She no longer feels the wind on her face, nor, on her skin, the soft warmth of the sun that pierces the treetops. She only feels a hard floor under her body and the cold moisture that envelops her.
The metallic clicking of a door that is opened brings her mind a little more towards the surface.
"Fuck ..." plagues a familiar voice.
Feet rub on the floor and hands raise her a little from the ground by the armpits, and drag her out of whatever the place she's at. She painfully opens one eye and does not immediately understand that the fuzzy stroke that she hardly distinguishes is the trickle of blood that flows from her mouth.
Her consciousness does not yet realize the pain that is about to burst in all her body, the aching and hematoma above her broken ribs. Only her ears perceive a distant sound, the shrill one produced by the rubbing of her legs against the waxed vinyl of the floor, and sometimes the whistle that escapes from her lungs when she inhales.
In the mist of her thoughts, a clear question manages to formulate itself: "Where am I?" Images and scraps of confused memories twist and then settle in order in her head.
Memories where she sees herself, feet and fists tied, thrown into a cage inside a van. There she sees this man, the man who has held her for so long that she does not remember when he stopped doing it. Crouching, inserting his human fingers in the mesh of the fence, he stares at her with curiosity.
"How do you call yourself, mutie? " he questions.
She walks up and faces him, hooking her claws in the fence, just above his own hand.
She does not intend to reply, to tell him that the parents who were supposed to give her a name had never bothered to do so, as far as she could remember, nor that the children at school called her the beast or still dirty dog, when she showed her teeth, out of patience. She could tell him that for a long time, in the woods where she has lived since she fled from the orphanage, she does not need a name, for no one needs to call her. But she won't, she just wants to observe and understand why this man disturbs her so much.
Despite her silence, he still smiles and does not leave the fence that separates their faces.
"Never mind," he resumed, with a detached look, "we've found your dog's house in the woods, with all your little things..."
He scrutinizes the slightest reaction but the face of the beast is impassive, her gaze fixes a point that seems to be beyond the eyes of her jailer.
"... and then we'll study you, we'll eventually find where you come from ..."
She hears him but does not really listen to him. Absorbed by the emotions that this man causes in her, she focuses on his voice, as if it were the only sound that exists. It sounds deep, posed and reassuring. His slow flow soothes her as a cottony sensation hatches in her chest and then spreads to her neck. She sniffs the fingers that he leaves within reach; the smell of his flesh fills her nostrils with a whiff of comforting warmth. Attracted like a magnet, she rubs her face against the hand of the man, taken by an irrepressible need to curl up against him.
As her attention focuses on the rough texture of his skin and the warmth that emanates from it, the sudden silence of the man takes her out of her trance. As she crouches down at the bottom of the cage with eagerness, wondering what the fuck she was doing, he lets out a brief mocking chuckle along with a smile that remains suspended on his face for a few moments, before fading away, leaving only perplexity in his eyes.
The surface on which she's lying is more flexible than the ground, almost soft. The dried blood in her nostrils scrambles a little the olfactory information that reaches her brain, but she distinguishes ethereal effluvia. The air is dry and motionless. Her eyes refuse to open, her swollen face is numb. Or is it the substance being injected into her arm that diminishes her senses and her will.
Her erratic thoughts jump from memory to memory without any coherence or connection between them. Some images seem almost unreal, to the point of making her doubt the truth of all the others. Yet, in the midst of this chaos, it is the face of this man who arises, looking at her, speaking to her and touching her. She is certain, it is very real.
"Standing, kitten!"
The man's cheerful voice and the blows he takes against the fence pull her out of her sleep as the doors of the van open.
He takes her through a parking lot, almost empty, then a corridor, then another to an elevator, without a word. He sometimes seizes her by the arm to direct her but remains behind. The beast can feel his gaze on her neck, and, through his silence, a certain confusion emanating from him.
While the metallic doors close on them and the machine begins its descent, he regains the use of words.
"Why did you let yourself be captured? "
With a raised eyebrow she looks at him over her shoulder, surprised and embarrassed by his perspicacity, and, for any answer, returns the same smile to him that he seems to love.
"Not talking will make your stay much more painful, honey. Others will be less patient than I am ..."
She shrugs and stares at the door in front of her, far from her the idea of admitting any kind of surrender. The man then passes an arm over her shoulder and folds it, striking her throat with his artificial wrist, forcing her to back away against him.
"It could be a hell, baby, but it could be a lot more bearable in here. All you have to do is answer my questions ... " he whispers with an ounce of irritation in his voice, sticking his face against her hair.
He holds her so strongly against him that she can feel his heart beating against her back and the movements of his rib cage when he breathes. He is dangerously close again and the same feeling of helplessness that when he caught her invades her.
"Couldn't help it" she grumbles.
A tinkle rings and the doors of the elevator open. He holds her back a few moments, trying to understand the meaning of her words and then releases her without a word.
Stifled voices are heard:
"Mr. Pierce, what the hell happened? Have you seen in what state she is? "
" It's gonna be fine, she's just a little rattled ..."
"Are you kidding me ? Did you do that to her? "
"Why would I? "
"Your hand for example ..."
"Listen Doctor Rice, I'll fix this, okay? She just picked up the bad guy and my men are a little tense ..."
The voices moved away. This Pierce, it was him, the troubling man. And the bad guy he talks about, it kind of rings a bell inside her head.
