Alex woke up slowly, gradually, from her nap. She wasn't as disorientated this time, knowing exactly where she was. Well, she remembered that she was in a cabin with a serial killer, but she didn't know the location they were at. She had a feeling that it was night now, and it made her wary how long she had been missing now. After 24 hours of an abduction, the chances of finding that person dead increased exponentially. She wondered how her aunt had taken the news, if Laurie had been the one to tell her. She hopes so, knows it would be easier to take bad news from Laurie than a cop or fed. Given how many people that she's assuming Michael murdered, the feds should definitely be involved. Alex wonders if he had killed anyone else on their drive, seeing as she probably wouldn't have woken up for any stops they made.
She didn't want to get up from her sanctuary, just wanted to hide like a little kid under the covers. Her captor could be anywhere, could even be a foot away staring at her, and she wouldn't know unless he wanted her to.
'How long would they be staying in this cabin?' was her next internal question. Was this an end destination, or merely a stop? Had he been here before, or was it just a random and convenient shelter? The air smelled like Pine Sol now, which she preferred greatly over the scent of dust. Looking back at her cleaning spree, she can't believe that she had just started cleaning what was essentially her prison, even getting the serial killer to help her. She groaned, blushing in embarrassment at her past self.
Alex startled when suddenly a buzzing rang out through the cabin, the sharp and high pitched sound ruining her self-pity session.
"Michael?" she called out, but there was no response. She waited an extra moment just to be sure before cautious crawling out of the bed, coming to stand on the smooth wooden floor. She was even more careful with exiting the bedroom, noting that the door was fully open now rather than just being cracked open like she had left it. As she walked down the hall, she recognized the ringing sound as having been the dryer indicating it was done with it's cycle. She checked the clothes, realizing as she restarted the appliance that her captor must've been the one to move her clothes from the washer to the dryer in the first place.
Alex checked the entire cabin for the man, but he was nowhere to be found. It was entirely possible that he was fucking with her, that he was following her the whole time with those unnaturally quiet steps of his, but she didn't think so. She tried to be extra silent as she crept over to the front door, slowly turning the handle. She was surprised when it turned easily in her grip, and then again when the door swung open.
Faced with freedom, Alex was gripped with the intense urge to just run for it. But without her sight, how could she know if this wasn't a trap, wasn't a test? There could be nails on the porch, just waiting to disable her from running. Michael could be watching from anywhere, ready to intervene with whatever weapon he had on him. Well, given the size and strength of the escaped psycho, he didn't really need weapons. And even if she did escape, where would she go? She didn't know where she was, she didn't know how far they were from any help. And maybe he wanted her to flee, maybe he wanted to hunt her down?
It hurt to shut the door, to give up on her escape plan. It almost made her feel physically ill, to turn down even the chance of getting away. Alex wanted to cry, wanted to scream and throw a tantrum. But instead she just shuffled into the kitchen feeling nothing at all, cleaning up the bowl left in the sink. It was funny to think that Michael had cleaned up his own bowl and utensil, along with the pot, but had left her dishes for her.
She froze as she registered the sound that was becoming louder, a car driving over gravel as it approached. Had Michael actually left her alone, had he taken the car? Where had he gone? What if it wasn't him? Could it be the owner of this cabin? Were they in on the kidnapping? Was it possible that the feds had found her?
With so many questions but no answers, she found herself running for the hallway. She didn't even think before throwing herself into one of the closets, hiding herself in the depths behind layers of fabric. Alex held her hand over her mouth and nose, trying to muffle the sound of her heavy breathing.
She waited with tense anticipation as the car parked right outside, as a door opened and then closed. She couldn't make out anything else for a few moments, but then there was suddenly the slamming of a trunk closing. Next there were audible footsteps on the porch steps, but she couldn't make out if it was Michael or not even as they opened the door to the cabin. The footsteps went in the direction of the kitchen, and she could hear something crinkle as it was placed down. Was it Michael, had he just brought in someone's body? Next the footsteps began to approach the hallway, not loud but not silent either. Maybe this wasn't her captor, given that she could hear him?
As they walked past the closet, she was sure that they should've been able to hear her heart beating out of her chest. They went right to her bedroom, and there was a pause before those footsteps were suddenly thundering. Out of her room, towards the front door. The air was electric, and she could feel their anger like it was a physical entity. The door was thrown open, but they didn't leave. Was it Michael, did he think that she had escaped? But without any indication that it was him, she stayed hidden and silent. For a long moment she couldn't make out any sounds, though she was almost straining with how hard she was trying to listen. She was tempted to approach the door and press her ear against it to hear better, but given how creaky the floors were here, it was a sure way to give away her location.
