me, torturing me; and then you - you save me! You look at me with those eyes!" Her voice went low - still filled with anger... and now vulnerability. "You sketched me."

A long silence stretched between them. Evan's voice eventually stirred her from the whirling emotions in her head. "Yes," he finally rumbled, voice wavering just slightly. "I did."

She hadn't ever heard such emotion in his voice; it was so startling that her eyes softened and she looked more confused and lost than ever. Tears broke and streamed down her cheeks. "WHY?" she demanded, voice cracking with grief.

He still didn't - or couldn't - answer her.

Meg turned away, struggling to her feet and looking anywhere but at him. She couldn't - wouldn't - look at him. It brought up all those confusing and awful feelings. She was done here. No more curiosity. She regretted her decision to pursue those questions, because they'd landed her here.

The Entity seemed satisfied with the conclusions she'd come to, and offered her a way out. Meg took it, unwilling and unable to glance back at the monster she left behind.

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As much as Meg hated what she'd seen and regretted ever coming onto the MacMillan estate, she couldn't seem to force herself to get rid of the coal sketch of her likeness. It still laid in her tent and she sat there, unwilling to speak to any of the survivors no matter how concerned they were, and she stared at the damn paper.