When she wakes up, she finds that she is staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
"Drink this." The baritone from her right is smooth and dark. Slowly, she turns her head, and green meets red.
Red.
Quickly, she scrambles out of the bed – or tries to, at least. She can barely move. Instead, she falls back onto the sheets in fear, trembling.
The man does not move, aristocratic features unchanging.
"I… I –" She croaks.
"Drink," He repeats. When she makes no motion, he sighs, strides across the room – keeping in her sight at all times – and crouches to the small table next to her bed. She sees a glass of… something. The clear liquid sparks a dark instinct in her, terrifying memories, and this time, she manages to get away.
"No!"
"It is not alcohol, or a drug. It is water." To prove his statement true, he takes a sip. She studies his features, and observes no change in the way he breathes, the way his pupils are shaped – nothing.
Either this dark-haired stranger (she shudders at the words) is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth.
Pulling up all the mental strength she can muster, she asks, "If I don't, what will happen?"
"I will wait. You are tired, scared, and confused. When I found you, you were malnourished and dehydrated. Drink."
She lifts a shaky hand, and immediately drops it. He picks up on the signal, and slowly slides his long-fingered hand to the back of her head, down her neck, and props her up. She opens her mouth.
She is used to taking unspoken orders from beautiful dark-haired men.
The cool liquid glides down her parched throat, and to her unfeeling delight, it is water. She drains the glass quickly, and once more, their eyes meet.
"Sleep."
Pale lids slide down, and the last thing she hears is the flick of a switch.
She wakes up again. The man is at her bedside. He has black eyes.
Was I hallucinating?
"What is your name?"
The fog in her mind has slightly dissipated, and scattered memories dot her mental planes. Slowly, she digs one out, like a treasure buried deep down underground. The answer to his question lies there.
"Once, I was called Sakura."
Hey, guys! This time, I'm going to try an ItaSaku, because I've been on a roll when it comes to reading that ship. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my first story – and I will not be continuing it. You can decide what T7 screwed up and how Sasori got Sakura.
Uh, also, content warning. In the future, this story will involve violence, forced drug usage and rape.