Bloodred Senseless - Chapter 9: None other
Sydney awoke to a gentle murmuring somewhere off to the side. She struggled to get out from underneath the multiple covers on her bed and get some fresh oxygen. A scratchy feeling nagged at her from all over, and she realized that she was wearing a white terry robe. It seemed too familiar, however, like she had seen it before but hadn't worn it.
Freed from her goose-down shackles, Sydney sat up in the bed. At once she realized whose soft voice had woken her up; a proper English lilt traveled to her ears clearly now that she wasn't under the covers. Sark was standing in a corner of the room, his phone in hand, speaking angrily yet quietly to the voice on the other end. He didn't look her way at all as she crawled out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. She cast a glance at him before softly shutting the door.
She first went to the mirror, examining her face. There was still a slightly red outline of a hand on her cheek—damn that man to hell, the asshole who had the inanity to hit her.
Then she remembered a flash of a memory before her mind's eye went dark. She untied the robe and let it drop, turning around and craning her neck to see the reflection of where the bullet had hit. Something inside her wasn't surprised when she found it cleaned and bandaged. What did surprise her was that she felt nothing; absolutely nothing. No pain whatsoever.
Though she knew better, Sydney ignored the feeling of worry that hit her when she realized that right now she should have been feeling something related to hell unleashed in her shoulder.
She bent down pulled the robe back on, tying it tight. After she washed her face in cold water, she felt a faint fancy to do something to her hair—most of it was limply pressed against her skull. She raked her fingers through the strands of honey brown, fluffing it a little, pretending she didn't realize that there was no real reason for her to be doing this.
-
She left the bathroom a few seconds later, opening the door almost sliently. Sydney's bare feet—the word 'naked' flashed through her mind, like the rest of her under the robe—padded across the carpeted floor until she reached the bed once more. She sat on the edge of the bed, falling slightly into the down comforter. Her back was straight, and she pressed her legs against the bedframe. She looked at the painting hanging on the wall opposite her. What was meant to be beautiful swirls of gold and crimson and other colors made nausea overcome her until she turned away.
Shivering, she stretched the robe across her body tightly. She was cold, and for the first time, she could feel the traces of hunger somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the hair on her arms pricking, trying to steal heat from their surroundings.
For the first time, Sark moved from his place in the corner, phone still up to his ear. At first, she was on alert, ready to hurt him because this whole 'kidnapping' was probably his idea. Instead she stayed put, watching his crisp black suit move across the room to the thermostat, beside the painting Sydney had been watching earlier. He pushed the uppermost button, the one most likely with an arrow pointing upwards, repeatedly for what seemed like close to a minute.
He then returned to his side of the room, this time pulling back the drapes slightly to look at the void that is the window. Letting go of the thick cloth, Sark moved towards Sydney slightly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Morphine." He stopped about six feet short of her and turned around, facing a wall and placing his hand on the back of an armchair.
-
His endless phone calls never began to bother Sydney. She watched television and struggled to make the large bed. Finally, bored out of her mind, she turned off the television and headed once more towards the bathroom. She stopped at the door, realizing that Sark might pull a classic kidnapper move and tell her not to shut it. She then turned around slightly and dropped the robe to her waist, bare back exposed before stepping into the bathroom and away from the doorway.
She took an extremely hot shower, even for her. The steam enveloped her senses, though a lot of it escaped through the open doorway. Every pore in her body was rejuvinated by the time she finished.
After using one of the fluffy white towels to dry off her hair and body, she wrapped it around herself and went up to the mirror, clearing part of it with her hand. She took the gauze she had placed on the counter before her shower and looked at it. One side of it was bright red, the other pure white. She didn't ponder using it again; just took one of the hand towels and cut it to size using the complementary scissors in the sewing kit. She peeled the sticky bandage off the used gauze and stuck it on the back of the fragment of towel, then twisted around and placed it over the circular wound on her shoulder.
She looked around for something to wear, dropping her robe in a pile beside the bathtub. She found another robe hanging on a hook behind the door and put it on, leaving the bathroom to search for her original clothing.
Sydney found her pants and top in the closet, hung on two of the mahogany hangers. She slipped back into the bathroom and put them back on, along with the panties she had been wearing before.
Having finished the last activity she could think of, Sydney stood in the room staring at the painting that had made her feel sick. She heard a beep behind her and saw Sark removing his phone from his ear. She walked up to him and stood a foot away, thinking. She placed a hand on his arm, speaking before he could.
"What are you doing here? What am I doing here?"
"I assure you, Agent Bristow, if I knew I would tell you."
She snorted. "I highly doubt that, Sark."
He started to dial another number on his phone and she stopped him. "Who are you calling?"
"My, we're full of questions today, aren't we?"
"Not just questions." She leaned in, pressing her lips against his.
He backed away and looked at her strangely. A flash of recognition, and he spoke. "Not that I mind you in this state, Agent Bristow, but I doubt you're in your right mind right now."
Sydney laughed. "Do you know how many puns you just used?" He responded with a slight smile and started to lift his phone again. She put a hand on his neck and kissed him again, only this time, he returned the favor.
