The forest was dark, nearly pitch black. It was a new moon...not that it mattered. The sky was covered in thick, inky black clouds, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning. Fleeting, and then it was gone. The forest floor was coated in a thick blanket of fog, crawling across the landscape and covering everything outside in an eerie, lifeless web.
He could hear water falling to the ground outside, rain splashing into puddles along the rocks and splattering against the cave entrance. It had been raining for three days, day and night, nearly nonstop. The air was thick and humid, stiflingly hot.
A tall figure sat against the far wall at the cave, ropy strands of coal black hair hanging in his face, a shape curled up against his side for safety. In his hands he clutched a flashlight, small, its light nearly undetectable to anyone outside. In his free hand he clutched a single photo. A woman, her dark hair billowing in front of her face, almost obscuring the smile playing across her lips.
So much had happened since then...since this picture. So many things he would rather forget. So many things he wished he had never had to be a part of. So many things that haunted his nightmares and loomed over his shoulder like a demon.
Bearing down on him and watching his every move. Always there… It never left him.
Baba yaga
The Boogeyman
That's what they called him...anyway. Like this unfeeling, murderous sociopath of a creature, devouring and killing, and seemingly unscathed by all of it...but if they only knew how much farther that was from the truth.
He saw the faces of every single person he had killed over the years in his dreams every night. Nightmares of the families they had left behind. A wife...kids, maybe?
He sighed, bringing the photo to his lips, he kissed it once, briefly, and placed it to the side, atop a pile of papers. Muttering to himself, he clicked the button to kill the light of his flashlight, and almost immediately regretted his decision. The boogeyman wasn't afraid of the dark...surely?
No, it wasn't fear. Something else, maybe even deeper. Something like dread. He was alone, still.
After recovering from his stand off with Winston on the roof of the Continental, he had been brought underground to recover, and then told to run. Hide. Take himself far, far away and get away from every set of prying eyes. Sit low…and most importantly...wait.
Near his stack of papers in the corner was a small black rectangle, though unsearchable in the blackness. A cell phone. The only line of communication he had with the outside world...and when it was time to unleash the boogeyman...he had been told he would receive a call on it.
He pushed himself to standing, slowly...carefully, careful not to wake the sleeping pitbull that had been curled against his thigh. His only companion for longer than he cared to remember. He had no one, but they had each other.
John Wick moved towards a sleeping bag in the opposite corner, his footsteps shuffling quietly across the smooth stone floor of the cave. All he managed was a single footstep before he heard a small cry from the darkness.
He stopped, waited, and heard it again. A whine, small and quiet.
"What?" He muttered, turning around to shrug into the darkness where the dog now sat at attention, its eyes glowing eerily in the darkness, trained on the cave entrance.
He followed the dogs gaze, peering out into the forest beyond the cave. He heard nothing but raindrops, and saw nothing but shadows. Still...he reached behind his back and took up his weapon from his waistband.
Returning to his previous resting place, he snatched his flashlight and clicked it on in barely enough time to see a short, 4 legged shadow scurry from the corner and into the darkness beyond the cave.
"Shit…"
He followed, stepping tentatively out of the cave and into the forest. Cocking his pistol, he gripped it tightly, his other arm crossed across his wrist, holding the flashlight, illuminating his path. His 4 legged partner scurried down the steep hill that rose towards the cave entrance, seemingly on the trail of something important. Not one to bark at or chase every squirrel or deer, the animals behavior had John on edge, squinting into the darkness, expecting an ambush.
The canine hurried to the bottom of the hill and then stopped, nose working, twitching in the air. He stood stark still, waiting patiently for his human counterpart to appear at his side. When he did, he stepped carefully forward, head low.
John swept his light side to side, lighting up the underbrush and casting pillars of shadows like fingers grasping towards him, reaching out to take him. The light fell across a shape huddled against a fallen log, white and black, seeming eerily out of place. He watched it for a long moment, keeping his ears trained for any sound or hint of movement around him, and when none came, he pushed forward.
His unnamed partner crept forward as well, tail tucked between his legs, head low, amber eyes searching. Keeping his light trained on the shape in front of him, John slowly turned his eyes from side to side, sweeping the forest around him. It appeared that this shape...whatever or whoever it was, had appeared on its own. Alone.
John had been out here for weeks now, lying low. Using his days to hunt for food, and train himself for an inevitable upcoming battle, and he had yet to see or hear another human. Even in the distance.
He knelt down beside the huddled mass on the ground, and placed his hand across the biggest part of it. In the rain and fog, it had been hard to make out from a distance...but now that he was close enough to touch it...he could see that it was a human.
