Disclaimer: Do I have to keep doing this at every chapter? Yeah, yeah, I don't own Vincent!
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Chapter 12 Inflicting Pain…
About half an hour later, Sarah had dried her hair and put on some make up.
It really was a good looking dress, and she felt elegant and quite classy as she left the bathroom. Full of expectation, she looked forward to see Vincent's reaction.
He was lying on his back on her bed, resting his head against the pillow and was glancing at the TV. His suit jacket laid over the arm rest of her sofa and he looked relaxed in his shirt and dark grey suit pants. She only saw his profile, as he seemed absorbed by the TV.
When she entered the bedroom, he looked up at her. "Did you know that the global warming will eventually kill every living thing on this earth? Due to unstable weather with heat, blizzards, tornados and floods. All the inhabitable land will be under water."
"What?" What's he talking about?
"That's what we humans do to ourselves."
"Eh… yeah." Sarah only managed to look confused. She wasn't really updated on the global warming issues, or any other political stuff for that matter. She wouldn't have thought he was, either.
Rising from the bed, he went over to the doorway, where she'd stopped. Without a word, he took a T-shirt that lay over a chair next to him, and started to gently wipe her eyelids, removing most of the green eyeshadow she had so carefully put on.
Sarah started to chew on her lower lip in order not to start crying. Her eyes went blank and she swallowed hard, her nostrils flared with the effort of trying to stay calm.
She failed.
She backed away from him. "Get the FUCK out of my face, Vincent! What's with you!"
"As in?" he replied, seemingly untouched by her outburst.
"As in first you tell me to wear make up and now you wipe it away… And I fucking HATE myself for even putting it on for you in the first place! Fu -" Sarah stopped right there. Looking at her feet, she bit back a whole lot of mean things she wanted to say to him at that moment
He frowned. "Don't do it for me. Do it for you." He removed some residues beside her left eye with his thumb. "When I told you to wear some make up, I didn't mean you should look like a clown. We're going to a nice restaurant, and you need to look appropriate."
Sarah's shoulders hung heavy from the burden of the humiliation. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she muttered. Turning around to leave, she was interrupted by a firm hand on her shoulder.
Vincent leaned forward and said softly in her ear, "Yes, you are."
Spinning around, she slapped his hand away. "Make me!"
Raising one eyebrow, he met her challenging stare. "Is this really wise, Sarah?"
"You said you wouldn't hurt me!"
"Wrong. I said I'm not gonna kill you. Hurt is not really my business, too many random factors involved… But I know a few ways if you force me…"
Starting to regret that she'd pushed him this far, she still found it impossible to back out. Stubbornly, she said, "Yeah? Like what?"
"Like if you don't come with me now; I'll head for a nice restaurant all by myself, boring as it may be, and on my way back here, I'll pass by Peter Millard's place and execute him." He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, like he was going to buy some milk, and not talking about killing people.
The mentioning of her employer's name sent chills through Sarah's spine. …and his kids!
Backing away from Vincent, she numbly nodded, immediately resting her case. Her insides clenched and tore at her conscience in an impossible calculation; can't go with him - can't let him go without me… He really is just a murderer!
He's not the man I thought he was… would be…
Whatever!
I've been so wrong!
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They took a taxi to a restaurant in the southern suburbs, the Italian quarter.
Sarah sat frozen next to Vincent in the back seat, trying to stay as far away from him as possible. Street lights played across her face, the sun had just set and it was a beautiful, slightly chilly evening. People were walking on the streets, dressed up for Friday night, laughing, standing in line outside the most fashionable restaurants downtown.
The city was full of life and Sarah didn't see it. All the way, she stared out the window with empty eyes, freezing cold, tormented by thoughts about bullets ripping through flesh, screams of agony, bodies going limp as life was leaving them…
It was as if she was seeing life in a parallel world.
Vincent's world.
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The restaurant was small, with only enough room for about ten tables. She wondered how Vincent knew about it, even more so when he saluted the man, apparently the owner, who came to meet them as if they knew each other. They were seated in a secluded corner in the back of the room.
Vincent sat with his back against the wall.
Sarah put down her numb limbs at the chair opposite him. Staring into the wall.
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Vincent noticed that Sarah wasn't really there. He was in a fairly good mood, though, and didn't pay it that much attention to begin with.
He'd decided to do something decent for the first time in a very long time in his life. To improvise… adapt… It felt – different. It felt good in a new way. Not the satisfaction of a job well done. Nor was it the satisfaction of having had his needs fulfilled, whether it came to sex, food or wine, music, or a day on the boat or at his hacienda.
No, this was obviously how it felt to do good deeds; to sacrifice something for another human.
Selflessness.
Max would have laughed...
Well, Max isn't around any more, is he?
Pushing the thought of the ill-fated cabdriver from that LA mission two years ago deep down where it belonged, he concentrated on the present. Sarah looked like she had swallowed a lemon, and was staring emptily at the menu that lay on the table in front of her.
"Hey." He reached out his hand to touch hers.
Sarah shrank away and looked up at him with a fearful expression on her face.
What the fuck?
"What's wrong? Can't find anything you like?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Of course you're hungry. Try any of their pastas, may look simple but they are the best you'll ever have eaten."
