The first thing Elizabeth noticed as her body began to wake up was that the blanket tucked under her chin was scratchy, the material rubbing against her soft skin.
The second thing she noticed was the heavy weight around her stomach. It felt like something had her in a vice-like grip, but despite that, she felt no need to pull away or escape.
The third thing she noticed was the fact that there was something very hard, and very warm pressed up against her back. And whatever it was, was breathing on her neck.
Jason.
A lazy smile came to her face as she remembered what had happened the night before. She had waited for him for hours before exhaustion had crept up on her. She needed a good nights sleep, but she didn't want to leave Jake's. She had said that she would stay, she had promised… and she was going to.
She had let the situation with Lucky pull her away from Jason too many times. She had almost given up on their friendship because of it. He never said anything about it, but she knew how much she'd hurt him at the gardens that night. She had felt his emotions as he drove her back to Kelly's before pleading with her to reconsider. She knew telling Jason that they couldn't be friends had hurt him more than she had realized at the time.
Elizabeth had wanted to make up for that, and a part of her believed that by staying, and waiting for Jason, she would be able to begin to do just that. She needed to prove that she was sure of what she wanted, that she was sure of Jason.
So she stayed.
She had crawled into the bed and immediately inhaled his scent from the pillows and sheets. It was faint, but it definitely smelled like the spicy, all male scent of Jason. She had wrapped herself in the blankets wanting to get as close to him as she would without him being there.
Rolling her head to the side, Elizabeth's eyes roamed over Jason's peaceful face. He was on top of the covers, one of his legs thrown over hers, his arm draped over her waist. His head was turned slightly towards her and she could faintly see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
The artist in her soaked up the lines of his body, taking everything in. His face was angular but soft. The hard line of his strong nose was contrasted nicely by the soft curve of his bottom lip. His strong jaw curved upward, meeting with the bottom of his small ears. His spiky hair melted into the gentle curve of his forehead.
He was an Adonis; a sculptor's dream. Part of her wished she worked with marble instead of oil paints so that she would be able to sculpt him. Her eyes drifted down the column of his neck and lower.
He was a masterpiece.
Pulling her eyes back up to his face, Elizabeth gasped when she saw his baby blues open and staring back at her. "Morning…"
Jason's mouth twitched slightly. "Good morning."
Shifting, Elizabeth turned her body so that she lay facing him. While Jason loosened his grip on her to let her move freely, he didn't let go. When she settled again, she looked back up at him. "I didn't hear you come in last night."
"It was late and you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
Taking the initiative, Elizabeth snuggled closer to his chest, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I really wanted to wait up for you but I was so tired."
Jason smiled slightly, once again tightening his arms around her. "You've been through a lot lately. I know you. When you're worried or scared, you get a lot of false energy and you're constantly moving. You needed your sleep."
Elizabeth squeezed his side with her arms, feeling the muscle tighten under her fingers as he shifted slightly. "Well, I slept like a baby last night."
"I'm glad."
Looking up, Elizabeth rested her chin on Jason's chest, peering into his eyes. "I think it's because I feel safe here. I don't worry about someone leaving me reminders of my rape when I'm here."
Taking one hand away from her waist, Jason reached up to cup her cheek. "Good. I want you to feel safe here."
Smiling, Elizabeth stretched to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "I know you'll do everything you can to keep me safe."
Jason nodded seriously before letting a smile slide onto his face. Lifting his head off the pillow, he moved to kiss her again but Elizabeth pulled away, her hand lightly covering her mouth as she giggled, shaking her head.
"Uh uh… morning breath."
And her laughter resonated in the room.
Tapping his fingers on the phone, Jeremy waited for the person on the line to finish talking, not really listening to what he had to say.
His hands played with one of the files he had on Elizabeth. This one ranged from age seventeen to present. It chronicled her life after the death of her boyfriend, Lucky Spencer, even thought he was still alive.
Shaking his head, Jeremy rolled his eyes. Some parts of her life were just unbelievable. He looked down at a picture of her, this one from the Nurse's Ball, and smiled. Maybe some parts were unbelievable, but that was why he loved her so much.
He'd read so much information on the file that he felt like he'd know her all of her life. She was vibrant, she was stubborn, she was beautiful, and he loved her for all of it. And she loved him back.
She just didn't know it yet.
Concentrating once more on the voice coming through the phone, Jeremy frowned. "I don't care about all of that. I just want to know if it's all set up."