A girl, many years younger than he was, her shock of blonde hair lying still against the black forest soil. She wore a stained and dirtied white, long sleeved shirt over a ripped and tattered plaid skirt, and black stockings. He could smell the rich, irony scent of blood, but couldn't see any active bleeding.
She was cold to the touch, her skin like ice. Either she hadn't been out in this heat for long...or she had lost a considerable amount of blood.
Behind him the dog whined again-a low, sorrowful, mourning cry, and John glanced back at him. He was watching the girl, but now his tail was wagging lazily, and his head was raised, no longer defensive. Slowly, Jphn returned his attention to the shape on the ground.
"Excuse me?" john was taken aback by the sound of his own voice. His voice cracked and broke with apprehension and something almost like agitation. There was no answer.
He released the hammer on his magnum and shoved it in his waistband. This girl, as small as she was, would not have been a threat...even if she had been conscious. His free hand came down, resting on her shoulder, slowly and gently rolling her towards him.
Her head lolled to one side, revealing her. Her porcelain skin was slick with sweat, her forehead smudged with mud. Her cheeks were flushed red, long, dark eyelashes standing out against them in striking contrast.
The hand on her shoulder nudged her gently, attempting to wake her.
"Miss? Are you okay?" He asked, his voice low and unsure.
No answer.
His free hand came up, pressing against her throat, searching for a pulse. It took a long moment, but he finally found one, weak, but steady. He shook her again, a little harder this time. Still, no response. He sighed, weighing his options in his head. Could he really just leave her here?
He shone the light down her body. Blood trickled from somewhere beneath her skirt. Farther down, her right ankle was bent at a painful angle, most likely broken. John sighed again, shook his head. That answered that question…
He shifted the flashlight to his other hand, scooping it beneath her thighs to pull her towards him. Immediately his fingers slicked with blood. His other hand dipped beneath her back, pulling her up and into his arms. The scent of blood filled the air around him, she had been bleeding a good bit, and as soon as he held her against his chest, he could feel her life essence soaking through his shirt and wetting the skin beneath.
He turned, slowly making his way up the hill towards the cave entrance, dog following noiselessly behind.
John stepped into the cave and paused, his ears trained to any sound beyond the stone. When, after a moment, he heard nothing, he moved forward, slowly, careful not to jostle her limp body more than necessary. He laid her to the left of the fire, cautiously. The night and the rain had cooled the landscape considerably, and the girl was wet and chilled to the bone. The best thing to do would be start a fire. He clicked the flashlight off and tossed it onto his sleeping bag as he strode past, moving on memory alone in the darkness. He came upon his woodpile shortly, gathering tinder and matches. Upon returning to the main room of the cave, he wasn't surprised to see she hadn't moved. He was surprised, however, to see that the dog had curled up next to her, much as it had been to John himself earlier. Keeping her warm.
John moved to the burnt out fire pit, stacking the wood haphazardly. It took him longer than it usually would, but soon the fire was lit, casting a dancing glow around the cave walls, and emanating a comforting warmth. Finally happy with the fire, he got to his feet, tugging his shirt buttons open. It was soaked with rain and blood, and doing more harm than good at this point. He yanked it off, tossing it into a nearby corner, his eyes trained on his new 'guest'. The firelight fell across her face, standing out in the dull, yellow glow. She was pale, her plump, heart shaped lips a pastel, washed out pink.
She was ghostly from blood loss, and if he didn't stop it soon...she may not wake up at all.
He moved towards her, shooing the dog away gently. With a heavy sigh, the hound got to its paws and stalked away, seemingly annoyed. Inspecting her in the firelight, he could see her thighs caked in blood, dried and clotting in thick, sticky rivers. Gently, almost bashfully, he pushed up the torn and ruined fabric of her skirt, searching for the source of her bleeding.
Finally, he found the wound, high up across the front of her left thigh, extending across one hip nearly up to her abdomen. Too high for a tourniquet, it would need to be stitched. His fingers played across it carefully, inspecting its depths. It was deep, ragged and torn.
A shrill, piercing screech filled the air, shaking him to the core. His head snapped up, his new friend had come to. Propped up on her elbows, sapphire blue eyes blown wide with terror, blonde hair tousled and wild from her fear.
"Hey! Calm down I-"
Something hard and blunt connected to the bridge of his nose before he could react. A sickening crack echoed through his brain and stars exploded like fireworks across his vision. He stumbled backwards, nearly fell, shaking his head to clear his sight. To his right, faintly and far away, he heard barking, a deep, rumbling growl, and another blood curdling scream.
