Note: I decided to update quickly, since I know what I want for this story and the sentences just spilled out of me.
Puppetress - Chapter 4
Plushie
"You've been unconscious for three days."
I had only just recently begun to stir. My eyelids fluttered open, but shut immediately as the light pierced my aching retinas. In response to this, there was shuffling, then the swift sound of curtains being drawn. There was a scratch, and the sound of burning. When I peeked my eyes open again, the flickering light of a candle illuminated Sasori's face.
His head inclined slightly, and he kneeled beside the bed. I groped at the sheets that covered me. I attempted to sit up, but my head pounded painfully in resistance.
"Fuck!" I exclaimed softly, painfully, as I fell back against the soft pillow.
"You were talking in your sleep," Sasori mentioned. He sat on the edge of the bed, setting the candle on the side table. I could feel his presence hovering over me. His aura was cold like a ghost. "Who is Moyan?"
I turned my head to him, eyes opening completely. His expression was the same, but something about the way he looked at me was softened. I felt my neck burning. What had I said in my sleep?
Despite my better reason, I answered him. My life was over, anyway. "She was a cousin."
"Was?"
"Why are you suddenly interested in my life?" I demanded. I wanted to sound strong, but I was vulnerable.
The way he smirked proved that my attempt at assertiveness failed. "I'm nurturing your human needs, while you're still alive brat."
"Human needs?"
"My partner Deidara," he suddenly changed the subject, "Cannot go an hour without talking. The idiot never shuts his mouth. He says he can't stand the silence."
I pressed my lips together. I exhaled, then said, "Moyan died."
"How?"
"Labor. She was having a baby. It was two months ago. She already had it hard, because her husband abandoned her with nothing. So she lived with us for a while. It really hurt me to see her like that. She was small and frail and the baby was going to kill her. We told her to get rid of it, the guy never did her any good anyway, but she wanted to keep it. So she died, for her baby. But the day after, the baby went missing…"
I had trailed off. I looked back at him. He hadn't taken his attention away for a moment. I frowned, and then began fidgeting with the sheets. I noticed as I cast my gaze down that my clothes had changed. Rather than the civilian clothing I had chosen at the village, I was wearing a traditional white yukata.
I clutched the blanket and sat up abruptly, cheeks burning, "You undressed me!"
Sasori rolled his eyes, placing both hands on my shoulders to lower me onto the mattress, "Don't be foolish."
"Foolish?" I repeated incredulously, "How could I trust a criminal like you!"
"You misinterpret my intentions," he snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. "I took your measurements and replaced your soiled clothing. Don't challenge my patience, brat."
I clamped on the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from talking. I relaxed against he mattress, though my insides were warm with rage. I wondered what he would look like if I slapped him across the face then and there.
But Sasori was no ordinary man, if he were a man at all.
"What is that?" I demanded as Sasori brought a vial and a needle from his pouch and approached me.
He sat on the bed and carefully filled the needle with a bubbling yellow fluid. He took great care such that there were no air bubbles. Sasori held my forearm, wrapping an elastic band around my bicep. He squeezed, injecting me slowly, watching my expression falter.
"Why are you drugging me?" My head limply dipped forward, but Sasori caught it. He gently tucked a pillow in the crook of my neck.
"I want you conscious. This is a mild sedative." He pried the sheets away from me. I groaned, weakly attempting to lift my arms to stop him. They betrayed me, dropping lifelessly at my sides.
"Don't do this, please…" I begged softly. "Please don't do this."
He looked at me knowingly, "I would have knocked you out, idiot. I've kept you conscious for a reason."
I swallowed.
I didn't want to know what he was doing, but I asked anyway, "What are you doing?"
"Sketching," he answered. He reached down and rose with a large sketchbook and a pencil. He rested these items on his lap and reached for my yukata, pulling at the silk belt that held it shut.
A scream rose in my throat, but never left. I panted heavily as he pulled the yukata open. He undressed me slowly, almost deliberately so. I could not meet his gaze, but I felt him watching me. I felt his cold hand run down my chest, down my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut as he pulled the blanket down further.
"I-It's… cold…" I managed to pant out. It was a lie though. My organs felt like they were on fire. I wanted nothing more than to swat him away from me.
"You'll be fine," he told me. He exposed my legs. I was relieved that he left my underwear on, though my bra had been removed.
"I c-can't…"
"You're not doing anything," Sasori stated bluntly.
He began sketching. I managed to open my eyes again. I looked at him. For a few moments, he paused his sketching to examine me fully. His eyes traced the outline of my body. He took a few minutes to draw.
I turned my face away. I felt tears welling in my eyes, and I cursed them as they fell. How could I show such a weakness before him? Was I just going to cry in front of him all the time now?
Ice cold digits grasped my chin, and I was forced to face Sasori. His face was near mine, he narrowed his eyes at me. I frowned at him, but my muscles were too weak to move away. His other hand reached up, wiping away my tears. I wanted to bite him.
