Disclaimer: I do not own Vincent, I'm just borrowing him for the fun of it!
Feedback: Please? ;)
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Chapter 14 Blissful Moments of Peace
At ten the next morning, the door bell rang.
First once. Then a second time, with an annoyingly persistent sound. Sarah mumbled something incoherent and turned in her sheets, not wanting to wake up, but Vincent was immediately alerted and out of bed.
When she noticed his activities, she opened one eye and was wide awake the next moment when she realized he'd not only gotten dressed, but also had the gun in his hand.
"Who is it?" he whispered.
"I don't know. Should I open?" she whispered back.
"You have to. You're at home because you're sick. Remember?"
"Jesus. OK." She dragged herself out of bed and pulled an old t-shirt over her head, not noticing it had green stains on its back. The bell rang again. "I'm coming," she shouted and found a pair of soft pants to wear.
Sarah didn't get nervous until Vincent placed himself out of sight from the doorway, with the gun ready. What's he doing?
"Who is it?" she called through the door, her voice still rough from the sleep and adding to the illusion of being sick.
"It's Mia."
Mia!
"Just a moment, I'm getting dressed," she shouted. Then she mouthed to Vincent: "What do I do?"
He gestured for her to come closer.
"You open, see what she wants. Act normal, remember you're ill. Don't make her suspicious. Who is she?"
"I work with her."
"OK, maybe she wants to check on you. Go." He ushered her away.
Sarah unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Outside was a well known sight: Mia, a sweet twenty year old with whom she had worked for the last year.
What's she doing here?
She belonged to Sarah's other life, her previous life. No, my real life…Sarah corrected herself; not really knowing what was real any more.
"Hi, Mia," she greeted with a broken voice, trying to get a grip of the situation.
"Oh, you poor thing! You look terrible, Sarah. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I came with this." She held up Sarah's bag, the one she'd left at work, and completely forgotten about since. "Figured you'd need it." She fired off a friendly smile.
All the time, Sarah could see Vincent in the corner of her eye, standing absolutely still with the gun in one hand by the bench in the kitchen.
"Thanks, Mia." She stretched out a hand to get the bag. "I didn't feel well when I left, I had completely forgotten about it."
"You're welcome. By the way… do you know anything about the door… you know, to the kitchen?"
Sarah felt her knees weaken. Oh my God! She cast a brief glance at Vincent, who didn't move a muscle. He didn't need to; his intentions were as clear as they could be.
Making up the lie as she spoke, she mumbled, "Door? It was gone when I came, I just assumed it was broken or something…"
"Maybe…" Mia looked doubtful, or at least that's how Sarah's wound-up brain interpreted it, then she shrugged. "OK," she said lightly. "I won't bother you any more. Take care - and Pete wants you to call when you get better."
"I will… I'm sorry I have to get back to bed now…" Sarah made an effort to appear exhausted.
"I can see that! See you, sweetie. Bye"
"Bye," she whispered and closed the door before she sank to the floor, trembling.
"You did well." Vincent walked up to her and helped her on her feet.
He didn't let her go immediately, and as they looked at each other, Vincent's serious features lightened into a smile, at first friendly, then slowly transforming into a slightly predatory grin. His grip around her waist tightened, which caused her skin to tingle.
He felt her sudden intake of air as he held her. Pressing her firmly to his chest, he let his hands wander, igniting the fire all over again.
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Later they ate.
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There seemed to be no rush. As the beams from the sun, shining through her bedroom window, slowly wandered across the walls of the apartment, time stood almost still.
For a moment in eternity, two people were content with just being.
At ease.
Sarah fell asleep in Vincent's arms, as they sat in her sofa in the early afternoon of their second day together.
She felt safe and happy for the first time in years.
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When she woke, she was tied up again, and she almost panicked this time.
No-no-no-no! I can't breathe, I can't – breathe…
The impact of the mistrust and the betrayal of their growing friendship hurt more - much more - than the fact that she was physically attached to the sofa. He hadn't said a word about leaving before she fell asleep. Why had he left? Why was she bound? Didn't he trust her? Sarah felt degraded, treated like a dog, like a victim.
Like the victim you are.
Shut up!
She tugged at the strips, helplessly fighting for her freedom and sanity and almost dislocated her shoulder in the struggle, but they didn't budge.
What if he doesn't come back?
Exhausted, she cried some, and then finally curled up and fell asleep again.
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The door clicked shut, and Sarah jolted out of her sleep. She tried to stand up, but fell back onto the sofa, pulled by the tied-up wrist.
"Get me the fuck out of this!" she yelled as soon as she saw him.
"Relax, relax," he soothed. "Had to leave for a while." He flipped open his switchblade and cut her loose.
Sarah glanced at her watch; he'd been gone for nearly two hours.
"Don't you trust me not to leave? You could've just told me you'd be gone for a while. I would've been here."
"No, Sarah. It doesn't work that way."
"I trust you with my life, for Christ's sake!" she burst out. "Can't you trust me not to run away?"
"Well… you don't have a choice. Do you, Sarah?" he grinned.
No…
Sarah massaged her aching wrists and was startled as Vincent caught her arm in his hand. "What have you done?" he asked sharply and frowned.
Looking down at the bruised wrist that had indentations after the strip along with some dried blood, she slowly pulled her arm out of his grip and responded in a low voice, "I – tried…"
"Don't." He shook his head. "We don't need to have this discussion. I've got things to do. I came with this." He held up a bag from a Chinese take-away.
Sarah pouted, but had to admit she was hungry. The aroma from the bag made her stomach roar.
They ate in silence. Meals generally seemed to bring out the worst in them. No, not true, breakfast this morning was magic. Sarah smiled inwardly at the memory.
When they were done, Sarah tucked away the leftovers. As she turned around she found that Vincent stood impassively, watching her.
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Work's waiting.
"Gotta go," he said just a bit wary, as if expecting her to have a fit.
She did.
"OK," she said between clenched teeth, and turned away from him. He sighed.
"Unless you prefer to stand for a few hours, I suggest you go sit on the couch."
"You're not tying me up again," she almost growled, turning to look wild-eyed at him.
Unbelievable!
Vincent walked up to her, clearly irritated. "I don't have time for this bullshit." He gripped for her arm, but she jumped away. Cornered, however, in the small kitchen, he easily caught her and dragged her towards the sofa.
Sarah dug her heels into the carpet and threw herself backwards, out of his grip. "Don't," she gasped. "I can't stand it, don't! Please!"
Vincent dropped her, as she slipped out of his grip from the unexpected force with which she fought him. As she fell on her hands and knees by his feet, it was obvious who would win this battle.
"Sarah!" he hissed warningly. "You're pissing me off!" He pulled her to her feet, and his grip was much harder this time, bruisingly hard. He was in working mode now, and there was no time for begging, no room for patience.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she squealed and pleaded with him not to tie her up again.
Vincent's nostrils flared with anger and his eyes burned with an inner rage as he held her face to face with him. He wanted to crush her at that moment; his hands around her thin upper arms ached to break her.
I don't have time for this SHIT!
Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but sensed the danger and snapped it shut again.
He bared his teeth and considered her for some endless moments, then he shoved her towards the door instead.
Suit yourself!
"Get your shoes. We're going out."
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