"Hey! Wait!" Even his own voice sounded strained and far away. He shook his head hard, a final time, and the fog of his vision cleared. She had turned, flipped onto her stomach, attempting to get to her feet, her ruined ankle refusing to cooperate. The dog still laying in its previous spot, barking a warning.
"You shouldn't...do that…" John threw himself forward, scrambling to get to his own feet, catch her before she…
He was too late, she had attempted to stand, to run, flee into the darkness. Her ruined bones had betrayed her, spilling her down onto the hard stone floor with a thud. She cried out from the pain, tears splashing down her face, a yelp of fear and agony ripping from her chest. Down on all fours, she scrambled away, dragging herself towards the cave entrance.
He was on his feet now, grasping at her limbs, contorting and yanking away from him.
"I'm trying to help you! Wait a minute!"
Before she could get farther, he hooked his arms around her waist and hauled her up, pulling her up and off the ground. He clutched her to his chest, where she flailed and fought him, her scream was a heated siren in the night, and if he weren't careful, it would alert their presence to anyone within a mile at least.
One hand came up, clamping around her mouth and pulling her head back, resting it against his shoulder. The other kept tightly pressed against her waist, pulling her into him and holding her there. She was tiny, barely 100 pounds by his estimate, but it was like restraining a lioness in a garbage bag.
"Keep your voice down!"
She kicked and writhed against him, her heels assaulting his thighs, his shins, and finally a well placed kick to the knee that buckled his legs beneath him and spilled him onto the hard floor beneath him, splaying her legs spread across his lap, her backside grinding against him.
"Calm DOWN! I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help."
Finally, after a moment of holding her tighter and tighter until his arms shook from the force of will it took to hold her there, she calmed, breathing heavily, her chest heaving, sweat standing out on her throat, her muscles quaking against him. After a moment, he felt her relax, and allowed himself to do the same.
"Listen…" He spoke softly, careful not to startle her. "You're bleeding. Your ankle is twisted, possibly broken. You aren't going anywhere on that leg. I'm not trying to kill you...im trying to help you. If you don't calm down and let me help, you can go into shock from blood loss...are we clear?"
Her nod was barely a twitch, but he took that as a 'yes' nonetheless. He released her carefully, half expecting her to explode out of his arms and across the room, but she didn't .
She sat swaying on his lap for a moment, before she fell back, her head resting against his shoulder once more.
"Light headed?"
She nodded again, this one a bit stronger. He hooked his forearms under her knees and lifted her, gently sitting her on the ground next to him. Her skirt fell up once more revealing the curve of her hip and the strap of her panties and it took nearly all of his willpower to turn his head away.
"Sit here…" He muttered, pushing off the wall and making his way across the room. Near his sleeping bag, a worn, black leather pack sat against a wall. He popped it open and rummaged inside, his mind working in circles as he did so.
"Why are you out here?"
After a moment, she spoke, her voice small of frightened. "...because….I thought no one would find me…"
He paused for a moment, found what he was looking for, took up the bottle beside the pack, sloshing with a deep, amber liquid and turned to look at her, "And you don't want to be found?"
She shook her head, looked away. Blue eyes searching in the darkness.
"Why?"
She shook her head again, no answer. John sighed and made his way over to her. The reason why didn't matter. Someone was looking for her, and that was all he needed to know. He approached her slowly, carefully, the firelight bouncing off his chest, rigid lines of taut muscle and valleys in between. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her...again.
"You could have died out here"
The smile that pulled at her lips was sad and mischievous all at once, "That was the plan…"
He knelt beside her, looking down at her blood stained legs. It seemed to be slowing, at least, if not stopped. He hesitated, holding out the bottle to her.
"I'm John…" He offered, anything to calm her, make her more comfortable.
She turned to face him, blue eyes studying him. He could see the worry written all over her face, but she forced a pained smile, "Eden." Slowly, her fingers clutched the neck of the bottle and pulled it from his fingers.
He nodded, saying nothing. Glancing down, he yanked open the small leather bundle in his hands, unrolling it to reveal a collection of bandages, tourniquets, scalpels, various sized syringes and vials of liquid.
She regarded it all apprehensively, looking sidelong at the gleaming metal instruments, as she brought the bottle to her lips. She tossed it back, allowing her tongue to touch the liquid inside, tasting it. "What are you going to do with-"
He answered by moving forward, grabbing the ragged hem of her skirt and tearing it between his fingers, up to her hip. The gash in her thigh stood out, angry and seeping against her pale white flesh. She had managed to swallow a gulp of the fiery liquid at the same moment, coughing and sputtering as it burned across her throat.