"I need to see your face," he said, "It would be best to preserve the looks of my art… that is, after all the essence of making you eternal. To keep you as you are."
My lip trembled. He chuckled.
"Don't cry, brat. This is the best way to die."
Did he not realize that normal human beings did not want to die? Another tear rolled down my cheek, but he wiped it away again. He released his hold on my chin and continued his sketches. I stared at the white ceiling, allowing him to move around my arms and examine my fingers while he sketched. Occasionally pages flipped and his pencil ceased its scratching. But for a good hour or so, I was a still model.
He finally closed the book and tucked it away somewhere, I could not see. He sat next to me again and began to draw the yukata around me, tying the belt securely around my waist. My eyes were closed and I was half-asleep. He cradled me, lifting me into a sitting position. Again, he fixed my hair. My head lolled, I feigned weakness although much of my strength had begun to slowly return.
"The drug should have worn out by now," Sasori said. His hand was still on my shoulder as he steadied me. "If you don't eat, you'll puke later. I will make you clean it."
I shrugged him off, looking up at him with red eyes. "You humiliated me."
"You didn't trust me to see you naked while you were unconscious," he said matter-of-factly, one brow quirked up in another rare expression that did not suit him.
I shook my head, running my fingers through my hair. It wasn't tangled. "You know what you've done. I know you put me through all that on purpose, you sick, enigmatic"—
"You're rather beautiful, you know."
My sentence stopped short. I looked at him disbelievingly. The comment shook me. It disturbed me. But at the same time I was surprised he had even looked at me in that way. This entire time I had been a pet—a specimen for him to prod and physically dissect. But he acknowledged me as a human being, as a woman.
I did not blush, though if it had been any other man I would have. I simply stared at my lap, mumbling a pathetic, "Thank you."
"It was an observation, not a compliment," he clarified. His voice bore no semblance of embarrassment or awkwardness.
Somehow this made what he said seem even better.
I damned myself for being moved over such shallow words. This was all coming from the same man who regarded emotions as sicknesses, who had been drugging me and dragging me everywhere for around a week now, and who wanted to kill me, ultimately. But somehow it put me at ease in a way it should not have.
Especially from someone handsome like Sasori.
I cursed to myself, curling my fingers into fists. What was I thinking? He was evil. I was just going crazy. Crazy because I had no social interaction outside of odd conversations with Sasori. I was going berserk.
"Are you too weak to stand?" He asked tonelessly. He was standing with his arms crossed. He had been watching the entire time.
I looked at him for a few moments then scowled. I managed to writhe out of the sheets and stand on the opposite side of the bed. I buckled, and instantly he was at my side, balancing me once again. I tore away from him.
"Let me be! I can walk."
It was easier said than done. It had been so long since I had walked on my own. I took wavering steps towards the door, then out towards the kitchen. I made it to the kitchen table, though Sasori was always a pace or two away. He watched me sit. In front of me was a bowl of katsudon covered with saran wrap. The steam on the saran wrap indicated it was made just moments ago.
"Who made this?" I asked.
Sasori was staring at the side of my head, I could tell. I did not want to look at him. He did not answer, anyway. Too delighted to see food, I removed the saran wrap and picked up my chopsticks.
"Itadakimasu," I muttered, eating with small, quick bites.
"My servant delivered it," he responded.
"Why do you have the time to watch over me here?" I asked between bites. The food was delicious. I wondered if the servant was the one who cooked.
"I'm on what you might call a vacation," he muttered, turning away from me. "I have finished my work earlier."
"What is your work?" I inquired. "Wrecking havoc?"
He smirked, "I work in an organization."
"Sounds almost mildly normal."
"My partner and I were assigned a mission, but it was simple. We finished within days. My partner is delivering what we were supposed to attain, then he too will have free time for a year."
"A year? What do you get paid?"
"Quite a bit. More than enough for my art," Sasori said simply.
The katsudon was nearly finished. I cleared my throat, eating the last few bites. I slowly stood and brought my dishes to the sink. I reached for the tap, but Sasori stopped me.
"I have a house keeper that comes at night. It's not necessary to clean," he said. He beckoned me towards the table, and I sat down. He looked me in the eye. I had lost count of how many times his eyes had me frozen, like right then. "What do you know about art?"
I bit my lip awkwardly, tearing my gaze from his, "…Um, we had an art gallery, where I used to live."
He apprehended this with a slow nod.
I guessed that he wanted me to continue. So I did, cautiously, "It was underground… and… the art was really old, like our village. There were lots of banners of large calligraphy."
He did not respond for a few moments, then he asked, "What is art to you?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly. I frowned, shaking my head gently to calm my nerves, "I mean… I guess anything can be art, right? Everything in the world has some sort of beautiful aspect to it."