There was suddenly a crash as something was thrown or overturned in the living area, followed by a another bang and then something wooden breaking. Someone was tearing the room apart. The footsteps thundered back down the hallway after the room was apparently demolished, going right into the room she had been given. She could hear the dresser drawers being pulled out and then thrown onto the floor, the sound of the bathroom cabinets being ripped open, and even the mattress being tossed off the bed.
She was beginning to think that it was indeed Michael, given that there was no talking or voices, and that they were managing some impressive destruction. She had only encountered one person capable of that level of strength; the serial killer. Should she reveal herself? Would he calm down, or would he be angry that she hid? Would he hurt her, would he kill her? Maybe she could wait him out, or at least until he was done breaking things? Why did men have to be so scary, so violent?
Alex was so startled by a sudden crash in the hallway, closer to her location, that she let out a yelp. Instantly, she began to internally scream at herself as all the sounds came to a grinding halt. Had he heard her? Were these her final moments, shaking like a leaf in a closet in a fucking cabin?
She actually did scream as there were three deafening knocks on the closet door where she was hiding. It vaguely occurred to her that three taps meant 'maybe'. It was clear that he knew where she was, that he wanted her to come out. Why he didn't just rip the door open and drag her out was beyond her, but she wasn't going to risk pissing him off any further. She tentatively took a few steps forward, her hand coming to rest on the doorknob as she tried to get herself to just open the goddamn door. But it was like she couldn't make herself do it, like her body was vehemently opposing the idea. But if she didn't come out willing, she knew that there would be consequences.
Alex didn't know how long it had been before she was able to turn the handle, pushing the door open slowly. She clenched her eyes shut out of reflex, preparing herself for an incoming attack or hit when the door was suddenly ripped out of her hand, slamming against the hallway wall with such force that it was sure to leave a dent if not a hole. She was completely exposed, standing in the closet, still in pajamas with bare feet. With the door no longer a barrier, she could hear Michael breathing heavily, the puffs of air being contained by his mask. Another booming knock was delivered to the door, causing her to flinch backwards. But still no blow came, no hands around her throat or a knife in her chest. She realized after a moment that he was waiting on her to say something, that his knock had been a final warning to speak now or forever hold her peace.
"I-I'm sorry. I heard a car, and I didn't know if it was you or not so I hid and-and then there was crashing and banging and you were so angry," she stuttered out, rambling fast as she tried to explain herself, having to stop herself from backing up into the clothes. Following her words, there was just a tense silence. She didn't know what he was thinking, how he was reacting. But he still hadn't moved, was still panting like an enraged bull. Was she his next kill? Afterall, this was the psycho that had killed almost his entire family as a child, had stabbed his sister countless times.
Hesitatingly, she began to move from the closet, following some sort of instinct to try and calm Michael down. Alex tentatively reached out a hand, walking forward until she encountered a heaving chest. He seemed to completely freeze, even halting his breathing, at the contact. She knew this was a make or break kind of moment, that if she messed up or did the wrong thing, she was as good as dead. Swallowing down her fears, she continued forward, her hand moving across flannel until it was at his side. She kept moving until she was pressed up against him in a hug, her face buried in his chest as her arms were wrapped around him as much as possible.
He was as warm as always, and she was yet again reminded of how small she was compared to this monster of a man. She realized that he must've changed clothes before going out, as she didn't recall him wearing this soft but heavy flannel before. It was nice, and she wondered what it looked like. Was it red or maybe blue? What was the pattern like? She held onto him for what seemed like hours, waiting for his reaction, waiting for her sentence. And then suddenly he was inhaling again, chest moving gradually under her head as he began to take nice, even, breaths. Then he was reaching around her, lifting her in a sort of bear hug until she was instinctually wrapping her legs around his waist as her feet left the ground. Alex was uncertain of being pressed against the killer like this, more intimately than when she had been clinging onto him from the side. Why did he always pick her up? Was it some sort of kink of his, or maybe a power play? Either way, she was at his mercy as she just continued to hug the man.
"I'm sorry I worried you," she murmured quietly, softly, next to his ear as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. She was alarmed momentarily when she encountered actual skin, realizing that this flannel must not cover as much as his previous shirt. But he didn't seem to mind, gently tapping the small of her back three times. Alex didn't really know what that meant, but like hell she was going to bring that up now.