He looked up, shocked at her reaction as she sputtered. When she spoke, her voice was a dull croak in her throat, "What the fuck is this?"
He looked confused, "Whiskey?"
"It tastes like fucking kerosene!"
"Lay back…" He instructed, ignoring her whining, and she did as she was told, straightening her legs in front of her, though carefully to keep her knees pressed tightly together, her shoulders back and resting against the wall.
He noticed this and turned his face away, grinning. After everything she had apparently been through...she was worried about being modest.
He took up a syringe, selecting a vial from amongst the various ones he had, turning it over in his fingertips and reading the label in the flickering light.
Lidocaine.
He preferred not to use it himself...but in this case…
He popped the cap off the syringe and inserted the needle into the vial, drawing up the liquid, and tapping it to release any resulting air bubbles. Happy with his work, he moved towards her, but she jerked away. She had managed another drink, but nearly spat it in his face upon seeing the size of the needle in his hands.
"What are you doing?!" She seemed almost panicked.
He blinked, glanced up at her. "You're bleeding…" He mentioned matter-of-factly, and left it at that.
She swallowed thickly and stayed quiet, watching as he moved towards her. One warm, calloused hand pressed against her inner thigh, holding her still, and she shivered at his touch, the warmth of his palm sent goosebumps prickling her flesh.
He noticed, but disregarded it as fear.
"Are you ready?" He asked, looking up at her. She nodded, and he pressed forward, sinking the needle into her flesh without hesitation.
She cried out, her moaning gasp echoing around the cave around them. At first it surprised him, until he looked up and noticed her hands had come up, palms pressed firmly into her eyes, tense and shaking.
Working quickly, he injected her, pulled away, stopped, and looked up at her. "Are you alright?"
She was quiet, nodded.
"Does it hurt?"
She nodded again.
Dropping the needle onto its leather case, he moved towards her, fingers moving to fumble with his belt buckle. He pulled it apart and yanked it through the loops.
She watched as he did, head cocked to one side, unsure. "What are you-"
He folded it once and handed it to her, "Bite down. We need to stay quiet…"
"But…" Her eyes strayed momentarily across his groin, before she tore her eyes away, looking into his veiled expression. With shaking fingers, she took the leather between her fingers and brought it to her lips.
John moved back to his previous position, taking up the needle once again. With a final glance in her direction, he pressed the needle to her skin once more, and she took his advice, replacing the belt between her teeth and bearing down as the stinging pain rushed through her. His fingertips gripped her thigh to keep her still, pressing her down firmly against the ground.
Clenching her jaw, she concentrated, and steadily all of the pain in her thigh began to fall away. She relaxed slowly, and looked down to find he had moved away.
"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice low and quivering.
He replied only by lifting his hands, showing her thread and a curved, silver needle, glinting in the low light.
"Do you...is...that safe?" She whimpered, dropping her head back to the floor, looking with wide eyes towards the ceiling. She would rather not look at it anymore.
"This isn't my first time, if that's what you mean." He chuckled to himself. He had stitched himself on multiple occasions, and others less often...but enough that he considered himself knowledgeable.
" Well that makes one of us…" She mumbled, bringing the belt back to her mouth.
Her words jarred him, and though he was sure she had meant something else entirely, it had sent his mind to dark recesses that it had not accessed in quite a long time. His hand, once again pressed against her inner thigh, moved up just slightly. His fingers played against the ripped edge of her skirt, brushing it to the side. Her blood soaked panties, came into view easily, and he wasn't even sure she had noticed. He caught himself and pulled his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on his work.
This wasn't the time for that, nor was it the place. He had never been the type to take advantage of someone in need, and he refused to start now. He shook himself mentally and studied the wound, mapping out the best way to close it. When he was sure, he punctured her skin with the tip of the needle, expecting her to jump. When she didn't, he smirked. She was properly numbed, it seemed, anyway.
He worked quickly, pushing the needle into the wound, and out the other side, gently tugging it closed. Her blood leaked out over his fingertips as he worked, and by the time he was done, the bleeding had stopped entirely. Leaning back for a moment, he surveyed his work. Happy with the result, he cut the thread and replaced the needle and thread in its rightful place.
"That's it? You're done?" She asked, her voice small, unsure and wavering. She tossed back the bottle once more, taking a small sip as she watched him. He couldn't help but notice the way her lips wrapped around the bottle neck, the way a sliver of her pink tongue came out to swipe across her lips after every drink. He forced his mind away, shoved away the thoughts.
