This story takes place right after Jill pushed Wesker out of the mansion window.
Looking for fluff? You're in the wrong place.
Romance? Wrong place.
Hapless shenannigans, laughs and snuggling?
Wrong place.
Warning-not for the zombie lovers.
Warning - combustible
Looking for PWP? Go to or write your own.
Please note the un-even pavement.
Jill is likely not admirable to Wesker in the first place, nor is she weak, defenseless and totally and utterly vulnerable.
Danger - high voltage
She did not dye her hair blonde, and Wesker or anyone else certainly didn't do it for her.
Warning - highly unstable, handle with care.
Albert Wesker is not a kind man who is misunderstood. Nor is he a super-evil-demonic-villian with a shot libido looking for teh smex. I will not try to redeem him, or portray him as any of previous stated.
Rated M for strong violence, sexual content and explicit language.
This is not a "Wesker takes advantage of Jill and they run off happily together." fic.
This is a story about fear and doubt, obsession and utter loathing, not graphic sex and lust.
Warning - keep away from children
Read it, you may just end up liking it.
And as always, read and review.
______________________________________________
Vicious cold now settles in
My bones feel like their breaking through my skin
God damn you you're feeding on my loneliness
But I will not let you in, I won't let you in -- City and Colour, Faithless
______________________________________________
I can taste blood. My head aches, my arm hurts--everything hurts. I try to move my arm; maybe hold onto to something, but it won't move. White hot pain shoots up my wrist and ends at my shoulder. It's broken, my bloody arm is broken. Something in the distance moans. Short, terrified gasps escape my mouth as I try to see ahead in the pitch black. I realize who it is now. I can see the stark outline of his figure illuminated by the iridescent moon-light. It's Wesker. He groans again and I can hear audible shuffling. Perhaps he's trying to get up. There's a moment of silence before he lets out an ear-piercing yell.
"Fuck!" He screams. It's the first time I've heard Wesker in such a panic. I can hear his breaths, drawn out and ragged, nearing me. He must be crawling along the ground. What I hear next shocks me. "Jill." I hold my breath. "Jill." He says it louder this time. "Jillian!" I draw back in surprise, and fear. I have no idea on where he is, it's too damn dark outside. I feel a hand on my shin. Large and strong. I stifle a yelp and try kicking him away, but it only makes his grip tighten. "Jill, I know you're hurt." He begins. "I don't want to hurt you." He seethes at some un-seen ailment. He catches his breath before talking again. "I've only twisted my ankle." I want to laugh, I thought his injury would be worse by his little episode earlier.
"Go away." I say quietly, I have no energy for sarcastic back-lashes. He chuckles darkly before moving his hand up to grip my thigh.
"You're in no condition for me to leave you alone."
I want to punch him, but my free arm is numb and useless.
"I'd rather die than accept help from you." I spat.
I hear nothing in the blackness, only my own shallow breaths.
"You have no choice, Jillian."
I hate how my name rolls of his tongue.
"Do I now?"
He chuckles again, this time it's soft and drawn out.
A throbbing pain cracks through my skull, and I bite my lip. I touch the back of my head. Wet and warm. I feel panic stricken, and hope I don't have a serious head injury. But then again, it would be ten times better than being taken in by Wesker.
"You...come...like...not..."
I can't understand him, the world is spinning around me. The darkness consumes me. And finally, I am left at peace--for the moment.
___________________________________________________
A jolt of awareness rushes through my body as I realize I'm no longer on that rocky beach from before. Instead, I'm lying face down on wet pavement. Black boots are directly in front of me; his boots. I can hear him laugh as he fiddles with a padlock.
"Awake I see." He pulls out a thin, brass key and jams it into the iron lock. I only stare ahead, wondering where we are. Out of my peripheral vision, I can make out thick forest.
"Where the hell are we?" I choke out. My throat is dry and hoarse.
"Now why would I tell you that?" He says, his voice mocking. "It wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it."
I want so badly to reach out and snap his ankle, but I'm far too injured to do anything at the moment. I try to move my free hand, and look down to see that I am bound by some crude roping.
"My arms broken, you know!" I yell. The pain is excruciating.
"I know."
"Bastard!"
He says nothing, and finally opens the locked gate blocking the entrance to god-knows-where. He hovers over me; I can't see his face. I shriek as his boot makes contact with my ribs. The impact rolls me over onto my back, and I am forced to look up at his face. It's unchanging; emotionless, but I can make out the tiniest of smirks on his mouth as I clench my jaw and eyes shut from the pain.
"Tsk tsk, Jillian. Calling me names won't get you anywhere." He smiles.
I frown briefly before he kicks me again. This time I don't scream, but I still yelp.
"Get up." He commands. Is he joking? I can barely even move.
"I can't." I snarl. He kicks me again, this time harder.
"Get. up." I notice now that his voice gets quieter the angrier he gets. I can see his foot drawing back for another devastating blow.
"I can't!" I yell, hoping it will force him to stop. Hot, angry tears threaten to spill down cheeks, but I blink them away. He grunts and roughly grabs my broken arm and wrenches me upright. I shriek.
"Be quiet." He says suddenly. He snakes his hand under my knees and lifts me up into his arms. I groan, the pain is unbearable. I am still questioning his actions, just earlier he seemed keen on helping me.
"I don't want to hurt you."