So maybe initiating contact with the guy that had kidnapped her wasn't her finest moment or best idea, but she was still alive so that was something. He seemed rather content in any case, even as he began to move. He walked slowly, as if to let her get her bearings as he headed towards the kitchen. She didn't quite know where this was heading until she was being set on the countertop, cold butcher block chilling her skin through her thin pajama pants. She felt a pang of fear as she worried where this was heading, with him still being pressed between her legs as she unwrapped them from his person. But she could almost sigh with relief when he stood back after a moment, like he had been savoring the contact. There were two sharp taps to the counter next to her, followed by another two as he tried to tell her something.
"You don't want me to move?" she guessed, surprised when he confirmed her theory. So Alex sat there on the counter as he began to clean the room. It felt like penance, as he cleaned up his mess with her as a witness, not that she could actually see but the point remained. Furniture was righted, broken glass and wood splinters were swept up, any unusable items were thrown away. It wasn't long before he was back in front of her, bodily moving her from her position until she was standing. Then, using the guiding technique she had shown him, he took her to another section of the counter. As she explored, she encountered a few paper bags, which she found full of cans and packages.
"You went grocery shopping?" She wanted to giggle at the thought of this towering lunatic in a mask walking down the cereal aisle at a store, but she was sobered up a bit when it occurred to her where the money for these goods had to come from. Still, he answered in the affirmative as she began to take the items from the bags. There were many cans, not that she could tell what was in them. There was fresh produce; potatoes, carrots, and onions among other things. There were cold and squishy packages in butcher paper, which she realized were various meats. There were bottles of water, which she appreciated given the well water with no apparent softener. There were boxes of pasta and jars of sauce, bags of some type of rice, and what she assumed to be cereal given that there was a gallon of milk. There were bags of chips, bags of jerky, bread and buns. Most surprising, she encountered a box of cookies. Shaking the box out of instinct, she froze momentarily as she recognized it as the same kind she had eaten at Laurie's house. While it had occurred to her that Michael must've been watching her before she realized his presence behind her, it hadn't crossed her mind that he had been in the kitchen with her when she got the cookies, or that he had bothered to remember the kind that she had been eating on her way to the couch.
"Thank you," she spoke up with a dry mouth, shaking the box of cookies again to indicate what she meant. There was tap on the counter next to her, as he had not moved away during her investigation.
"In the mood for dinner?" Alex asked as she began to put away the groceries, organizing the kitchen and fridge so that she could easily access and find everything. Michael let her do as she pleased, even allowing her to push him out of the way a few times. He answered her question in the affirmative, handing her a box. It sounded like pasta when she shook it, but it wasn't nearly enough for a meal.
"A box of macaroni and cheese is not a dinner," she huffed, though she didn't put the box back yet. If he had chosen it, there must be a reason. Maybe it was his favorite food, or maybe they had served boxed mac n cheese at the sanitarium?
"Is this chicken?" she asked as she squeezed one of the packages of meat. It took a few times before she grabbed the right one, as Michael refused to be of anymore help other than answering her questions. If his knocks against the counter could somehow sound bored, he managed. But he didn't leave the kitchen, clearly watching her after his earlier scare.
"I'll be fine to make this, why don't you go put my room back together before I trip over something?" she suggested, beginning to crush some garlic. Though she hadn't quite figured out how to use a knife without being able to see, she had learned some ways around using one. Michael made sure that she could hear his footsteps as he retreated down the hallway after a moment, and without him staring over her shoulder, she could relax for the first time since waking up from her nap. It didn't take much to sear the chicken breasts in the garlic and oil, before throwing the pan in the oven to finish cooking. She assumed that the oven was at the right temperature, but she wasn't about to call her captor back in here to confirm. Onto the mac n cheese, where she undercooked the noodles a bit, but she preferred them to not be mushy anyway.
Alex hadn't heard Michael return before he was gently guiding her out of the way, taking the chicken out of the oven like he didn't trust her to not burn herself. He wasn't completely wrong, but she wasn't about to admit that. He took it upon himself to serve their food, while she grabbed some glasses of milk and some utensils. It was sickeningly domestic, and she felt a pang as it reminded her of cooking with Laurie. Her best friend was quite the chef, always trying new recipes to different degrees of success. Alex had been quite the cook herself before the accident, given that her mom was the type of person who could somehow burn water.
