A week later…
I wake up, disoriented. I've been pinned to the wall by his mind, and I can't see anything. My hair is greasy and disheveled, and my voice is hoarse. "Where am I?"
"It doesn't matter."
"How long have I been out?" My eyes are slowly adjusting, but I have no idea where I am.
His low chuckle reverberates off the walls, making it sound as though I'm surrounded. "I left the knife in for about a week." I ponder this for a minute. He let me decompose for an entire week. It's probably for the best—his temper's likely cooled off at least a little bit.
"Think again, Claire." Before I can register that his voice is right in my ear, his fist shoots out superhumanly fast, twisting my head until I hear the bones in my neck crack and break.
I can see through bleary eyes as my head rolls back into place. As bad as I feel, my husband doesn't look much better. He still hasn't shaved, and I think he's wearing the same clothes from the last time I saw him.
"Don't think I look too well, hmm? So sorry to disappoint," he hissed. "Perhaps the last month has been a little more tiring for me than for you, my wife."
"Is that how long it took you to find me?" I lay an edge of derision to my question. He doesn't miss it, and uses Elle's ability against me. My flesh is black and peeling within seconds, and the shreds of my clothes fall to the floor.
"You faithless little bitch," he growls, knife in hand. I can feel my skin being sliced as his hand travels lower and lower, and I have a horrifying realization of where the blade is headed. "After so long without a fix of your favorite drug…I think you'll appreciate it."
He sheathes the K-bar between my thighs, thrusting deep until his hand is pressed against my curls. I scream as he twists it and pulls it out, hitting my face with the flat of the blade.
"I cannot adequately express the frustration you have given me," he says in a normal tone of voice. "You are not stupid enough to have believed that you could outrun me, outsmart me, and just leave me behind."
"Leave you behind?" I interrupt shrilly. "You left me! I didn't hear from you for over a year—not a single fucking word. And you weren't even around before then! You just stopped by between trips to share my bed."
"You may have noticed, Claire, that taking over and organizing the whole world takes quite a lot of time and energy. I apologize if I didn't give enough attention to you," he says nastily. "But if you were so lonely, it would seem that you found someone to fill your void. Was he everything you ever wanted?"
"Shut up, Sylar. I know it must be hard to hear, but you're not what I want anymore. How many times do you want me to repeat it?"
"Until you can make me believe it, dearest," he shoots back. He stops the conversation by lighting my hair on fire, watching it grow back with a satisfied grin. Finally he releases me from the wall. My legs buckle, weak from disuse, before I catch myself and lean against the stone.
His fingers twitch as though flipping a light switch, and I writhe in agony as every one of my nerves are overloaded with pain signals. My muscles spasm erratically as he watches me shriek.
"I'm not scared of you…Sylar," I gasp when I can breathe again. He lifts me until I can look directly into his eyes. Surprisingly, they are not the icy orbs I expected; instead they are reflections of a hot anger, barely controlled.
"Are you waiting for me to congratulate you?"
I don't answer him; I can't while he's strangling me.
"And what makes you so sure that this is Sylar's reaction?" he goes on. "No one is ever happy to come home to an empty house and a cheating wife. That isn't just a characteristic of sociopaths."
His words would bring on a fresh assault of guilt, but I remind myself again. He left you, Claire. He's just pissed that he isn't getting his way.
"Oh really?" he challenges, backhanding me. He freezes me on my feet before dislocating both of my arms with his brute strength. Even still, I look at him and feel pity for this man who wants so badly to be able to undo what I've done.
"Then don't look at me. Your pity is worthless." My hands move on his strings as my thumbs dig into the corners of my eyes, blinding me. By the time they've regrown, I'm whimpering on my knees.
"Now listen to me. Open your eyes." He forces my head upward at a painful angle. "That's better. You, my little wife, are the most insecure person on the planet, and the only one I've ever met who can compete with me in the sick and twisted department. And that is why I am generously choosing to share this information with you."
"I stopped by in Africa, after spending five months in Asia. I was overtaken by a band of primitives with rather impressive powers. They had me locked up, on drugs, until a month ago, when one of the guards got sloppy."
I'm staring dumbly. I don't understand what he's saying. Someone…someone was stronger than Sylar?
"You think I wanted to leave you alone for almost two years?" His words are bitter and full of pain—pain that I haven't been able to hear until now. "No, Claire. I had to slaughter an entire village to get out of that hellhole, only to come back and find you gone. And all anyone could tell me was that you had disappeared with someone they'd never seen before. And then I finally find you, find you fucking some stupid idea of a normal life." His voice has dropped to a rough, shameful tone. It is the tone that has accompanied all of his lowest, most naked moments, and I feel a strong desire to hold him against me in spite of everything he's done.
"I can never give you normalcy."
With that admission, he hangs his head. And I feel…wretched. I am the most horrible creature, and the overwhelming shame and guilt is crushing me under its weight. I know that whatever I say now will not be good enough, but I can't let the silence continue.
"Gabriel." I crawl closer to him. "Please…please punish me. I deserve whatever you have. I'm so sorry."
I lie there and weep, exhausted as he looks at me with dark eyes.
A/N: Uh oh. Please leave your comments/prayers/thoughts in the review section. Thanks. :)
--Mel and Chuck
