AN-Thank you guys all for the amazing reviews! I was hoping that this story would be received well. Again, thank you!

~Chestnut

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Get me out of this place

Cause I'm stuck in a rut and I can't stomach the taste

My lungs are filling up with dust

I feel bruised and broken with no one left to trust - City and Colour, Faithless

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It's so dark...

Where am I?

I groan and heave myself up from my little nest of blankets. My throat itches, and my mouth is dry; very dry.

Where am I?

I remember now. The steely, cold room that is now my own lair. I try moving my right arm, and a sharp cry escapes my lips.

"Oh yeah..." I mutter. I slump back down and let out a frustrated growl.

Stupid Wesker. Stupid, stupid Wesker.

I look down to inspect my legs. Filthy, absolutely filthy. He must have dragged me through dirt or mud. I wipe my finger down my shin, and rub my fingers together. The grains of dirt scratching my finger pads comforts me, and I don't know why. The light under the door is brighter than usual. The light casts eerie shadows on the wall, almost menacing in a way. I suck in my breath as something moves past the door, blocking out the light for a mere second.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

My fingers clutch the edge of the blanket, my knuckles feel white hot.

The light is now completely blocked by something directly in front of the door. My eyes widen considerably as the handle starts to turn.

Oh god, ohgod....

The door swings open, revealing a tall figure only illuminated by the outside lights. I hope to gods that it's Wesker.

Well, of course it's Wesker--I hope.

I let out a small sigh of relief as my eyes make out the outline of his sunglasses. He doesn't say a word, and that frightens me to death. As he steps closer, I can make out something in his hand.

It's a syringe.

Oh god...

"Jillian." He says, "I hope that you had a good sleep."

Please let that be Ibuprofen...

I press myself up against the wall, bringing my knees to my chest. I try to make myself as small as possible; anything to get away from him. He chuckles softly, he's very close now--so close, I can smell him. Spicy, warm, almost comforting. The polar opposite of everything Wesker.

"Now now, Jillian." In the blink of an eye, he's inches away from me. "This won't hurt at all."

I scream and scramble to my feet, and in an instant, I'm across the room. Terror wracks through my chest as he turns around, a smirk playing on his lips.

"There's no use in running."

I turn my head ever so slightly to the left, and see that the door is still open.

I make a mad dash for the hallway, round the corner, and soon I'm almost to the door leading to the stairwell. I tear at the handle, trying desperatly to rip it open. Finally, the door opens and I tear down the adjacent hallway. I'm almost to the end, sweet freedom! But my escape is short lived. A large hand wraps around my waist and reels back into a muscled chest. I struggle, hard. I thrash and kick, scream and punch. My teeth bite his gloved hand, clamping down as hard as I can, my jaw straining with the force. I finally managed to get free, shove him harshly, and soon I'm sprinting down the hallway as fast as I can go. I can hear his boots padding behind me as round the corner and practically jump down the stairs.

"Jillian, I told you, there's no use in running." I yelp and spin around, he's right behind me.

"No!" I scream, seeing the syringe in his hand. I start pounding his chest, anything to get him to stop. I start screaming, yelling, anything to get at least buy me some time so I can plan my escape.

"Quiet!" He harshly whispers. He grips by my broken arm and wrenches me close to my chest. "It's morphine you silly girl. I told you I would give you something to ease the pain." As the last word escapes his mouth, he twists my arm. I cry out and slump into his chest. Sobs start racking my body.

Why me?

He changes, suddenly. I hate it when he does that. He gently pats my head, and dips the needle into the soft spot of my arm, more gently than I expected. As the plunger slowly drops, and the clear liquid enters my veins, I suddenly feel very tired.

"You'll sleep it off for a few hours, Jillian. I'll...food...send...up" I can't register what he says as sleep consumes me, much quicker than I anticipated. And for once, I feel warm.

OooooooO

When I wake up, I feel groggy and sluggish. I try to get up, but am bound by the bed-sheets tucked neatly around my body. Wait--bed-sheets? Since when did I...

Oh...god.

I realize now that I'm in Wesker's bed.

It's large, probably a king size, and sports cool, white pillows and silky sheets, along with a plush, feather duvet. I feel slightly enraged at the fact that I have a broken arm and am sleeping on the floor. I blink slowly, registering the numb feeling of my sore limbs pressed firmly against the taught sheets.

There's something in the room.

But perhaps it was just the curtains blowing in the breeze.

Breeze? I thought we were underground?