She hadn't realized that she had zoned out until there was a knock on the table, and she could almost feel his curiosity.
"Sorry, just zoned out for a minute there," she assured as she approached, setting down the glasses of milk and then the utensils. She was pleasantly pleased as she tried the food. The chicken could use some salt and pepper, but, given that she couldn't tell the difference without sniffing all the seasonings, it was pretty good. Alex quite loved garlic, so she had been a bit heavy handed, but it wasn't like her dining partner could complain. At some point he had even snuck a piece of bread onto her plate, though she hadn't even heard him open the bag. He must've given her the larger piece of chicken and the majority of the pasta, as she still had a good bit of food left on her plate by the time she was full.
"You want the rest? I can't eat anymore," she offered, pushing the plate slightly in his direction to show that she was really done. There was a pause and then it was gone, dragged fully over to his side of the table. Alex wasn't sure why, but it made her smile. It was stupid, but she couldn't help but imagine what he looked like while he was eating. He was a big guy, so he probably had to hunch over at the table. And she didn't hear any chewing, but he seemed to eat very quickly, so she pictured him inhaling his food. While she was curious to know what he actually looked like, it didn't seem like the best question to ask a man who wore a mask most of the time. And it wasn't like he could answer her anyway without playing 20 questions.
She wondered how his excursion to the store had gone. Had he looked just like anyone else without his mask? Did his stolen clothes match his appearance? Had it been busy, did he have to stand in a long line? How long did it take him to pick everything out, had someone helped him? Had there been a television or a radio playing? Had the news been on? It was almost a guarantee, given the massacre.
"Is anyone looking for me?" she wondered aloud, causing her captor's movements across the table to grind to a halt. It wasn't the smartest question to ask, but she was honestly curious.
'Yes,' he answered, which filled her with relief. They hadn't written her off as dead, and wherever they were, they had still been featured on the news. Her aunt was looking for her, Laurie was looking for her. Alex didn't know if she would ever see them again, but even just knowing that they cared enough to continue searching filled her with something akin to peace.
"Thank you for answering me, I know that you didn't have to, at least not honestly." Was it odd to be so polite to the man who had taken her away from her life (at least what passed as her life)? Or maybe kind was the right word? Conversational? He had resumed eating, slower than before, as if he was expecting her to ask some follow up questions. But Alex didn't really have any right now, at least none that she could really phrase with yes or no answers.
For some reason she found it easier to zone out here, to get lost in her thoughts. It had been a more common occurrence since she had lost her sight, but this was ridiculous. It was easy to forget that he was there in a way, given his silence. And as long as he didn't demand her attention, she was free to dissociate. She wished that she could ask why he took her, why he picked her, why he hadn't hurt her. How had he even known that she was at Laurie's house in the first place? Unless he didn't, unless he hadn't been there for her? He had managed to clean up the table and was onto washing the dishes before she came back to herself, sitting alone at the dining table. It was both disturbing and peaceful.
"Why were you even at Laurie's house? Were you going to hurt her?"
'Maybe,' was his response, after a moment of thinking her question over.
"But were you there for her?"
'Yes.' It was a relief in a way, to know that she hadn't brought this monster down upon Haddonfield. But it made even less sense why this man who had been in an institution for years now had anything to do with Laurie. Unless her friend was just another target, unless he just had a thing for killing teenagers. But he had also murdered that man during her abduction, so she doubted it. She found herself standing and pacing, confident in her ability to not run into any furniture.
Alex knows that she should be grateful that Michael was even answering her questions in the first place, but it was hard not to get frustrated with his muteness and her blindness. Communication was possible, but they hadn't really come up with a more complex method. Maybe if she taught him to write in braille? It would take forever though, and she wasn't exactly a master at the language yet herself. She paused as she threw herself onto the couch with a groan. How she longed to just be able to stare at the ceiling. It was then that it occurred to her that she didn't even know why he was mute. But just starting with that seemed rather prying, so maybe she should open with a more neutral question? There was also a level of comfort in knowing that he really couldn't ask about her blindness in return. Not that she minded talking about it, but it always made people uncomfortable, always pushed everyone away except for Laurie.
"Have you ever been able to talk?"
'Yes.'
"Were you in an accident?"
'No.' She had a feeling that if he could, he would be chuckling at her expense. Alex wasn't exactly sure how she was reading into knocks on a countertop while he finished the dishes, but here they were.
