Glorious

She had already assumed that Dennis had Dissociative Identity Disorder, but she had not realized the extent until he guided her to a bathroom that had twenty-three toothbrushes on several holders across the counter, each with their own cup or slot. Some were the same colour, but had a letter etched across the back, differentiating it from its twin. A large cluster of towels hung on hooks in the back of the door—not nearly as many as the brushes, but more than any one person would need. A collection of male and female soaps covered the rim of the tub and a shelf that was installed in the corner.

This was D.I.D., but on such an extreme level she had no possible way of assuming its extent before now.

The disorder and the lived-in appearance were so different from the bathroom she had been using, shared with the other three who cared not a bit about keeping it clean.

Dennis had brought her here, handing her a neatly folded towel as he avoided her eyes. "You've got drywall dust in your hair," he explained, suddenly shying away from contact with her as he lingered just outside of the bathroom door. "I'll…I'll bring you some clean clothes." He motioned toward the shower. "Use whatever you'd like, take your time. I'll leave the clothes outside for when you're done. There's a hamper there for the towel."

Before he could leave, and before Adelais could doubt her actions, she reached out and caught his sleeve. His gaze lowered to her hand first, then finally lifted to meet her green eyes for the first time since he'd lowered her from his arms. "Thank you," she mumbled, unsure of herself.

Everything she knew was how to avoid making someone else mad; follow their orders, make no mistakes that will draw their anger. Now, the dynamic between her and Dennis had shifted. Before, she only spoke when spoken to, she did what she was told without question; it was also in the belief that she might leave this place relatively unscathed.

Now, those intentions had changed. Was she still a prisoner? If so, she would be considered a voluntary one.

He said nothing in return, only offering a nod as he turned and left. The material of his shirt slipped through her limp fingers. Left standing in the bathroom, she took the chance to look around at the obviously lived-in room.

It felt wrong, somehow. Stripping down from her dirty clothes and stepping into a shower that was so obviously not her own. There was only one bottle of shampoo mixed in among the large amount of body-washes—unsurprisingly, considering the state of Dennis's shaven head. She used it sparingly, barely enough to properly wash her hair. Without a conditioner in sight, she knew she'd be picking through the knots in her hair for a fair while.

Even after being invited, using someone else's belongings made it feel as though she was trespassing.

Internally, the little clock ticked away inside her mind as it warned her; she was taking too long. She needed to be faster—her mother would be angry. Ignoring that voice only worked so well or for so long. The longer she lingered, testing that internal ticking, the more it made her skin itch uncomfortably. Like there was something lingering over her shoulder, putting all of her little hairs on end. Finishing her shower in what most would still consider record time, felt to her like a lifetime—ten whole minutes, when had she last showered for a solid ten minutes?

Standing on a well-worn bathmat as the chill of the room pebbled her skin, she clutched that tightly folded towel to her chest. The scent of the tropical, feminine shampoo filled the room. Her skin was pinkened from the extended time scrubbing beneath the hot spray of water, pads of her fingers wrinkling after prolonged time beneath the spray. Had her body adapted to the short showers she was forced to endure? Was it normal for someone's skin to react after only ten minutes in the shower?

Rolling the pads of her thumbs and index finger together felt foreign, disconcerting.

She supposed these sorts of things were common knowledge to other people. Not to her.

Adelais carefully started to towel off the moisture on her skin. The welt on her glute was slightly raw from the material of her pants being forced down across it, and her knees were already taking on a blue and purple hue from her collision with the floor. Sitting on the exposed section of tub—probably only bare in order to act as a step in and out—she extended her legs in front of her to look over the ruined skin she carried.

Her knees would heal, but the other scars that were left from past punishments would remain forever.

Biting her lip against the urge to tear up—again—she took a deep, shuddering breath.

What was it about her scars that could have changed Dennis's mind? Or the mind of whoever was coming for them?

