Lee: I'm glad to have you with me and that you are amused... ;D Where it goes from here? Well... um... No, you'll have to be patient with me. What I wanna know is where "Not The Type" is going!

Emptyvoices: It's great that you are excited, and thank you for the compliment, that the characters feels real. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter now.

/Nic.

Chapter 11 Stranger Within

Staring at Vincent who looked like he'd lost something valuable - like his brain! - she suddenly got profoundly tired. Tired of him, and this whole situation. She had a headache and an awful taste in her mouth, she smelled of old sweat and booze, and really, really needed to eat. Walking past him, she opened a cupboard, reached for a big glass, filled it to the rim with fresh, cold water and drank it greedily.

Somewhere, where are they? She pulled out one drawer after another.

Finally, finding some painkillers, she poured a couple into her palm and swallowed them with the last of the water. She hesitated, but then held out the small box of pills towards him, he did look like he could need some too. I don't have to be an asshole just because he's one.

Vincent looked up at her with a new tiredness in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, and then down at her hand. Sighing, he nodded, and accepted the offer. Reaching past her, he took the glass she'd been using and poured some water for himself, slipping two pills in his mouth before draining it.

Well, fuck me, he's human!

The interactions seemed to revive him a little. Obviously back to normal, he straightened himself and gazed at her with a slight grin on his lips, sniffed demonstratively in the air and squinted. "You know, you could use a bath…"

"Didn't think I'd need one," she answered quickly, cockily, beyond caring any more about being cautious. She still didn't trust him not to suddenly change his mind again and decide that he should kill her. Who needs a shower if they are going to die!

He gave a short laugh. "Well, guess what? Change of plans. Now you do."

"Don't like smelly corpses?" she replied like a smart-ass.

In a way, she was trying to be funny, but at the same time there was nothing even remotely resembling a smile on her lips. On the contrary: if she felt anything it was bitterness at how her life had turned out and at how it would end. I'll probably smell BETTER than I do now once I start to decompose.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "They all smell, sooner or later… I do mind smelly women, though."

"Why should that bother me?"

Jerk!

"It'd ruin the dinner…"

That rendered her speechless for a moment.

Dinner?

The thought of food made her stomach give out a high gurgling sound. She tried to ignore it, wanting to push the bastard just a little further. "I don't see any candles."

"Because we're going out…" He looked at her as if he'd just given her a big surprise. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had, so she just clammed up.

"Guess I do need a bath then," she muttered. Brushing past him with her head held high, she went back to the bedroom and collected a robe and a clean towel.

We're going OUT?

She didn't get to see the amused look on Vincent's face.

-

-

Vincent had treated himself to a drink and was sitting on her bed, watching some talk show on the TV. Sarah's words had driven a nail through his mind. He didn't feel entirely well. He didn't want to remember.

Beaten.

Letterman was interviewing a young starlet. Laughter.

Nightmares.

Music, a band he hadn't heard of before.

Blood.

A redneck was singing with a goat, and being ridiculed on national TV.

Abandoned.

The humid air from the bathroom, enriched with scents of fresh soap and shampoo, filled the room as she walked through it, breaking the spell. She had covered herself in a washed-out red bathrobe, and her wet hair had been brushed back and lay plastered against her scalp. She looked fresh and innocent, and for the first time since they met, he found her attractive.

I like her scent…

Or perhaps it was that she looked sweeter, more vulnerable… more like the Sarah he'd known a long time ago? At this very moment, with that clean, smooth face, it was impossible to believe she'd been through all that shit in her life.

She could've been so much more…

Sarah didn't speak to him, or even look in his direction. It was obvious that she was still wary in his company, and probably rather pissed… After their last argument, a quiet peace, or more like a non-war, had settled between them. It was nice for a change; he hoped it would last.

Sarah rummaged around in her wardrobe, holding up one dress after the other, clearly unable to make up her mind. Vincent decided it was about time he did what he did the best: took control.

