His snoring was almost comforting. But she'd been lying there for a while, his breath tickling her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist possessively. She wiggled out of his grasp, standing in the darkness. The candle had burnt out, and the twilight cast a blue tone over the room. She stretched, her hands clawing toward the ceiling, looking around the room for her trousers. Her mind was running as quickly as it possibly could, no matter how she tried to slow it down. She pulled the pants up her legs and tied them quickly, a little tighter than was absolutely necessary.
She sat for a moment, head bowed and hands clasped, and closed her eyes, remembering. For some reason she always remembered things in third person, and she mentally struggled against the memories, willing herself not to relive those five years of pain and humiliation, sharing close quarters with Jonathan. Or his crew. Suddenly her mind did a complete turnaround, and she found herself staring into his eyes. Those probing, bottomless brown eyes….
Your pleasure is mine, love. There was something huge in those words, but she couldn't wrap her head around what it was.
"Are you going to talk about it, or not?" his voice cut through her reverie. She looked up at him, and the worry in his eyes betrayed his sarcastic tone.
She shrugged, an apologetic smile flitting over her face, quickly hidden by the pain in her eyes. He was surprised that she could look so… vulnerable.
"Come here," he ordered, his voice quiet and entreating. She sat next to him on the bed, looking at the floor. He took her hand in his own, trying to comfort her without even being truly sure of the problem.
"Is it supposed to be like that?" her voice was little more than a whisper.
He brushed a few stray hairs out of her face. "You've been misused, love, and you know you've been misused, so why are you making this so hard?"
"I don't know. You're the one that threw my whole world upside down." She snapped, standing. He grabbed her arm, to hold her there, but she threw him off. "Let go. It hurts. It feels like… like… I have my watch," she spat, turning, and walked out the door, leaving him to dress himself. He could hear the catcalls already, and hurried into his pants, not quite sure what her response to that particular problem would be.