Thinking back, other than when he had snatched Marcia and dragged her from the room, he had never caused any of them real harm. The bruise on her arm would heal, Marcia was no worse for wear physically, and they had all been brought to that room, from the car, without an injury of which to speak.

Did he understand on a personal level what it was like for her? Perhaps that is why he was careful not to abuse any of them while they were in his care.

A knock on the door broke her from her thoughts. Still only wearing the towel, Adelais panicked for a moment and looked around the room. Her dirty clothes were still sitting on the floor next to the door—unsure what else to do with them, she had folded them and tucked them out of the way to ask Dennis about after he returned for her.

"Dear? Is everything alright?"

Not Dennis. Patricia.

Edging toward the door, Adelais kept herself tucked mostly behind it while cracking it open. Peeking around the wood, she met the English woman's motherly gaze through the space available. "Yes, I'm sorry I took so long." The cold air from the hallways rushed into the room. She repressed a shiver and shuffled slightly further behind the door, as though it would keep the cold air from getting to her.

Patricia's expression grew slightly pained. "Oh, dear, no. I just heard the shower stop and you never came to collect the clothes I brought for you. I wanted to be sure you weren't hurt. Dennis said you had quite the tumble." Authentic concern instead of anger was such a confusing concept to her, Adelais could only blink at the other woman. She had no clue how else she could react; should she say thank you? Or apologize?

Her internal turmoil caught Patricia's attention and her already sad expression became downright heartbroken. This poor, abused woman really had no clue how to react to kindness.

"Here, dear. Something clean to wear." Still hiding behind the door, Adelias barely reached around to grab the clothing with one hand. The exposure of her arm, shoulder and part of her chest gave Patricia enough of a glance to take stock of some of her injuries. The collar of bruises that Dennis had told her about, a handprint on her upper arm that looked too fresh to be the cause of her home life, and a few hints of healing-pink and aged-silver scars.

"Thank you," Adelais breathed out, bringing the clothes in toward her chest and masking the bruises that Patricia had been eyeing.

Offering the blonde a smile, Patricia stepped back. "Take your time, dear. Come out when you're ready."

Closing the door between them again, Adelais moved over to the sink and placed the stack of clothes on the counter space left available. A soft, dark blue shirt with long sleeves sat directly on top. It was very obviously a man's; knowing how much larger Dennis is, she already knew it would hang off of her body like a child in their parent's clothes.

Removing the towel from her body in favour of wrapping up her hair, she began pulling on the new articles.

The first glide of the shirt across her skin caused her to shiver—it was soft and smelled of fresh laundry. Falling down to the tops of her thighs, welts and scars were caressed with the soft fabric. Adelais was fairly certain it was the kindest treatment her body had ever been given. Even her soft scarf wasn't as gentle on her body as this man's shirt.

Pulling on the pants proved that she was still much shorter than him, having to roll the material at the ankles. Thankfully, the sweats came with draw strings, or her malnourished body wouldn't have had enough meat to keep them up alone. It was a strange sensation to have no underwear or bra beneath her clothes, but at least she was wearing something clean.

Unravelling the towel from her hair, she tried—in vain—to carefully card her fingers through the strands. A lack of conditioner had left her hair with knots and tangles littered throughout, tugging numerous times with each pass. Not wanting Patricia to come knocking again—she would have taken much too long if that were the case—Adelais gave up on tugging through her hair and just twisted it over one shoulder to keep it aside.

Depositing the towel in the hamper, as Dennis had instructed, she collected her old clothes and opened the door.

At first, she was alone in the hallway. The air outside was much cooler and her once-warm skin pebbled against the chill. Adelais lifted her clothes up against her chest in an attempt to mask the way her nipples visibly pressed against the shirt from the chill, no bra or undershirt to hide the cold's effect.

"Ah, dear, how do you feel?"

