Sitting on the edge of the bath, she dangled her legs in the water and circled her feet gently. Placing her head in her hands, she closed her eyes. She was exhausted. A few days had passed since she's started trying to walk again. Her muscles ached, and she hadn't slept properly since she'd woken from the dream about Chris. Subconsciously, she avoided sleep because she didn't want the experience repeated. She'd progressed, her legs were responding better, and she could manage a slow shuffle. When she first achieved it, she was ecstatic. Excella clapped in an almost condescending manner, but Jill ignored her. She hadn't seen Wesker, so she was unsure of his reaction. He was apparently busy with an extensive amount of secret research.

Jill felt more comfortable in water, a side effect of her incarceration, they'd said. He pale skin and long blonde hair was a physical change that she had to get used to, but her love of water was not one she'd actually inherited from her time in the tube. She'd always loved swimming, and sitting on the edge of the archaic bath, an overwhelming urge to swim washed over her. She slipped into the water, and the water molded around her. Surfacing, she sat in the bath, looking around the bare room. Tiles had been torn from the walls and the floors, a large, dirty mirror dominating one wall, leaving the room otherwise desolate. The bath was free standing and double ended, sitting in the centre of the room.

Jill looked around; her hair flattened to her skull, and down her sore back. She could feel welts, contusions following her spine. They stung, and she hissed. Steam enveloped her, the water warm. She leaned over the edge of the bath, and grabbed a white, fluffy towel. Standing, she wrapped the towel around her, and started to dry herself off. Her legs wobbled, still not used to taking her full weight. Her knees gaze, and she fell into the water, yelling, and landing on her butt. Somebody knocked on the door, and the door opened. Jill didn't have enough time to cover herself, but she couldn't be bothered. She was past caring. Eyes closed, she stayed sitting in the tub, towel soaked through, and hair dripping wet.

"Looks like you're in a state of distress, Valentine" a voice stated. A voice that she had almost forgotten.

"What do you want Wesker?" she growled, pissed off. She was not happy that she'd fallen, and she was completely crestfallen that it was Wesker who had rushed to her aid. He laughed; the sound hard to place, between the point of perfection and disgusting. She wanted to listen to the sound forever, but she had no idea why. She opened her eyes, and a gloved hand had been extended towards her. She hesitated, but took it. Pulling her to her feet, Wesker watched her. A blush painted itself over Jill's face. She grew hot under his gaze, though she couldn't be completely sure of where he was looking because of his glasses. It felt like his eyes were lingering on her, and it made her skin crawl.

"Can you get me a towel please?" she asked, trying to keep her voice defiant. He nodded, and picked up a pink towel from the floor, which she was sure he'd brought in. She pulled it from his hands roughly, wrapping the towel around herself. He extended his hand again, and once again she took it, and held her hand steady as she stepped out of the bath. She stood, inches from him, and beads of water made paths down her back and legs.

"You are quite magnificent, Valentine" he said, his words a gruff whisper, and she was unsure how to respond. He intimidated her, and she didn't know what to do. He offered the crook of his elbow, and she took it, and they walked slowly to her room, her slow shuffling surely frustrating him. She snuck glances at him, nervously. Wesker wasn't looking at her, just facing straight ahead, his expression unreadable.

"Why am I here?" she asked, scared of the answer. He looked down at her, surprised.

"You are to become my most wonderful creation, my dear" he answered. She flinched, and she felt him stiffen.

"I see." She replied, frostily. She was sick of the ambiguity of her situation. She felt like she was stuck in purgatory, between a rock and hard place. If she tried to escape now, her efforts would be futile, yet if she stayed, Wesker had practically confirmed that he was going to do something terrible to her. They finally arrived at her room, and Jill felt uneasy. There was something clearly hanging in the air between the two. Unsure of what to say, she opened the door, and turned to him, waiting.

"Valentine, get dressed, please?" he asked, his tone hard. She nodded, shutting the door in his face, terrified. She went to the draw and pulled on some underwear and some tracksuit bottoms. Rifling through the draw, she found something new. A big, grey hoodie, no zip, and pocket in the front. The smell was intoxicatingly familiar. It was the smell from her dreams, from her fantasies. It smelled of home, and tears and love. It smelled of Chris. Her heart leapt in her chest when she made the connection. How? How did it smell of him?

She inspected the piece of clothing, and it was familiar. It was all rushing back to her. She had instinctively picked out the hoodie, because it reminded her of him. But it was his. He gave it to her after their night together, before they parted, to meet again at the Spencer Estate. How did Wesker get this? Anger consumed her. He had sullied a beautiful part of her life. He had destroyed it, taking her away from Chris, and this was a final mocking blow to her. He was tormenting her, and it hurt. She pulled it on, over her head, and let the smell accumulate around her. A banging at the door caused her to snarl.

"Valentine?" he asked, opening the door. She was sat on the edge of the bed, head down, hair falling to her knees. He approached her, slowly. A low growl escaped her mouth, feral. She lifted her head slowly, eyes fire. He smirked, swelling like spider that'd just caught his prey, arrogance cloaking him. She lashed out, her nails scraping down his face. She snarled again, animalistic and affronted. He caught her wrists between one of his hands and squeezed, and she cried out in agony, wailing like a wounded beast. One hand was fisted in her hair, pulling tight at the roots. Tears formed in her eyes, overflowing and making rivers down her cheeks.

"You snap pretty easily, Valentine, but that's just what I need from you" he growled into her ear, equally as angry as her. "You are nothing, Valentine. Not yet. Not until I take you, and mold you. You will be perfect, and I will make it so. It's in your blood." He pushed her back, removing the hand from her hair, and caught her hips between his own, the pressure sending shots of misery through her body. "You are quite the animal, my dear, and you shall be tamed".

Author's Note!

You guys rock, really! Hearts for yous!