The man on the line paused for a minute. "This is some powerful stuff, Jeremy. What do you want with it?"
Jeremy stiffened in his chair and his fingered tightened around the picture of Elizabeth. "That's none of your concern. Just tell me – is it ready?"
The man sighed. "It'll be ready for you to pick up. Just be careful, man. If this girl's as small as you say, you can't give her too much."
"I know what I'm doing."
Again, the man paused. "I hope so, man."
Giving a disgusted grunt, Jeremy slammed the phone down. He looked at the picture in his hands and immediately tried to straightened the edges that has bent when he'd gotten frustrated on the phone.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he muttered, his hands trying to get rid of the creases in the picture. "I can fix it… I can…"
There was a crease in the picture right across Elizabeth's face and Jeremy desperately tried to straighten it. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry."
Playing with the picture only made it worse and in anger, he crumpled it up, hurtling the balled-up piece of paper across the room. Nearly growling in frustration, he yanked open the bottom drawer of the desk.
Inside lay a stack full of pictures, all of Elizabeth. Most of them were of her looking away, little pictures that had been taken without her knowledge. Some of them were from her childhood, pictures Sorel's men had given to him in the files.
He rummaged through the pile, finally picking out a picture of Elizabeth sitting by the docks. Her hair was blowing in the breeze and she had her hand up to push it away. She was looking off into the distance and her cheeks were reddened by the cold air. A wool scarf was tightly wrapped around her neck.
It was his favorite picture.
He'd taken it himself. He'd been following her for almost two weeks by then, trying to get to know her schedule, even thought he hadn't talked to her yet. He's come across her sitting on the bench and had instantly pulled out a little disposable camera.
It was the best picture he'd even taken.
Placing the picture on his desk, Jeremy stared at it, his hand lightly brushing over the glossy finish.
"It won't be long now, Eliza… it won't be long at all…
"Welcome to the Port Charles Art Gallery."
Her shoes clicked against the marble floor as Elizabeth slowly walked through the glass doors, smiling at the woman who greeted everyone. She loved the Gallery. It was filled with some much talent and history. She chastised herself, telling herself that she should come by more often. She could spend hours in the Gallery.
She had stayed with Jason all morning until live finally reared its head in and forced him to leave for the warehouse. She eventually left for her studio with Francis, promising to meet Jason on the docks at six.
The message on her machine from Jeremy hadn't surprised her. He had mentioned something about it at Jake's. Elizabeth hadn't been to the Gallery in a long time, and she jumped to go.
As she looked around at the art on the walls, she smiled. Turning towards Francis, she called out to him. She pointed to the wall in front of her. "What do you think of this one?"
It was Monet.
Francis's eyes darted to the painting quickly. "It's nice, Miss Webber."
She smiled before turning back to the art, her feet slowly sliding across the floor as she moved towards the abstract section.
In front of her was a brilliant painting. Reds, oranges, and yellows jumped out at her. The paining was done as a series of tiny blocks that looked like nothing up close, but made a picture when you stepped back. "What do you think of this one, Francis?"
She didn't hear him respond and she laughed. "Don't even think about saying, 'it's nice, Miss Webber' again. I want to know your opinion on it."
When he still hadn't responded, she frowned, turning around. Her hands found their way to her hips and she was ready to mock-glare at him for not giving his thoughts on the artwork. Her eyes widened slightly.
He wasn't there.
An uneasy feeling came to her stomach but Elizabeth pushed it out of her mind. Sometimes Francis stepped back to give her some space and he had probably done that just now. He was probably just around the corner.
Stepping away from the artwork, Elizabeth backtracked, her shoes clicking loudly on the floor. "Francis?" She turned the corner and gasped at what she saw. Francis lay facedown on the floor.
He wasn't moving.
Dropping to her knees, Elizabeth hesitantly reached out for a second before firmly pushing two fingers against he pulse point of his neck. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt a steady beat under the pads of her fingers. Slow, but steady.
Straightening, she stood to go call for help. As she backed up, she ran into something hard and Elizabeth gasped when she felt a hand come around to grip her. She struggled in the arms of whoever held her, their hand coming to cover her mouth.
Her entire body tensed with fear as she felt herself being lifted up into the air. Her legs flailed and she kicked as hard a she could, coming in contact with a kneecap.
Elizabeth and her attacker fell forward, his weight on top of hers as she thrash about, trying to get away. She heard him swear and jumped when she felt a sharp prick in her left arm.
And her world went black.