Sydney awoke to a gentle murmuring somewhere off to the side. She struggled to get out from underneath the multiple covers on her bed and get some fresh oxygen. A scratchy feeling nagged at her from all over, and she realized that she was wearing a white terry robe. It seemed too familiar, however, like she had seen it before but hadn't worn it.
Freed from her goose-down shackles, Sydney sat up in the bed. At once she realized whose soft voice had woken her up; a proper English lilt traveled to her ears clearly now that she wasn't under the covers. Sark was standing in a corner of the room, his phone in hand, speaking angrily yet quietly to the voice on the other end. He didn't look her way at all as she crawled out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. She cast a glance at him before softly shutting the door.
She first went to the mirror, examining her face. There was still a slightly red outline of a hand on her cheek—damn that man to hell, the asshole who had the inanity to hit her.
Then she remembered a flash of a memory before her mind's eye went dark. She untied the robe and let it drop, turning around and craning her neck to see the reflection of where the bullet had hit. Something inside her wasn't surprised when she found it cleaned and bandaged. What did surprise her was that she felt nothing; absolutely nothing. No pain whatsoever.
Though she knew better, Sydney ignored the feeling of worry that hit her when she realized that right now she should have been feeling something related to hell unleashed in her shoulder.
She bent down pulled the robe back on, tying it tight. After she washed her face in cold water, she felt a faint fancy to do something to her hair—most of it was limply pressed against her skull. She raked her fingers through the strands of honey brown, fluffing it a little, pretending she didn't realize that there was no real reason for her to be doing this.
-
She left the bathroom a few seconds later, opening the door almost sliently. Sydney's bare feet—the word 'naked' flashed through her mind, like the rest of her under the robe—padded across the carpeted floor until she reached the bed once more. She sat on the edge of the bed, falling slightly into the down comforter. Her back was straight, and she pressed her legs against the bedframe. She looked at the painting hanging on the wall opposite her. What was meant to be beautiful swirls of gold and crimson and other colors made nausea overcome her until she turned away.
Shivering, she stretched the robe across her body tightly. She was cold, and for the first time, she could feel the traces of hunger somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the hair on her arms pricking, trying to steal heat from their surroundings.
For the first time, Sark moved from his place in the corner, phone still up to his ear. At first, she was on alert, ready to hurt him because this whole 'kidnapping' was probably his idea. Instead she stayed put, watching his crisp black suit move across the room to the thermostat, beside the painting Sydney had been watching earlier. He pushed the uppermost button, the one most likely with an arrow pointing upwards, repeatedly for what seemed like close to a minute.
He then returned to his side of the room, this time pulling back the drapes slightly to look at the void that is the window. Letting go of the thick cloth, Sark moved towards Sydney slightly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Morphine." He stopped about six feet short of her and turned around, facing a wall and placing his hand on the back of an armchair.
-
His endless phone calls never began to bother Sydney. She watched television and struggled to make the large bed. Finally, bored out of her mind, she turned off the television and headed once more towards the bathroom. She stopped at the door, realizing that Sark might pull a classic kidnapper move and tell her not to shut it. She then turned around slightly and dropped the robe to her waist, bare back exposed before stepping into the bathroom and away from the doorway.
She took an extremely hot shower, even for her. The steam enveloped her senses, though a lot of it escaped through the open doorway. Every pore in her body was rejuvinated by the time she finished.
After using one of the fluffy white towels to dry off her hair and body, she wrapped it around herself and went up to the mirror, clearing part of it with her hand. She took the gauze she had placed on the counter before her shower and looked at it. One side of it was bright red, the other pure white. She didn't ponder using it again; just took one of the hand towels and cut it to size using the complementary scissors in the sewing kit. She peeled the sticky bandage off the used gauze and stuck it on the back of the fragment of towel, then twisted around and placed it over the circular wound on her shoulder.
She looked around for something to wear, dropping her robe in a pile beside the bathtub. She found another robe hanging on a hook behind the door and put it on, leaving the bathroom to search for her original clothing.
Sydney found her pants and top in the closet, hung on two of the mahogany hangers. She slipped back into the bathroom and put them back on, along with the panties she had been wearing before.
Having finished the last activity she could think of, Sydney stood in the room staring at the painting that had made her feel sick. She heard a beep behind her and saw Sark removing his phone from his ear. She walked up to him and stood a foot away, thinking. She placed a hand on his arm, speaking before he could.
"What are you doing here? What am I doing here?"
"I assure you, Agent Bristow, if I knew I would tell you."
She snorted. "I highly doubt that, Sark."
He started to dial another number on his phone and she stopped him. "Who are you calling?"
"My, we're full of questions today, aren't we?"
"Not just questions." She leaned in, pressing her lips against his.
He backed away and looked at her strangely. A flash of recognition, and he spoke. "Not that I mind you in this state, Agent Bristow, but I doubt you're in your right mind right now."
Sydney laughed. "Do you know how many puns you just used?" He responded with a slight smile and started to lift his phone again. She put a hand on his neck and kissed him again, only this time, he returned the favor.