A bark of nervous laughter, "Not quite"
He grabbed a roll of gauze. This time, when he moved toward her, she didn't look away. She pushed herself to sitting, her legs bending at the knee, spreading only slightly. A hand came down to push her skirt to cover herself, and John grinned to himself. In one swift motion, he snatched the bottle from her and brought it to his own lips, taking a deep drag before swallowing deeply, and taking another mouthful.
One hand came down to press against her thigh, holding her down, the other one coming up to snatch her hands, holding both wrists tightly between vice-like fingertips. He leaned over her, and his lips parted, allowing the liquid to fall from his mouth and splatter across her thigh, drowning the stitches and the ragged, torn flesh beneath. She screamed, as he knew she would, trying to yank her arms from his grasp. His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her still.
She managed to pull one, slick sweated hand from his grasp, her fingers coming up to dig into his shoulder, trying to force him away.
"S-stop! That h-hurts! John stop!" She groaned, pushing at him, trying to move him.
"Do you want an infection?" He asked, glaring at her.
She seemed to be carefully considering her options, "Does it hurt less than that?"
He shook his head, shoving the bottle back into her hands before grabbing the gauze.
They were both silent as he bandaged her, his fingers brushing her flesh softly, the gauze wrapping around her leg and coming dangerously close to a delicate area. More than once, the back of his hand grazed across hers, holding her skirt down and protecting that forbidden part of her.
"How'd you do this?" He motioned to her thigh. She shrugged.
"I fell. Tree roots…"
He looked down to her ankle, and though it was no longer bent at a painful angle, it was swollen visibly. "And this?"
"Same…"
He tossed down the roll of gauze and took a moment to study her ankle. His fingers traveled up her leg to hook beneath the elastic of her thigh high stockings. She slammed her legs closed, eyes growing wide as she watched him.
He said nothing, simply glanced up at her and tilted his head, asking wordlessly for permission. After a moment, she nodded, allowing him. He gently pulled down her stocking, revealing her flesh beneath, before it peeled from the end of her foot like a second skin. The ankle beneath was angry, swollen, a rainbow of bruises blooming beneath the skin. He took up the roll of gauze once more, using one hand to carefully (but quickly) pull her ankle into his lap.
"It's not broken." He muttered, eyes searching, fingers inspecting the flesh. He pushed gently across the bones, feeling every one.
"You sure?"
He nodded, "Just twisted." He wrapped her foot tightly, though not enough to cut off any circulation, coming up nearly to her knee before ripping off and tying the gauze.
"It hurts…" She mumbled when he finished, pulling her leg off his lap, fingers passing over the wrapping he had placed there.
"Yeah...twisted ankles will do that..."
Reaching forward, her fingers reached for the bottle once more, but he crouched and snatched it away before she could.
"Hey!" She looked annoyed, irritation standing out on her face.
"You need to be careful." He muttered, taking a swig for himself before he passed it back to her, "This is strong."
"I'm a big girl." She shot back, her voice like a weapon. "I can handle it."
Grinning, he held his hands up between them, as if fending off an attack, "Whatever you say."
He moved to sit beside her, but not too close, looking into the fire. They were silent for a long moment, staring into the flames, crackling and popping.
Finally, she looked over to him, her gaze piercing. "Thank you...for this." She nodded to her ankle, "for...everything."
He glanced over at her but said nothing, simply nodding in reply.
She paused again, staring into the fire. Maybe it was the pain, or maybe it was the alcohol...but something had her head swimming, heat radiating in every limb. When she spoke again, it too more concentration than she was used to, "S-so….what are you doing...out here...alone?"
He nodded towards the rifle behind her, "Hunting."
She nodded, looking over her shoulder to regard the weapon for a moment, taking a sip of her drink. "Oh…"
"You?" He asked, softly, and his voice made her jump.
Swaying slightly, she turned again to look in his direction. She thought carefully before answering, "Hiding…"Her voice was small, and shook with every syllable. John looked over, noticed her shivering,
They were both quiet for a long moment. The silence stretched on until it became uncomfortable and John was the one that broke it.
"Are you hungry?"
She shook her head carefully, flashing him a grateful smile, teeth chattering silently. He pulled himself to standing, towering over her. He turned towards the sleeping bag, moving to rummage through it. Eden looked away, watching the fire. She had been moving for so long, it felt good to sit down, to rest her sore, twitching muscles. It felt good to be out of the rain, and to feel the safety of a fire, the protection of another human, though she wasn't sure she could trust him...could she?
Well so far he had done nothing but help her, so she had no reason to think otherwise.