For some time we move along a dark, wet corridor. There is no light, except for his wrist watch, which glows a dull green. Finally, we reach a large steel door. He sets me down, more gently than I expected. I can't see anything. I can hear him walk off to the side of the door, his actions illuminated by his watch. He punches a code into a keypad, which reveals an eye scanner. I gasp as the door behind me slowly opens. It obviously hasn't been used in years. He picks me up again.
"You will learn to obey me." He says out of the blue.
"And what if I don't?" I retort, I don't feel like making my replies long and elaborate.
He grabs my injured arm and twists it violently.
"That will happen." He says as he releases his grip. A stray tear runs down my cheek, and I can't help but feel utterly hopeless. I sniffle. Thinking I'm docile, he reaches out and pats my head. "Good girl."
What am I, six?
The corridor stops abruptly. This time he keeps me in his arms. He takes a small penlight from his pocket and flicks it on, running the beam of light over the smooth rock. Finding what he's looking for, he presses his hand firmly against the rock face. Surely enough, the rock opens up, revealing a large laboratory. He steps inside, the rock closing behind him.
He walks past the various tables, test tubes and other doors before entering another hallway. The hallway is short, metal, and reminds me of a hospital corridor. He opens the door ahead and climbs the metal stairs leading up. A diagram of the levels is beside us, we're on level 2. He begins walking up, and enters another hallway, this time it's larger. He rounds the corner, and I can see a small door at the end. We go inside.
He drops me on the ground.
"This is your room." He says.
The room is medium at best. The floor is steel and icy to the touch. There is no bed, only this large, vast space.
"Aren't you going to fix my arm?" I ask. He looks down at me.
"I have important business to tend to, I'll do it later." He says, "but for now--." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a syringe. I squeal and push myself into the furthest corner of the room. He laughs. "It's only a painkiller." He kneels down beside me and flicks the needle a few times. I close my eyes cringe as he spreads my skin taught with his fingers. He plunges the needle in. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He gets up briskly and walks towards the door. He looks at me briefly, and leaves.
The drug makes me very tired, and I curl up against the wall and fall asleep.
I awake to find myself on my back on a steel table. Horror racks through my body as I realize my bare ass is touching the table. A thin, white sheet covers my body; the edge folded and tucked under my arms. I feel disgusted, knowing that he undressed me.
Wesker is at the far side of the room, a pair of scissors in his hands. He's cutting something rather large. I stay perfectly still, hoping he won't try to make conversation.
He walks over with a sling in hand.
"This should set the bones in place." He replies. He gently wraps my arm in some foam, ties it, and attaches the sling. He swings my legs over the table and instructs me to stand. I oblige. My legs feel like jelly, and the blood rushes to my head. I notice that my underthings are resting on the table beside me. Thankfully the sheet is still in place. He grabs my underwear.
"I can do it myself." He smirks and hands me the underwear. "Turn around!" He does. I try to slip the underwear over my ankles, but it's useless with one hand. I try placing it on the ground and slipping my feet through, but it still won't work. Defeated, I let out a frustrated cry. He turns around.
"Now now, don't hurt yourself." I feel embarrassed, terribly so. He gets down on his knees and easily glides my feet through the leg holes. He circles around so he's at my back, and kneels, again. He quickly brings them up so they rest on my hips. The sheet is still covering my front. "Drop it."
"What?"
"Drop the sheet." He holds a large, grey tee-shirt in his hands. I do, realizing that I have my back to him. He slips my head through and I push my free arm through the arm-hole. It feels awkward, having only one arm through the hole. It must be one of his old work tees, for on the front it reads "S.T.A.R.S." I feel a jolt of guilt, realizing now how worried Chris must be.
He leads me back to my room. The floor is now slightly furnished. Two blankets and a small pillow. He's gone now. I sigh carefully lower myself to the ground, and inspect the blankets beside me. Both are white and quilted, and are somewhat thick. I use one as a mattress.
It's some time before he returns. He carries a tray of food in his hands.
"Soup." He says simply. I ignore him and sniff at the bowl tentatively. "It's not poisoned."
"And how do I know that?"
"You don't trust me?" I know he's being sarcastic. He chuckles briefly before bringing a spoonful to my mouth. It's chicken noodle; how unexpected.
"I can feed myself." I say; venom in my voice. He looks somewhat pained, but I brush it off. There is a moment of pro-longed silence and the awkward clang of the spoon as it falls back into the soup bowl.
"Suit yourself." He gets up and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. I sigh.
I notice an apple on the tray as well, along with a glass of water and some soda crackers. Great, this is worse than hospital food, I think miserably to myself. But I feel weak, and I'm starving, and I don't care if it's poisoned at this point. I greedily eat the soup, and devour everything else around me, and at last, I feel content.
I push the tray aside and curl up under the blanket. It's dark in here, I notice. A crack of light shines from under the door, making the room seem even colder.
Something catches my eye, something that wasn't there before.
I get up and run my fingers along the side of the western wall. I feel what I'm looking for and stand up. It's a door. I feel for the handle and open.
I can't make out anything, but soon my eyes adjust and I realize it's a small bathroom. It's only equipped with a toilet and small sink. I feel along the edges of the wash basin and find a bar of soap, that's it. I can't see a medicine cabinet, or anything of that matter.
I sigh and exit the bathroom, I'm tired and need my rest.
Who knows what Wesker has in store for me.