Unable to control the reaction, Adelais jerked at the sudden voice and her body locked up like she'd touched a live wire. Patricia immediately hurried toward her with a soft 'sh, sh, shh' as she placed a placating hand on her shoulder. The crisp scent of chamomile tea wafted on the air that carried after her; it was a scent that Adelais knew well, since it was her mother's drink of choice every night before bed. She had gotten very good at measuring the leaves, heating the water perfectly and never letting it steep for too long.

"I'm sorry," Adelais forced out around a suddenly dry throat.

"Now, whatever for? I shouldn't have startled you like that, the apology is mine. Come now, I've made you a nice cup of tea to have while I prepare you something good to eat. So thin, we'll need to put some meat on those bones of yours." Patricia was giving her that soft smile again as she gently stroked her damp hair that sat tight against her skull.

Adelais knew better than to decline and gave a mute nod.

While turning to head back in the direction she had come, Patricia noticed the clothes that Adelais had clutched tight to her chest. "Let me take those, they'll need a good washing. The kitchen's just through there, go on in and have a seat. Off you pop."

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to relieve her grip on her clothes, mostly because of embarrassment as she immediately wrapped her arms across her chest. Patricia acted as though she hadn't seen a thing and gently nudged Adelais toward the kitchen with a soft push to her back. She knew for a fact that her nipples were still standing out against the fabric, and abrupt lack of modesty making her flush. Suddenly she wasn't so cold around the collar, the back of her neck burning.

Bare feet tapping against the cold flooring, Adelais followed Patricia's direction and found herself seated at a simple table in a barren kitchenette. A steaming mug of tea, that chamomile scent permeating the air, occupied that table in front of her. Hesitantly, her fingers reached out until they encircled the warm mug. Her skin warmed instantly upon contact with the ceramic, growing pink and threatened with the stinging almost-burn that came with the contact of something too-hot to touch.

At first, she sat with her back uncomfortably straight—a habit, sitting at a table meant she had to be at her best behaviour. However, as the minutes ticked by and she was left sitting alone with the rapidly cooling mug, Adelais's posture loosened and her spine curved, elbows coming to rest on the table as they took her weight.

Sipping at the tea, much more bearable now that steam was billowing from the mug, she closed her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible sigh out her nose.

This time, she heard the soft steps as Patricia approached the small kitchen. Likely they woman was doing it on purpose so as not to scare Adelais again; she appreciated the small gesture and a small, timid smile touched at her lips before she lifted the mug to hide it.

"How're you feeling, dear?" was the immediate question that came from the taller of the two once she re-entered the kitchen, hands now free of clothing.

"Much better, thank you. The tea is delicious."

Patricia reached out and gave a slow, soft pat on Adelais's shoulder. "I'm so glad to hear that. Now, let me fix you up something to fill that stomach of yours, hm?"

A protest lodged itself in her throat, the denial sitting on the back of her tongue before she forced herself to swallow it back. Politely declining things that were not approved for her; another habit. Patricia noticed something off about her, there was a look in her eyes as she gazed down at the younger woman that confirmed it, but she said nothing on the matter and simply turned toward the fridge to begin pulling out some ingredients to make a sandwich.

"Now, there's no rush right this moment, but you'll need to fill me in on some things, dear. This is quite the situation we've found ourselves in."

Adelais gently swirled the tea in her mug, watching as the liquid spun inside, getting closer and closer to the lip with each swirl. "What will happen to the other girls?" she finally broached, looking up through her lashes.

Pausing in her meticulous process, Patricia turned to look at her in a moment of silence. "Nothing for now. I assure you, dear, everything will be made clear in due time." Wiping her hands off on a damp dishcloth, she approached Adelais like a cornered animal that might spook. Hands raised—giving Adelais the time to pull back—she finally cupped the young blonde's face between her palms and gently stroked calloused thumbs along the thin skin of her cheeks.

A tender smile overtook her normally serene expression.

"In time, when you are ready, you can tell us your story. And we will tell you ours." One of Patricia's thumbs came up to stroke along her lips, pulling her plump bottom lip slightly downward. "When you meet him, it will be glorious."