While she was watching the fire, she hadn't noticed him approaching her again. She hadn't noticed him until he had his hands on her leg again. At first she assumed him to be inspecting her bandages, but when instead, his fingers moved to yank down her stocking, she felt a twinge of something like fear. She watched him carefully, eyes trained on every move. He pulled off the stocking and dropped it to the ground beside him.
She breathed a sigh of relief, she had been worrying for nothing, but when he reached towards her once again, she jumped. He leaned over her, his fingers grasping at the waistband of her skirt.
"No! Wait, what are you-"
He looked confused, glanced up at her, "You're clothes are wet. You need to take them off."
She shook her head hard, her tendrils of golden hair dancing around her shoulders as she did, "No way!"
"Look…" He held up the bundle grasped in his fingers, a swatch of pristine, white fabric, "Wet clothes are doing you more harm than good right now."
"But I-"
His nose wrinkled in annoyance, "Stop being stubborn."
She shrank away from him, pushing his hands away, "I mean it...I don't want…"
"Don't want what?!" He raised and his voice and she flinched visibly, shrinking away from him as if he were a monster that had just oozed out from beneath her bed. He suddenly felt a stab of guilt.
She looked away, unable to look in his direction, shivering visibly, though from fear or from cold he couldn't be sure.
"Here…" He held out the fabric to her, and stood up, moving towards the fire. "If i leave, and let you do it yourself, would that be okay?" His voice was softer now, almost unsure.
She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling. When she finally spoke, her voice crackled and wobbled, "Thank you…."
He moved toward the cave entrance without another word, and didn't look back. He stood outside watching the rain, his arms crossed broodingly, he surveyed the landscape. There was no sign of dawn, not yet, but the fatigue that crept into the inner corners of his mind told him it was really late...or possibly really early.
After a few moments of silence, he heard her calling from behind him. "Okay...you can come back now."
He turned and made his way back inside, glancing in her direction as he did. It seemed like she had managed just fine, and just as he had assumed...his shirt nearly reached her knees. Though he had yet to see her standing, he could see how much smaller than him she was. An even 5 foot he guessed, compared to his 6'1.
Beside her, in a sopping pile, was what she had taken off, complete with, much to his surprise, her bloody and soaked panties.
He looked away before she could catch him, moving to stoke the fire. The logs turned, tossing sparks into the air and flaring the embers beneath. Looking into the flames, he thought long and hard about the inevitable battle ahead. What was being planned? Overtaking the high table? A massacre? Or would they hide forever? Live out the rest of their days without anymore death...was that even possible?
No, he assumed not.
His thoughts were broken by a voice to his right. "Thank you…" Her voice was small and meek. He looked across the fire at her, nodded, but said nothing.
She took another drink, this one deeper, swallowed hard and coughed into her hand. She composed herself quickly, and looked up at him.
When he was content with the state of the fire, he moved towards her again, watching as her eyes tracked his every movement.
"Relax…" He offered, holding up his hands, palm outward, to show that he held no weapons. He wasn't a threat to her. "I'm not going to eat you, you don't have to be scared of me."
"I...I'm not" She swirled the liquid in the bottle, brought it to her mouth (maybe a little too fast, as her teeth clinked against the rim) and downed another swallow. She grimaced at the taste. "I am not afraid of you!" She whimpered when she had finally caught her breath.
"That's good." He muttered, still staring into the tongue of flame that shot up in the fireplace. He was used to it...being feared. For once, however, he wished someone would just relax around him.
"W-well.." She took another drink, this one a little fuller, a little more daring, with a little less cringing afterwards. "Thanks for...uh...not…..uhmm…." her voice grew quieter and quieter until it faded out altogether. For not...what? Raping me? She cursed herself internally.
"Breathe…" His voice was low, commanding. "You're okay. You don't need to be so nervous, I've never hurt someone that didn't deserve it."
She shook her head, leaning forward, "I'm just...nervous for other reasons. That aren't...that. So...I'm...not afraid of you"
He shook his head, his laughter a quiet growl in his throat, "You keep saying that, but i don't quite think you've managed to convince yourself."
She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes, "I have nothing to be afraid of, old man."
He threw his head back, his laugh a lot deeper, and a lot more genuine. That was a good one. If she only knew. "Oh, is that so?"
"It is." She countered, leaning back on her elbows, flashing a cocky smile. "I'm a fuckin' bad ass."
The alcohol was getting to her now, he could hear it in the slurring of her words, and see it in the way she swayed slightly while lying still.
"Noted."
Another stretch of silence, but he broke it quickly. "So...little miss badass...what are you hiding from?"
She puffed a release of nervous laughter and stopped after a moment, her brows stern, knit together in confusion. Toeing at invisible specs on the ground, she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly shivering and she wasn't sure it was from the cold, though she could hear the wind howling like wolves outside the door.