I can see a window, and as clear as day...night, I can see stars. Literally, I feel dizzy.

I gulp down my nausea and break free from the sheets, and I manage to clamber to my feet. I slowly pad over to the window, the cool marble on my feet feels good. Marble? Jesus Wesker, did you hire Michelangelo as your interior decorator? Then again, they shared similar qualities.

Bother were insane geniuses.

I gulp down my fear of Wesker popping out from under the bed and walk over to the window. Yup, it's a window. I feel the sturdy sill underneath my sweaty palms and look out into the night.

I realize now that we're not just underground, we're in a mountain--more like a cliff to be exact.

Wesker had the perfect view. The mountains to the north, forests down below--make that very far down below, and a glimmering ocean a few hundred miles to the east. It was only a sliver over the horizon.

I grow tired of the cliche fairy-princess castle "my prince will save me" look I'm giving and get up from my kneeling position. Even though I know Wesker sleeps in this bed, I crawl back under the covers.

"Quite a lovely view, is it not?" I almost jump out of my skin at the sudden voice. Wesker emerges from the dark, his black overcoat now gone.

"How long have you been there?"

I can hear him smile in the dark.

"Long enough to see you jostle from my bed like a broken rag-doll." He strides over to the side of the window, and crosses his arms, as if he's critiquing his perfect view. "You should stay up, the view looks better in the morning."

I snort. "Doesn't everything look better in the morning?"

He chuckles at that. "You would be one," he begins. "You should sleep, it's almost 3:00 am."

I'm not falling asleep until one of my burning questions is answered.

"Why am I in...your bed?" I ask. He chuckles again and casually walks over to the side of the bed. He sits down beside me, my vertical frame now slightly suspended by the shift in weight.

"You broke the lock on your door with your little...episode earlier." The last few words drawl out from his mouth, rolling off his tongue like oil. "For now, sleep." It comes out like more of a command then a suggestion. I'm too tired to fight with him. He gets up and leaves, at least, that's what I think he does.

I don't hear the door click shut, and I simply assume that he's too bloody quiet for his own good.

I can't sleep. I don't know why, I just can't. I wait a few more minutes to see if I get tired. Ten minutes pass, and I'm still wide awake.

It smells good

I comment, inhaling the scent of the pillow

Like him

I quickly shut my eyes and block out any thoughts I'm having about Wesker at the moment. Jesus, the guy's not making my arm any better. I grumble and decide it best to--do a little sleuthing.

The room is very barren, say for a few chairs and a large dresser. I examine the dresser, only to find under-shirts and socks. The rest of the drawers are empty. Underneath the bed is virtually spotless, besides for a few stray dust bunnies. There's a suspicious looking filing cabinet to my left. I tug at the silver handle, only to find that it's locked.

"Well, I am the master of the unlocking," I whisper to myself. I pull out one of the pins keeping my sling secure and un-twist it. "Perfect." I mumble as I jam it into the key-hole. After a few jostles, the lock finally clicks. I smile to myself, and open the cabinet.

It's empty.

I let out a moan and slump to the floor. All that work for nothing.

Why the hell would Wesker lock an empty filing cabinet?

Unless--this was some reverse psychology tactic he brewed up. I try the bottom cabinet, and find that it's locked as well. It takes me about a minute to unlock it. I open it, only to find a single, manilla file. I open it.

On the inner flap it reads "P30's".

The hell?

There's a sheet attached.

P30: an ancillary chemical capable of controlling the subject for a brief period of time. The subjects speed, strength and over-all capability will increase dramatically, and the user will be easily controllable--

I hear footsteps, and I quickly place the file back inside the quietly shut the cabinet. I hobble back into the bed, and try to appear as if I'm asleep. My breathing becomes deeper, hopefully he'll fall for it. He doesn't say a word as he enters to room. I watch intently from lidded eyes as he un-zips his leather cut-off jacket, revealing a tee-shirt underneath. He neatly folds the jacket and places it on one of the chairs lining the room. He removes his sunglasses with a hidden panache, only observable from my perspective. He folds them and places them gently down onto the table. His eyes are glowing an eerie yellow. Thankfully he leaves his pants on. I flinch as he crawls into the bed, his large frame only a few feet beside mine.

He's stiff as a board, his body pulled into a perfect, parallel line.

I can't tell if he's asleep or not, his eyes are still open. Finally, they slowly close, and his breathing becomes deep and irregular.

Not even in sleep, are you perfect.