Quietly stepping up behind the unsuspecting Sarah, he said in a low voice,

"Go for the black one."

-

-

Sarah jerked around, she hadn't heard him coming. "FUCK! You scared me!"

"Isn't that getting old?"

"Well, stop sneaking up on me then!"

"OK," he said lightly. "The black one."

Sarah pressed her lips together, took the dress from its hanger and went back to the bathroom. The shower had made her feel new, and had washed away some of their arguing and the remnants of fear that had still lingered in her pores. She still didn't trust him completely - he had yet to give her some kind of explanation - but she was looking forward to leave the apartment for a while, and was overall in an increasingly good mood.

After putting on fresh underwear and a pair of stockings, she pulled the dress over her head. It was an amazing dress and she'd never used it, she'd worn it only once before, in the store in front of the saleswoman. Annoyingly enough, she couldn't reach the zipper in her back, and after trying it out in different angles she had to give up.

"Vincent!"

He showed up in the bathroom doorway a moment later, leaned casually against the door frame and looked her up and down.

"Zipper," she muttered, and turned her back to him.

Instead of just pulling it up there, he stepped into the small room and placed himself behind her, the mirror reflecting both of them. Holding the edges of the zipper at her lower neck with one warm, steady hand, he went for the zipper with the other and slowly pulled it up. Then he looked back up at the slightly flushed reflection of her face, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Still watching her in the mirror, he pulled the hair away from her face and gathered it at the back of her neck.

"Look at yourself," he said softly.

She tried to bend her head away. "Cut it out, I don't want to."

"Please."

Please!

Surprised, she looked up at his refection in the mirror. That was the first time EVER she'd heard him ask her politely, and not the usual ordering her around.

He straightened her head in front of the mirror and placed a finger under her chin, lifting it slightly. "You should be proud of yourself, Sarah. Do something about your hair; if you pull it back like this; look what it does to your face."

Are you for real? She tried to squirm out of his grip, but he still held her hair in his fist at the back of her head.

"And use some color in your face."

"I do!" she hissed. Sarah was increasingly annoyed to be examined like this. It was none of his business.

He went on, unmoved by the slight irritation in her voice. "…and straighten your shoulders. Stop hiding."

"I'm not hi… Stop doing this, Vincent! Why are you making fun of me?

"I'm not. I just think you deserve better."

Better than what?

"You don't know me! You haven't seen me before yesterday, when you came and messed up my life - and my appearance!"

He smiled. "Yes, I have, I do research on all my jobs. I know your schedule… where you live. I knew you were alone that night..."

Sarah's face dropped. "Oh." How come you didn't know who I was then? Regaining her composure, she snarled, "What do you know about women anyway!"

Smiling more broadly, he mocked, "A great deal, I'd say."

"'Bout hair and make-up, I meant," she answered quickly, turning slightly pink with embarrassment. Suddenly she was very aware of his body close to hers in the small bathroom.

"I know what looks good on a woman," he replied calmly, with a hint of tease in his voice.

"Fine," she muttered in defeat. Of course he was right, there was no denying that. It was just that she hadn't felt like there was any reason to try to look good recently. For whom would she do that? There hadn't been anyone's attention she had wanted to catch lately. On the contrary: she had been happy to just melt into the walls, to be left alone.

'You are what you feel. Other people treat you by what you express to them. Embrace the world and it will hug you back.'

One cliché after the other flipped through her brain, as she was once again left alone in the bathroom.

Still, they held some truth.

She leaned her forehead against the mirror and closed her eyes.

I didn't ask for this. I just wanted to be left alone.

Vincent's words, however, had set a little ball rolling, planted a seed. He had seen her. He had taken the time to look right at her, to look behind her mask, and not just see the scar, or her background.

I have never been important to anyone. Maybe to Simon once, but he's dead. I've never been important even to me. I've known it in a way; I've just never straightened up and really looked at it.

I feel… like somebody…like I am somebody…

He sees me.

He makes ME see me…

Fuck.