"Can I ask you another question….?" Her voice was small, completely ignoring his own question.
"You can." He nodded.
"You said..before…'ive never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it'..." She paused, eyes on the ground, before her smoldering blue orbs flashed towards him, "So you...hurt people?"
It was his turn to think carefully before he spoke, "I do...yes…"
"What kind of people?"
"Bad people…"
Her shaking intensified, and even though his answers were vague, they hit their mark with no trouble. Her thigh muscles clenched, ready to help her run away from the situation. "Like a cop?"
Another breath of laughter, "No...no not a cop."
Her breath caught in her throat, and she gulped harshly, swallowing it back. "Do you...kill people?"
A look was enough to answer her question.
"For money…?"
Leaning back, a hand disappeared into his pocket, and when it reemerged, his fingers clutched a single, round object, the firelight glinting off its surface. "For this."
He handed it to her, and she took it with shaking fingers, turning it over in her palm. A gold coin. She passed her thumb across its smooth surface, her mind working hard. She had seen something like this before, exchanged between the hands of the people that had taken her…
Dropping her hand into her lap, she nodded. Something about him seemed to bore into her very soul. She felt a sick, sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, where her memories lay, no doubt.
Grunting, she felt a wave of confidence (or rather, a need for courage) over take her, and she lifted the bottle, watching as the contents sloshed behind the unmarred perfection of the crystal clutched between her trembling fingertips.
Bringing it to her lips, she threw her head back, holding her breath. She knew that it caused a burning sting, and something inside of her told her she needed that right now. She swallowed greedily, sucking the liquid from the glass as if it were ice water and she were on fire.
Hungrily, she gulped it, until she felt the last drop trickle down her throat and she sucked nothing but air. Still watching the fire, she handed it back to him, practically throwing it into his chest. Finally, she released her breath, coughing and sputtering, feeling as if she had drank a glass full of jet fuel. She caught her breath quickly, shaking her head against the sensation.
"Here…" She muttered, and she felt him take the bottle from her, carefully. Still she held her hand out, the coin clutched between her fingers.
"Keep it."
She whipped her head around to look at him, but couldn't force herself to speak. She simply nodded, and dropped her hand back to her lap.
He regarded her with wide eyes, unsure of what to say now that he was almost positive his company was going to fall face first to the ground. John stole sidelong glances in her direction, ready to leap up at a moments notice and catch her before she could split her forehead open on the stone ground beneath them.
"Are you… How are you feeling?" He asked sometime later, a good twenty minutes at the very least and he'd spent the entire time trying to think of what to say.
Her answer was a shrug of her shoulders, and she glanced over at him, flashing a quick, but genuine, smile.
"Do you uh, have anymore questions for me?"
He was well and truly at a loss for words, turning back to stare at the fire as if it would provide some safe haven from how uneasy he felt.
She sat statuesque for a moment, staring into the dancing, grasping flames of the fire as she thought. The drink had gone to her head quickly, making her feel lighter than air and far more relaxed. "Yes…"
She turned towards him, watching him -really watching him- for the first time since they met. "You're hunting?"
He nodded, steeling himself for his next question.
"Animals…?"
He shook his head, and she nodded.
"You're working, aren't you? Out here to..."
He thought for a long moment before nodding. Was that his reason for being out here? Not exactly…but he had come up with his own ways to keep himself occupied.
"I only...kill the ones who really deserve it."
She blinked, her foggy brain working hard. She felt herself beginning to sweat. The alcohol ravaging her system. It took an unbelievable amount of work just to blink properly. "How do you know...when they deserve it?"
"Well...usually it's because they are coming after me.." He shrugged.
"So someones after you? These people that you're hunting?"
John was quiet for a moment, "No...not this time. They don't know I'm coming."
Her words were a whisper, barely audible, but he hung on every word, "But...they are bad people?"
Still staring into the fire, he nodded, "Sex traffickers…"
She gasped audibly and turned away, and his reaction told him everything he needed to know. He pretended not to notice as she pulled away, moving to stare into the fire, tears blurring her vision and begging to fall. It answered any additional questions he had. She had escaped.
She stared into the flames, watching them dance and devour, tears racing silently down her cheeks.
The silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, John stealing worried glances in her direction, Eden staring, unmoving, into the fire.
"Are you...alright?" He spoke finally, and his words made her jump.
"Yes…"
More silence, and then, "Thank you…" Her voice was small and meek. He looked across the fire at her, nodded, but said nothing.
