Two weeks passed and a routine developed. Blackburn and her were moving until they found somewhere to make a more permanent shelter. They were trying to navigate the island going North and had discovered various treasures such as the small freshwater pool, the area filled with tropical retiles and the flat grassy field sprouting cacti. Blackburn had used a knife to gauge the flesh from one of these cacti and bade her chew it, sucking the liquid out but not swallowing the flesh. They had tried another with fewer spikes but the sap was milky white and he had warned her it would be poisonous. Generally Blackburn killed animals, he didn't really trust her with a knife, after all, she was still his captive. But Anna cooked, and they then moved on. She had been having pains in her stomach and recognised signs of an oncoming period. Anna had no idea what to do about this. It was late, presumably due to the considerable stress she was under, and although she and Blackburn had broken the barrier of bodily functions and she had thought she could not get much more embarrassed than having to go in front of him, she did not know what to do about this monthly phenomenon. When it struck Blackburn had her wash her clothes in the small lake, something they did as often as they could. She used sand as grit to help her, her face red with humiliation. But Blackburn simply gave her some cloth from the survival kit. She had thought all of it had been used for filters, constructions and of course, for when her bandages had worn out and he'd needed more rope. But it seemed he had anticipated this course of nature and kept some separate. This surprised her. She could not imagine him thinking about that. He told her to use the cloth and replace it with a new one as needed, washing the old one. This way they came to survive on the island.
Blackburn began leaving her untied more often, particularly when he needed help constructing a more durable, permanent shelter. He still watched her bathe or wash (depending on where they were) to ensure she didn't run. She wasn't sure why he kept her around. He hadn't tried to touch her yet but she caught him looking, except during bathing where she just tried to avoid looking at him and get it over with as quickly as possible. Their clothes were dirty and torn. She patched them up, using plant fibre twisted into a hard thread and a makeshift needle whilst Blackburn supervised. Eventually they made their way back to the sea. Blackburn had decided they could cover the rest of the island, the other side of it later and they journeyed back to where they had first been shipwrecked. Gazing out at the horizon, not a boat or other vessel in sight, just endless water, Anna wondered again why she had told him what she had seen with Heather. It was such a stupid mistake. At least she would have a hope, a chance, if only she had kept silent, he would have perhaps kept her on his side. They had been trapped for around 4 months now. Her family would think her dead, they all would. If they ever were rescued she had blown all chance of being allowed to return. Unless she managed to kill him first. But that was no option. He was smarter, stronger and better at surviving than she. She needed him.
She asked him later, as he watched her with narrowed eyes gut the fish he had caught, why he kept her around. "I know you could just kill me, it would be easier, like Heather. I know I don't have a chance to get off this island, ever. You won't let me. So what is it? Why?" For the first time in four months she left off the 'sir'. That stupid sign of respect. What was the point? She had no respect for the man. Besides, if he was going to do anything to punish her, she would add it to the answer to this question. Maybe this was the moment where it happened, where he killed her, or worse. But she had to know. She couldn't take the uncertainty, the always being on guard, the knowledge that every night might be her last. She looked very different to before. They both did. Anna had grown stronger, muscles built up from the physical exertion of survival. Her face had thinned, become more terse, hardened, and her hair was long and shaggy. It roped off her with the ends uneven and ragged where Blackburn had hacked them off. He had wanted to cut all her hair off to prevent lice and such but she had argued that hair helped keep the body warm at night so he had let her be. For his part he had incredibly, built muscle but got leaner. Both were tanned from the sun beating down, his hands were rough and worn. Anna's shoes were seriously getting holes now, which she couldn't keep patching up with leather skins. Her clothes were full of holes and mends. She had thrown her knickers, socks and bra away months ago, as they wore down from constant wear. But her t-shirt and jeans were still amazingly intact, her jeans shorn off below the knee. She had more freedom. She was allowed to go the toilet by herself, as long as he was nearby.
"Why do I keep you around?" Blackburn muttered in response, frowning. "You know I was in a mental institution for a long time. Isolated, I was seen as a hopeless case". Anna's breath hitched. He never talked about this time. Everyone at the Spire knew it. Blackburn had been part of 300 military personnel given neural processors over 16 years ago. Most had died as they were adults, and for a processor to work with your brain it had to be inserted as a child, which was why she and the others at Comco were so young. Blackburn had been one of the few that survived, but all survivors had gone mad. They had had fits, seizures. Blackburn had become a paranoid Schizophrenic and had been locked up for years. But he had singlehandedly reprogrammed his own processor and eventually become better, getting a job at the Spire teaching the young trainees. He was remarkable. Since then he had a vendetta against Vengerov, the man responsible for all of it. He was a brilliant programmer and military man and was very single minded. Blackburn drew breath, jolting Anna back to their conversation.
"When you are alone for such a long time, you realise human company keeps you sane. You need it. You are useful to me". And that was it. He needed her. But Anna realised that there was no way to escape the man on this island. He was the reason she survived, his skills had been invaluable in ensuring they had even made it four months. She now knew a lot more than she had when she had arrived, but it was not enough.
That night they slept in the shelter, as always, hearing the rain crash down. Her right hand tied to his left, side by side in the small space with the man who would kill her as soon as she was no longer 'useful.' Anna normally fell asleep immediately. At first she had found it horrifying being in such close quarters to this man. To be able to feel his breath on her neck, his huge hands dragging her's wherever he moved it whist sleeping. Unable to turn over, unable to escape. It had been unbearable. But it was amazing how quickly one got used to such things.
She had tried once, early on, to escape at night. She had managed to palm a knife when he wasn't looking and carefully carefully used it to saw through the bandage that tied her to him. She had hesitated in the darkness, knowing he would come after her, wondering whether or not to slit his throat. Wondering if she could. Before she knew it, she had felt a huge arm knock against her's and a hand twist her wrist to force her to drop the knife. She had scrambled back in horror away from the angry mountain in front of her. "Are you insane Anna?" he'd yelled. "You realise the number of things that could kill you out there? Yes I could too but I am not going to." He'd paused then, "not yet". "You wouldn't last a day girl. And you can't kill me. You hesitated. You don't have it in you." Anna had wanted to point out that just because she had hesitated this time didn't mean she wouldn't next time, but she knew this wasn't the case. She couldn't do it. He was ruthless, she was not. Then he'd hit her. He had socked her in the jaw, near her cheek hard enough to leave a large mass of a purple green bruises the next morning. She had not slept that night after he had tied their wrists together again. She didn't want to risk physical violence again after that. She had done whatever he said. Although that didn't stop her answering him back sometimes, or muttering things under her breath. Sometimes, when she really wanted to wind him up, she'd call him James, using his first name with a mocking tone. Most of the time he'd start towards her threateningly and she would apologise fearfully but sometimes he would let it slide, almost looking amused.
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