She recalls how her clothes were cut off from her body and her hands tied behind her back to prevent her from hurting the nurses. There she stands, freshly washed, free of blood and dirt, dressed in a simple white cotton blouse that contrasts with the color of her matte skin. It is he who retrieves her at the door of a bathroom, the bad guy. She remembers his eyes bewildered with fear and his cry as she threw herself on him in the woods. The arm of the guard is now covered with a thick bandage, and in his eyes she no longer sees fear but a sort of sadistic disdain when he examines her from top to bottom.
He pushes her in front of him. The chains at her ankles tinkle against the cold ground to the rhythm of the small steps that she is forced to make to advance in the corridors. They cross several of them, a succession of turns, white rooms and gray doors.
It is in front of one of these gray doors that he stops, opens it and then pushes her inside. It is only a box, cold and gray too, whose only light source is a bulb on the ceiling and the only comfort a mattress bare on the floor at the bottom of the room. He follows her and closes behind them.
"On your knees," he ordered.
She glares at him over her shoulder.
"On your knees, bitch! " he yells this time, giving her a blow behind the knee.
By falling to her knees, she calculates the probability of chances she has of getting out of it not too much poked. But he is armed and she is hindered. The chances are slim.
As he goes around her, she hears the characteristic sound of a zip that goes down.
"Finally, it's worse than expected," she thinks, being beaten up does not sound so bad suddenly. Reflecting quickly, she raises her gaze towards the guard's face and ostensibly slams her jaw, showing off her panoply of fangs in a radiant smile. Faced with the vision of his sex cut, the guard interrupts his gesture and an expression of terror distorts his features.
She might bet he would never dare put a piece of himself in her mouth now, however the relief is short lived, soon fear turns into rage on his face.
"You fucking bitch! " he yells, raising his fist.
She closes her eyes at the same time as the fist crushes on her jaw, throwing reddish saliva foam on the floor. She remembers congratulating herself for having left alive the only prey that had no robotic hands, before other insults and other blows fell on her, until her brain extinguished the light and muted the sound. It is therefore the taste of her own blood that she now feels in her mouth.
She opens her eyes without difficulty, and does not remember the last time she opened them. There is an eternity, maybe, or five minutes ago. First, she wonders if it was only a dream, a rotten thing that she would have eaten by mistake, only the light is strange in this place, artificially clear, it does not resemble her home. Then, when she wants to wave her arms, she feels the thick leather straps that hold her to the bed, too clean to be her own.
"Look at you ! Dr. Rice really does miracles with your species."
The voice and the smell cut her in her reflection. He sits close by; she just has to lean her head to the side to lay eyes on him. The smile on his face and the delighted and considerate look he carries on would almost make her forget that she is being held against her will.
"He gave you one of his famous cocktails, you took back human form in no time," he continues, encouraged by the questioning eyes of the captive. "He has a crush on you, especially since I told him your weird way of reacting with me ..."
She nervously turns away, hoping he will shut up, but Pierce gets up and leans on the bed, clasping his hands under his chin.
" ... Most likely abandoned by parents frightened by your appearance, mistreated by others, you ran away ... Rice is fascinated, really! A mutant returned to the wild! Well, savage ... but that can be tamed it would seem." he finishes in an ironic tone.
"I'm not a fucking dog" she spits furiously, glaring at him.
Pierce straights up gently with a cynical smile.
"I know, you're more like a wolf. Your animal instinct has taken over so much that, like them, you need a pack. And a dominant male, a ... how he said already? An Alpha male?"
A wave of cold sweat suddenly runs through her body. This concept he's talking about, she does not know exactly what it is, nor what it means. She only knows that Pierce causes in her emotions that she has never felt before, needs that her own body has never expressed, such as the intense desire to be protected by someone.
"Apparently, it's me ... your dominant male ..." he says, jubilantly leaning over her face.
"It proves you're just an animal, like me," she precipitately retorts, trying to turn the conversation away.
" Oh no ! Not like you darling! I'm not a fucking mutant. According to Rice, you know I'm stronger than you, that's why you can't hurt me."
" Really ?" she cuts him down, lowering her eyes on Pierce's metal hand, now intact.
He raises his hand and waves his metal fingers in front of his face:
"Oh that ! I do not blame you, you didn't know yet who you were dealing with ... Now you know, and I know : you want me."
He had formulated his last words slowly and taken the most sulphurous tone she had ever heard. His smile is wide enough to reveal his golden tooth while he gives her a charming look.
She suddenly feels her heart pulsate in her temples and her stomach revolt. Overwhelmed by feelings she does not understand, she is troubled and vulnerable to Pierce. This sudden frailty, which she did not know, makes her doubt her own ability to survive alone and question all she had learned about herself. And while her certainties collapse, he jubilates and plays with her, unaware of what he is destroying.
Pierce notices a change in the yellow look of his captive, it darkens and her fine features harden. Her lips turn up on her fangs when she says dryly:
"Get me off and I'll show you how much I want you."
Pierce slightly retreats at first, surprised by the alteration of the atmosphere in the room, suddenly tense. Then resumes, displaying again an expression full of confidence, his blue eyes shining with excitement in front of the challenge that the beast launches to him.
While she does not let go of his gaze, he slowly defects the ties to her ankles and then to one of her hands. She struggles to contain her impatience and tries to anticipate in her mind the first movements of Pierce to retain her. There remains only one strap to detach, he lingers more than on the previous ones.
"I'll be as sweet as poss ..."
The light of the room suddenly disappears, interrupting him, replaced by a rotating beacon whose red light turns on the ceiling and projects itself onto the white walls of the medical room, at the rhythm of a strident siren that seems to come from everywhere around them.
Stunned eyes turned towards the ceiling, Pierce swears, remembering that this type of alert is reserved for extreme cases of escape. When his eyes land again on the bed, it is empty.