She shrugged and looked helpless. "Pick any then. I don't know what to choose."
Vincent's eyes narrowed briefly before he looked back down at his own menu and chose two main courses, pasta Carbonara for Sarah, and pasta with beef, onion and mushroom in cream for himself. Searching carefully through the wine list, he selected an exquisite Rioja to go with the food.
Salvatore, the owner of the restaurant and a close friend of Johnny Corelli, came by, took their orders and gave them a Dry Martini each, at his own expense.
Sighing contentedly, Vincent leaned back and sipped at the - perfectly dry - Dry Martini. He studied Sarah again; she hadn't said a word since… since back at her place.
What's wrong?
Sarah looked elegant in the black dress that hugged her body, giving her curves where she didn't have any. Having done something with her hair, and obviously taking him up on his advice; her neck appeared longer, which became her. The make up was subtle now, after he'd removed some excess color, but it still made her eyes glow.
Overall, she looked good.
Is that it?
Was she still pissed because he'd interfered with her make up choice?
Women!
"Do we have a problem?"
She flinched and looked at him, frowned and licked her lips. "N-," she cleared her throat, "no."
What's the quiet thing about then?"
"Nothing," she whispered, staring down at the table.
"Do I look stupid to you?" His eyes narrowed in annoyance over her stubbornness.
Sarah looked back up at him, a tear threatened to spill over her lashes. "You said you'd kill him!" Her voice, still kept low, was full of accusation.
Who!
"Who?"
"You're fucking unbelievable!" she snarled a little louder.
"Keep your voice down," he said in a low voice, giving her a warning glance.
"Peter. You said you'd kill him if I didn't come with you…" A tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't you even remember?"
Vincent looked stunned.
Did I?
Their waiter chose that moment to appear with their food. Proudly, he presented their dishes and placed them before Sarah and Vincent respectively. Pouring some red wine into their glasses, he then wished them 'buono appetito' and retired discreetly.
Vincent actually realized he'd fucked up. He had wanted her to come to this restaurant with him, and his habit of taking what he wants at any cost surely had taken its toll on this situation. Seeing what he'd said through her eyes, as she put it now, made the whole thing look… unfavorable.
Smart move, Vincent.
Brilliant!
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath
Suck it up and apologize, Vincent, only chance of mending this.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said in a low voice.
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Sarah was in such acute inner pain that she could barely breathe. Nothing mattered to her any more. She would prefer it if he killed her, instead of threatening other people – people that she cared about – and keeping her in suspense like he'd done these last twenty-two hours.
Their dinner had arrived, but Sarah was unable to eat. Glancing up at Vincent, she saw that he wasn't eating either. She frowned; he looked different all of a sudden.
What is it now?
He'd had a disgustingly satisfied look on his face the last hour; looking untouchable and pleased with himself.
Now he appeared… almost sad…
It can't be…
"Sarah, I didn't mean... fuck, I..." Normally, a rather well-spoken man, he now stumbled on his words, which made Sarah peek curiously at him and squint doubtfully, slowly shaking her head.
"If you didn't mean it, why would you say it? Are you so used to threatening people that you don't care how it sounds?"
"I said I'm sorry," he repeated. His eyes had darkened a shade, and he held her eyes captured with his gaze, almost as if willing her to forgive him. They sucked Sarah in and pulled her reluctantly towards him.
Why does he have to be so…him?
Wanting desperately to believe his apologies, she gradually became aware of how much she depended upon him. He had become her whole world since yesterday, her caretaker. He fed her and dressed her; he had talked to her… and caressed her.
She hadn't felt so much in the center for anybody's attention since… well, never.
"Tell me you're not gonna kill Peter... Please."
He laughed shortly. "Can't promise you such a thing. It all depends..."
"Depends on what? And why are you dragging me around anyway? You promised me not to kill me… can't you just let me go now? Please, Vincent."
"Look, I -" He licked his lips and considered her for a moment, then he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Finally, he drew a breath, glanced around the room in his unique way and turned back to her.
"I intend to free you of the contract. I can't let you go just yet... there would be others..."
What!
She was stunned. That was the last thing she would have expected from him. Sarah became silent for a moment and let the new information settle in her mind.
"Why are you doing this, Vincent?"
"Doing what?"
"Saving me…or… not killing me."
He didn't answer at first, as if not really knowing himself. Then he nodded, apparently coming to a conclusion.
"You gave me something, Sarah..."
"What?"
"Your trust."
She snorted. "Well, yeah, it was worth shit."
"No, it wasn't."
He gazed at her for a few more moments, then he seemed to lighten up a little and hit the table with the palms of his hands, making her jump. "Come on. Eat your dinner. They have great food here."
"How do you know?"
"Long story." He started eating, and it was obvious she wasn't going to get more out of him.
Jesus!
"Just don't kill Pete, Vincent," she whispered.
"Pete who?" Vincent replied with a glint in his eyes.
Sarah closed her eyes and nodded.
He never even meant to…
She wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved for having her employer out of danger, or worried about herself still being in the company of this man.
Just don't kill anyone, Vincent.
Just don't kill anyone.
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