"Trauma?" was her next guess, which yet again made him pause as he thought about his answer.
'Maybe.' She wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but she assumed that he was saying that it was possibly or partially due to an event.
"Are you mute by choice?"
'Yes.'
"So you could talk to me if you wanted to?"
'Maybe.'
"You don't know if you can speak anymore?" Alex had heard of it happening before, that people who had taken a vow of silence found it difficult to talk years later. It seemed like a waste, allowing oneself to be mute for so long that it may have taken away the ability to talk at all. But she's sure Michael had his reasoning. It seemed like he hadn't talked since he was a child, either due to being institutionalized or his murder spree.
'Yes.'
"I mean, if that creepy man from Laurie's house was my doctor, I probably wouldn't talk either. What was his name, Dr. Loomis?"
'Yes.'
"Would he have really shot you?" There was no hesitating this time, like Michael already knew the question and the answer.
'Yes.'
"He was rather unstable for a psychiatrist. I think he was obsessed with you," she mused, beginning to relax into the couch as she considered the conversation over. And it was, until her silent companion left the kitchen finally, walking over to the bookshelf. It wasn't long before he was approaching her, pressing a book into her hands as he lifted her feet in order to join her on the couch, allowing her appendages to rest in his lap.
"What is this, a book? It's not in braille, I can't read it," she stated the obvious, opening the book and gliding her fingertips over the pages. But she couldn't feel any indentations, only the smooth feeling of ink on paper. Michael must know that though, so there must be a reason he brought it to her attention. It was only when she felt on the front page that it made sense. The title and author of the book were a raised font on the front page, and while it wasn't braille, she could make out the letters.
"The Devil's Eyes? By Samuel Loomis?" she read aloud, snorting as it set in what this piece of literature was about, "Don't tell me that he wrote a book about you."
'Yes.' The answer this time came in the form of a tap on her ankle, and it was becoming a problem that she didn't mind. Just like she didn't mind how close he was. She wondered who was more touch starved, Alex herself or him?
"What, did he think you were evil or something?"
'Yes.'
"Are you?" she asked after a moment, tone free of judgement. She was honestly curious about his answer, about how he saw himself. And Michael had been with the good doctor for 15 years or so now, so maybe it was ingrained in his head now. It was scary to think about the possibility that Loomis created an even more horrifying monster out of the murderous boy he had gotten his hands on.
'Maybe.'
"Well, it's not as if you are the literal devil or anything like that. You may be a serial killer, but what does it mean to be evil? You aren't a good guy, don't get me wrong, but it seems excessive to call you the devil." There was no response to her assessment, not that she really expected one. If Michael were to ever break his silence, it would probably be in an appropriate situation. And she hoped that it would be to her, but maybe that was presumptuous. There was also the fact that it implied her being with him for quite awhile.
"Did Loomis know that you were smart?" And it was clear to her that Michael was smart. He wasn't just a killing machine; he could communicate, he valued some level of comfort, and he clearly thought things over.
'No.'
"Did anyone?"
'Yes.' She hummed as she thought over who would've had the opportunity to know this man when he had been locked up for most of his life.
"Did they work at the sanitarium?"
'No.' She hummed as she thought, trying to place who else would've gotten the chance to know Michael. It only made sense that it must've been someone from when he was young, before the incident. He hadn't had any friends from the gossip that she had heard, so it must've been someone in his family.
"Your mother?"
'Yes.'
"She was the only person that you didn't kill," Alex mused, though she was pretty sure that Mrs. Myers hadn't even been home at the time, that she had been the one to discover the bodies. Had that been on accident? Or had Michael truly intended on sparing his mother? She vaguely remembers Mom speaking about the other woman, that she had been her friend. But she had never really asked anything more about the relationship, knowing even as a child how the topic made her mom sad.
'No.'
"What?" she asked aloud, dumbly, shell-shocked. It was almost like she could feel everything grind to a halt in that moment.
'No,' he repeated, slowly this time.
"No, I heard you the first time. I just don't understand," she explained, mind racing as she tried to process the implications, "There was someone else in the house all those years ago, someone that you didn't kill?"
'Yes.' Alex was trying her hardest to recall every news article, every shred of gossip and lore that she had heard over the years. But nothing made sense to her, she had no theories about what he could be talking about. Maybe there had been an accomplice? But there would've been evidence, or even some minor discrepancies. She was drawn out of her brainstorm when Michael began to trace something on her skin. It took a few times before she realized what he was doing, and then another as she tried to make out the tracings.