He watched as she pushed herself forward, on hands and knees, and then to her knees, and finally attempted to push herself to standing. She swayed and wobbled on one leg, setting the other down gently, and promptly stumbling and falling back down onto her ass.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her with narrowed eyes. She stumbled, moving to stand again and winced when she attempted to put weight on her shattered ankle.
"Leaving. Im overstayed my welcome, and caused enough trouble. I thank you for your help but-"
"You're not going anywhere" He spoke without question, quickly getting to his feet.
She had managed to stand now, swaying on the spot as she looked at him. She coughed, choked on her breath. The alcohol had gone straight to her brain. It was taking every bit of willpower just to stand...and she managed it, just barely. "W-what? Are you gonna.." She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat, "keep me here?"
"Yes. You're drunk." John countered, his voice low and steady. He stood to full height, and she looked down, realizing just how much bigger he was than her.
"I can take care of myself…" she grumbled, scowling.
He moved forward, grabbing her as she swayed dangerously. He lifted her off the ground easily, sweeping her off the ground and into his arms as before. "Oh yes, I can see that."
"I'm serious…" She muttered, though she didn't fight him.
"You're staying. Even if you weren't drunk...you're hurt. "
Eden sighed in reply, but made no move to argue. Really, she had no desire to leave, and preferred to stay out of the rain, at least for the night. He was slightly intimidating, but at least he was another human soul. That alone was comforting.
"I'm fine."
He moved slowly, careful not to jerk her around too much, lest she spew the contents of her belly down his front. "I'm not arguing about this…"
She groaned, allowing her head to fall back and rest in the crook of his arm. There was no fighting it, and she knew it. She also found, curiously, the alcohol had dissolved whatever trace of a brain-to-mouth filter she had managed before. "Ugh, you're such an asshole."
He grinned, moving to sit her on his sleeping bag, still taking care not to jostle her. "I know, I'm sorry."
He moved towards the fire, taking up the empty bottle and moving to put it back where it belonged. The last thing he needed was her moving around in the middle of the night and slipping on it, and breaking her ankle for real...or worse.
"John?" Her voice was breathy, a whisper. He turned to glance in her direction.
She had slumped down in his sleeping bag, wrapping it around her. In doing so, his shirt had ridden up her thighs, exposing her. Upon seeing this, John quickly averted his gaze.
"Yeah?" He asked, half expecting her to have passed out by now.
"It's not fair…" Her voice rose in a whining pitch, and he smiled. Here it came, a flood of drunken slurs. He had been prepared, he thought anyway.
"What's not fair?" He asked, satisfied that all obstacles had been removed, he moved to sit next to her.
"Why are assholes always so hot?!"
Well...he hadn't been expecting that. Plopping down next to her on the sleeping bag, he turned to look at her. She lay on her back, her hands flopped around her face, hair fanned out, tousled against his pillow.
He sighed, turning towards her. "Come on.." He grunted, his arms sliding beneath her to lift her again, pulling her up to sitting. "You don't need to lay on your back."
She slumped against him, collapsing into his lap. Well...that worked he supposed. At Least this way he would hear it were she to try to aspirate her own vomit in her sleep.
"You're so strong…" She muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Yes, I know." Reaching behind his back, he grabbed his pillow. Gently, he lifted her head, and placed his pillow beneath. Surely it was a bit more comfortable than his lap.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked, lifting her head suddenly, staring up at his face.
He thought for a moment before speaking."Because you haven't done anything to deserve me...not to be?"
She giggled, a hand coming up to her mouth. "Life is so..unfair.."
He blinked, wondering if she was about to become a broken record. "Why's that?"
"Because!" She shot back, seemingly very agitated by whatever thoughts were racing through her mind.
"Because…?" He teased, genuinely curious as to what was making her life so difficult now, at this exact moment.
"Because! The first time I'm alone and naked with someone hot, he's gotta be a…" She thought carefully before she spat the rest of her sentence, "big...dumb...asshole…"
Her words stole any rational thought he had previously had in his mind, "Well..you're not naked…" Was all he managed, and he cursed his stupidity afterwards.
"I am, look!" She giggled, a hand coming down to hook the hem of his shirt, flipping it up and revealing the curve of her hip.
"Oh...okay…" Was all he could manage, trying not to throw too much fuel on this fire. Now was not the time...for any of this. Especially not that.
"You're not looking!" She pouted, and he could hear the disdain in her voice.
"That's right, I'm not."
"How come?!" She seemed genuinely hurt by this fact, and John found himself completely unsure of what to do.
"You need to get some sleep." Averting his eyes, he grabbed the flap of the sleeping bag and yanked it up, covering her completely in one swift motion.