Olivia again…..(WoD)

Olivia no longer sleeps.

She stares at the ceiling above her, more familiar now with those tiles and fixtures than she is with her own face, each pattern of dots and lines etched into her brain. She lies prone, her hands bound again at her sides, the IV slowly dripping from its stand safely so many feet away. She aches; her body throbbing in time with her pulse, running last night through her mind over and over and over again until she knew each word, each step, each thrust, with the certainty that she knew her own name.

She’d known as soon as she heard the door close and the blinds drop that the old cop had lied. Humanity was the same all the world over and this man was no different, just another face in a series of faces, his leer and his eyes as hungry as any other man’s she’d met since everything had gone mad. He’d approached the end of the bed, felt him throw the blanket back and felt his hand run up the length of her thigh. She’d lain still, eyes closed, hoping that feigned sleep would deter him, but he’d known in the manner of his kind that she’d been faking and had pinched her inner thigh sharply, leaving a welt. "Wake up, bitch."

Things had proceeded predictably from there.

It hadn’t hurt, not much. She’d been hurt much worse in the course of the past few months and it wasn’t the pain of it that made her angry. It wasn’t even the feel of him straining between her thighs, or his harsh breathing in her ear, or the way he’d grunted,"Is this how you want it?" It was funny, actually, in a sad, sort of pathetic, sort of way. She’d even begun to roll her hips, matching his thrusts, a reflexive action and one that had seemed to surprise him. At the end she’d felt him convulse with the strength of his release and had tossed her hips wildly, cried out, and all the while thinking…thinking… thinking…..

It hadn’t taken much to convince him to undo the restraints. A promise of more fun and a much repeated promise not to try to run away(as if she would keep that one) had been all it had taken before he’d unbuckled her hands and helped her off the bed. She’d seated him down on one of the chairs and knelt in front of him, taken him in her mouth and, as his attention drifted, she’d hooked the IV stand in the corner with her foot and slowly dragged towards her.

Olivia hadn’t meant to kill him, not really. Once she’d buried the point of the IV stand into his throat and up into his brain, the sight of him thrashing and twitching as his body went through a different kind of release than the one he’d just used her for had been sort of humorous, again in a sad sort of way. How easy it was to snuff the ugly little flame that drove most people. Just an ill-placed IV stand and poof. Vegetable time. She’d watched him until his heels stopped drumming the floor and his hands ceased their convulsive opening and closing, then she’d stripped the blood-soaked hospital gown from her skinny frame and fled the room. A quick run through the surgical bay had netted her a scalpel and a bonesaw, and then it was off to investigate this marvelous little compound that supposedly harbored what was left of humanity. As if humanity was worth saving.

Something within her had broken the moment that young guy had tackled her in the hydroponics lab. She’d had a moment to lash out with the bonesaw, but prolonged running on her weakened leg and undernourished frame had taken its toll. She’d folded up like origami and when the old cop had taken her weapons from her(leaving her vulnerable again) she’d felt a piece inside of her roll up and blow away, like leaves in November. There was no fight left in her; her candle had flickered and gone out. She’d been unresisting as they’d taken her back to her cell and put her back in restraints.

She’d stared at the ceiling all night and into the day.

Part of her missed the rough brutality of the slaver band. With them there hadn’t been anyone trying to candy-coat human nature, there hadn’t been any pretty lies or stories. Just men taking what they could from other men. Survival of the fittest. She’d beaten and killed herself a little niche in their society and no one would have done to her again what that orderly had done to her. She would never have been restrained like that, unable to defend herself. Skinner had seen to that the day she’d buried her homemade shiv into living flesh and won her freedom.

She was a slave here, no more, no less. Or perhaps less. A slave has a purpose, was used for something. Olivia wasn’t quite sure what they wanted to use her for, but the more she’d thought about it, the less interested she was in making it easy for them. Olivia stared at the ceiling, feeling a tiny bit of her burst back into flame, this time a cold flame, burning low and dark. Let the old cop come and watch her. She’d liven up his life for him. It looked like the lying bastard needed it.