"Sister? You had another sister?" she took a minute in face of this revelation, feeling sick with the way that pieces of the puzzle were coming together, "Laurie?"
'Yes.' The teen tried to think of her friend as a baby, crying in a house where blood stained the walls and a boy wielded a butcher knife. It had been well known that the Myers household hadn't been a great place to grow up, and it was harder to picture her preppy friend as having lived there at any point. But even as she tried to deny it, she could picture how the Laurie she knew now vaguely resembled the picture of Mrs. Myers that she had seen in a newspaper clipping about her suicide. She wondered briefly if Michael looked like his mother too, like his sister. Or if he had cared when his mother killed herself, unable to handle living alone in the place where her family had been brutalized by her own son.
"She doesn't know," she confirmed aloud, very sure that her friend hadn't known about her origins, or even that she was adopted, "Only you and Loomis, and now me."
'Yes.'
"That's why were at her house, why you sought her out. You were going to finish the job-" she cut herself off as she thought about what he had said earlier, "-Or at least you had been considering it." He didn't answer, as it was apparent that they both knew that she wasn't wrong. It definitely put everything into a new light. She wasn't sure why he had bothered with his reign of terror, killing strangers rather than only focusing on his sister, but maybe he hadn't been able to help himself. But as far as she knew, he hadn't caught Laurie, hadn't really even interacted with her. He had probably been the mysterious man that Laurie had mentioned seeing earlier in the day, so he had been stalking her the entire time. So why hadn't he announced himself to her? Why hadn't he killed her? The only thing Alex could think of that had so far impacted the serial killer had been her.
"And you gave up on your mission, on your whole point of escaping, to kidnap me."
'Yes.'
"I think that I'm going to go to bed now," she stated stiffly, hurriedly swinging her legs off of her captor as she attempted to act calm when she was really ready to bolt. She hadn't gotten very far off the couch before there was a pair of hands firmly grabbing her on either side of her waist, dragging her back harshly until she was completely sat in his lap. Alex didn't even have time to fight it, to try to escape his hold, before his arms were wrapping around her, bands of steel across her stomach that she had no hope of breaking. For the second time today, they were in close contact with each other. Were these the build ups to something more?
"Michael?" It was timid and shaky as it yet again occurred to her how much larger he was than her. On his lap, her feet didn't even touch the floor, and his chin was currently resting on the top of her head. Her back was pressed flush against his chest, which seemed to yet again be heaving. It was a tense moment, and she felt stupid for daring to let her guard down, for even trying to get to know him. This is what she got, forced to be a doll in a grown man's lap as he considered what to do with her. Had she been wrong before, did he really intend to rape her? She prayed that he wasn't going to, but this was a rather compromising position that she couldn't find any other meaning in.
After an eternity, he relaxed his hold slightly, clearly checking her reaction. And she wanted to try to get out of it, but she was frozen. Slowly, he removed his arms altogether, moving so that his hands now rested lightly on her hips and his masked face was burrowed into the crook of her neck. Alex didn't know what to do, what to say. She had never been in this kind of situation before, had never really let any boy touch her like this, and now here she was with a serial killer who was at least 5 years older than her. And even worse, there was a part of her that was absolutely singing, thrilled at the contact, at how she could hear him breathing so close to her ear, at how he had manhandled her, at how he dwarfed her. What was wrong with her? Was she really this touch starved? Or was it something else?
Her instincts from before surfaced yet again, though she was hesitant to touch him. Would he take it as approval, as an invitation? But she knew that wiggling around trying to escape never worked for prey trying to escape a predator, so she didn't really have any options. Slowly, she slid her hands down until they reached his own. He seemed curious as to what she was doing, his head leaving her neck to watch her. Gently, she removed his hands, moving them to rest palm up on her thighs, her much smaller ones coming to rest on top of them. He closed them around her own, until they were effectively holding hands. But she felt better now, without the intimate touch at her hips. This felt less charged, more like affection than anything with ill intentions. As the time passed in silence, with neither of them moving, she began to relax into the warm body beneath her. Alex was exhausted, both physically and mentally. She just couldn't take all this stress, the mood swings and the unexpected touches. And there was the fact that he would kill her if he needed to, that he would kill anyone, that he wanted to kill.
But in this moment he was holding her hands gently, and she felt like she was melting as her eyes closed. At least this time she was aware of herself falling asleep, vulnerable on the lap of the man who was holding her captive.
