Chapter Eight

My room was silent, much like it almost always was. It had ceased being unnerving and had instead become calming, especially when my hands started to tremble when the meds began to wear off. I did my best to continually take my medication, but I was quickly running out. It wasn't too big of a deal, given my isolation, but I became more and more nervous with every pill I took.

In the days since my failed escape attempt, I had only one visitor. Her name was Usagi; she brought me food once a day and stayed for the duration of my meal. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Grimmjow since my escapade.

The voice hadn't urged me to kill anyone since—not that it was allowed ample time to, anyways. I took my pill when Usagi brought me food and water, and they only began to wear off shortly before she arrived again the next day. Or was it night? The sky outside never seemed to change; it was always night, a crescent moon curved like a sickle hanging in it.

Eyes closed and hands laced together on my stomach, I sat upside down in the chair Usagi had brought with her on the second visit. My bleached hair was spread out on the floor. It was how I sat most of the time that wasn't spent sleeping, feet tossed over the back of the chair.

The door opened; my eyebrows twitched. Usagi brought the same thing for me to eat everyday—tasteless soup and a pitcher of water. Strangely, it was enough to make me feel stuffed.

"Feeding time already?" I asked without opening my eyes. The tray was set on the table that Usagi had brought with her on the first visit. The sound of the tray on the table was followed by the thump of someone tossing themselves onto the uncomfortable sofa.

That in itself was quite un-Usagi like. She was demure, proper; she always sat primly and regally, even when she took a seat on the stupid sofa.

My eyes snapped open. Grimmjow sat on the couch, his feet up on the table and a sneer set on his face. I repressed a shudder at the sight of him. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and shifted slightly.

"Where's Usagi?"

"Busy," he answered tersely.

"Did you kill her?"

There was a pause. I nearly expected him to laugh.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because she's punctual and you're late."

"Why would that have anything to do with it?"

"Because you're late and she's punctual."

"How do you know I'm late?"

Keeping my eyes closed, I unlaced my hands and held one of them up. They were quaking a great deal more than they should have been. "You're late," I reiterated. After a moment more, I let my hand flop back onto my stomach.

We sat in silence until he asked, "So, are you going to eat or what?"

I heaved a sigh and opened my eyes. His frown almost looked like a smile upside down, but that was ridiculous. He didn't seem like the smiley type. Then again, I didn't exactly know him except for the fact that he was quick to anger, especially when questioned about his boyfriend (unless the black haired guy wasn't actually his boyfriend, of course).

"I will when I get around to it," I replied lazily. He snarled, and I fought to hide a smirk when I closed my eyes again. Sure, his loss of temper and the near punching in of my face had scared me to death and moved me to tears a few days ago, but I had come to a decision that I would not care if it happened again. I had to grow a backbone at some point, and standing up to him would likely make it grow quickly.

"You need to eat," he ground out. His voice was low, dangerous; it was like he was trying to keep his temper in check. "Once you eat, I have to take your ass to Aizen."

Aizen. I hadn't seen him since the day I had arrived. Going to see him would mean getting out of the stupid room that I had paced continuously (I had done it so often that I could probably do it in my sleep and not run into anything). Getting out of the room would be a nice relief, and talking to the man who seemed to know everything about me didn't seem like such a bad idea. It could even count as getting a step closer to leaving the place entirely.

With a grunt, I lifted my legs off of the back of the chair before somersaulting out of it. I couldn't bring myself to get out of it like a "normal" person, even though I knew that my mother would screech at me if she were there.

I landed on my butt, just barely missing the table with my head. It didn't bother me as much as it should have. Dizzy as the blood rushed to my head, I reached for my bag that had been left leaning up against the sofa, dragging my pill bottle out with trembling hands.

I could feel Grimmjow watching me closely as I opened the bottle, swallowed a pill, and chased it down with water. Once the bottle was safely back in my bag, I dug into my broth. It tasted exactly as it had all the times before, like the person who had made it had extremely sensitive taste buds and refused to acknowledge that any sort of flavoring existed. But it was food, and I ate it nevertheless.

"Why were you sitting in the chair like that?" I nearly missed my mouth with the spoon. I hadn't actually expected him to talk to me farther or ask any questions; he seemed more like the type to throw a tantrum and brood much rather than talk.

"'Cause it's more comfortable than the sofa." Sure, all of the blood rushed to my head, but it was way, way more cozy than the stupid sofa. I had actually taken to sleeping on the floor instead; I seemed to get more sleep that way.

I got through three more spoonfuls before he spoke again.

"And those capsules are?"

"So I don't kill anyone." Including me, I tacked on silently. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him sneer shift quickly into a look of confusion.

"You don't seem like the bloodthirsty type." I took in another spoonful of soup.

"Well, yeah, and you don't seem like the type to kidnap defenseless people on their way to pick up their sibling from school." I shrugged and took a drink of water. "Obviously, not everything is as it seems here."

"But what happens when you run out?" I frowned minutely. Why was he taking such an interest? It didn't make sense.

"I do my best to ignore it." By 'it', I meant the stupid voice, but he took the 'it' as 'blood thirst' or something of the sort.

"And what if you don't?"

"You don't want to know," I said lightly, hoping to nip the rest of the conversation that looked like it was going to happen in the bud. In truth, I didn't want to recant what had happened the handful of times I had actually listened to the insidious voice inside of my head.

"No, I do want to know."

"Pretty sure you don't." I was almost done with the tasteless soup. If I ever escaped, the first thing I was going to do was eat a huge meal of all of my favorite food. And then, I would go home to Mom and Mizuri and probably never leave the house again.

"Tell me." Impatience was quickly flooding his voice. I figured I could taunt him at least once more before he lost his temper completely.

And then I threw my spoon at him before diving beneath the short little coffee table in the false hope that he wouldn't retaliate. Throwing the spoon probably hadn't been my brightest idea in the world, but I couldn't help myself. It had been an irresistible urge that I had to obey. I didn't often go about obeying urges, but I had to go through with that one.

I huddled beneath the table for a handful of long, drawn out seconds, waiting for him to react. Throwing the spoon would have been worthless if he didn't re-

The table was flipped away from me; I shrieked. I rolled away from the sofa and into the chair, turning my scream into a grunt as my back connected with the legs with enough force to knock the chair over. I wound up on my back, panting, heart thumping a feverish beat in my chest.

Grimmjow loomed over me, the sneer firmly back on his face. It was surprisingly funny, though, because the spoon hung loosely out of his mouth, almost as if it were a cigarette.

"You know that's covered in my saliva, right?" I was trying to my surprise that he hadn't tried to kill me yet, but I was also trying to hide my laughter from seeing the spoon in his mouth. Of course, I had fully expected to be stabbed in the back or punched in the face—not a delayed table flipping that scared the daylights out of me.

"And?"

"And I've been told I have rabies." I was certain my back would bruise from smacking into the chair legs, but I couldn't be certain. I hoped it wouldn't—that wouldn't prove well for my sleeping on the floor.

Instead of an answer, he spit the spoon back at me. It smacked me in the face before sliding into my hair, leaving a lovely trail of saliva as evidence that it had been there. I squealed and writhed on the floor, making gargling sounds in the back of my throat because there were no words that could properly convey my disgust.

He stood over me, grinning.

I'll admit, this got a little weird (or maybe more than a little).

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