"So many things in this world are temporary. They exist, then they're gone," Sasori sneered. "Art is eternal. Art are things that cannot perish, that withstand this world's natural tendency to rot away…"
I swallowed painfully, chills rolling down my spine. He sounded like a crazy person.
"My art will outlive everything—my parents, this forest, the world… and once I am fine art, so will I."
"Sasori, I'm confused"—
Instantly he was right beside me. He had a hand on my thigh, and one grabbing my hair holding my face close to his. I felt as though my heart had stopped, but I was frozen in time. His eyes… those eyes were right in front of me again, piercing mine. I took in a sharp breath.
He leaned forward, past my face and into my ear he whispered, "You could never understand. It is not meant for you to understand, but you must believe."
"Believe in what?"
He was almost fully pressed up against me. "Believe in me, of course… my talent, my art…"
I shook my head numbly. I wanted to get up and run. He was absolutely crazy, definitely deliriously out of his mind. I didn't want to listen to him, and I didn't want to be alone with him any longer. Suddenly I feared sleep. I feared not being able to defend myself, though even conscious I was no less defenseless than I was unconscious.
It always turned out like this. Me, somehow trapped by him, although he never used force.
Maybe the drugs made me docile.
"You don't have any options, your life is in my hands," Sasori whispered lowly, huskily in my ear. I shivered, pressing myself hard against the back of the chair.
Why wouldn't he kill me already?
"I know you're impatient… so am I," he droned, deathly quiet. "I'm not the sort to delay, so when I take my time, it means it's for the best, for perfection."
I squirmed, sweat building along my hairline.
"Don't worry, my brat," Sasori slurred, stroking the side of my face with his hand, "You will appreciate what's in store for you if you learn to understand my art."
With that, he stood from his seat and disappeared out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.
I shook uncontrollably, winding my arms around myself and placing my forehead on the table.
I needed to get out of there. I had to try, at least.
I waited only a few minutes, but once they passed I bolted for the door. I crashed against it, violently shaking the doorknob. I cursed inwardly like a mantra. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…
Then I remembered it was locked from the inside. It must have locked behind him automatically… God, how come I didn't remember him unlocking it to begin with. I backed away from the door slowly, hands trembling with fear. Emitting a bloodcurdling scream, I kicked the door as hard as I could. A dull pain shot through my leg, but with all the adrenaline in my system it barely perturbed me. I attempted once more, this time aiming closer towards the doorknob.
Bang. The door burst open, swinging loosely on its hinges. I didn't wait. I flew out the door.
My yukata only somewhat restricted my movement. I shuffled down the stairs and tripped my way across the clearing, into the forest. The trees were tall, wide, and spaced. It seemed all the vegetation here was perfect. I scampered barefoot over and under the fat protruding roots. I rounded large tree trunks and ducked into and out of bushes. My feet were moving so fast they were a blur. I held up my skirt. My head darted between looking over my shoulder and looking straight ahead, towards the green nothingness that beheld me.
I ran for what seemed like forever. I slowed, but my legs continued to move inherently until my muscles gave out and I crumbled to the ground. I was perspiring, and my yukata was barely covering me by now. It fell over one shoulder, revealed much of my chest, and was incredibly dirty near the bottom where I had stepped on the white material and tripped over it countless times.
My red hair was tangled near the ends. I pushed as much as I could away, though a few strands remained plastered to my sweaty forehead and face. My chest heaved as I panted, and my gaze scanned the clearing, my eyes wide with panic.
Where was I? Where was Sasori? Would he have noticed I was gone already?
My shoulders slumped, and I curled in a ball on the ground. I was not free. This part of the forest looked so similar to the parts I'd been running in. I could have been running in a perfect circle, and I would not have been able to tell.
I cursed my life, and most of all I cursed Sasori.
How had I become a target to him, out of everyone he could have just as easily kidnapped from some shinobi village? What about me made me worthy prey for the likes of him?
My fingers tangled with the blades of grass beneath my hands, and I closed my eyes tight.
Seconds later, the trees rustled in the breeze. It was refreshing to feel a wave of cool air pass over me. I exhaled, heart still beating loudly in my ears.
A hand touched my bare shoulder. It was cold. My body burned as blood coursed through my veins, but I forced myself to feign sleep. I felt the fabric of the yukata be dragged up, concealing my exposed flesh.
Why was he doing this? I asked myself this over and over, but continued to focus on my breathing. It was difficult though. I could tell he was watching me. What was he waiting for? Was he going to reprimand me? Was he going to drug me? Was he going to finally kill me?
He brushed hair from my face. Why did he always have to do that? I heard him exhale, and settle on the grass beside me.
"Stupid brat," I heard him say, voice barely above a whisper.
He adjusted my sleeping position. I played dead as best I could, allowing myself to be rolled onto my back. He folded my hands on my stomach and adjusted my hair, again. He smoothed the wrinkles in my yukata.
"I swear…" he murmured.
Note: Thanks for the continued support! Please leave a review - I really appreciate them :).
