The Dead World Ch. 04

Would he ever even see her again, now that Slash had frightened her so?

He typically had faith in Oz but this was not one of those times. The man had talked him down from many harrowing situations... hell, his brother had brought him back to the world of humanity after he was being kept as a human pet by a band of raiders who had found his family out in the wilderness during Red Winter, dying of starvation. Every situation was different, though... what one person could endure would surely be the end of another.

There was no telling how long it would take before Charlie even dared to come back out for Oz to attempt to smooth things over with her. She might even be so bold as to go without a few meals, just to be certain they left... how would she feel, to finally come out and find that they had decided to stick around? Oz might just not be good at talking things down, this time. Slash had pushed too far. He felt a certain sense of desperation, that he might have to rely on their fearless leader to ease the woman's worries.

Charlie wouldn't want more empty promises, she would want to feel secure, and she obviously felt far from that since she was already assuming the persona of a young man in the face of strange men. His teeth tugged his bottom like a bit anxiously, glancing toward the elevator again.

Maybe... he should check on her?

He scowled a bit, shaking the thought away abruptly, almost as quickly as it had formed and thumping himself gently center fore-head with the palm of his hand, as if to reprimand himself. She wouldn't like that one bit, if he popped up unwanted and uninvited—wearing her goggles no less—the same one's he'd taken from her room the night before when he had broken in. He didn't mean to keep them, just ...'borrow without permission', as Charlie had so colorfully put it.

He didn't want to give her the impression that they were all like Slash all because he longed to be close to her, again; to feel the silkiness of her skin beneath his fingertips and hold her tightly. He'd never held someone before, yet alone one so soft, warm and inviting. He could all but smell the longing and sorrow on her, he could feel it the way her body all but melted into relaxation beneath his wandering palms.

The thought alone stirred the tremulous tide of arousal within him. Stop. He scolded himself. He groaned in quiet frustration and rose to stand as he shut the game-system off without bothering to save his place in order to pace the floor.

Oh... but... well, she did owe him, didn't she? Even if she was unaware; if she hadn't been sneaking around so early, if she had waited for him to tag along with her as Oz had instructed, then she wouldn't have ever been in the situation to begin with. He had done her an enormous favor going to fetch Yuri—knowing almost certainly that if he himself had tried to step in, Slash might've attempted to loop him into his little sexual assault game.

It could've been a disastrous fucking mess, if he hadn't handled it the way he did. A part of him felt smugly indebted. The other part felt conflict, toeing the boundary between doing what he wanted with her, and wanting her to want him there.

...Maybe he should check on her.

There wasn't a chance for things to go so badly as they had with Slash, he told himself, because he wouldn't make her do anything she didn't want to do. He felt even confident that he could coax her out of her shell with far more finesse than Slash ever could... she seemed eager to have him close the first night, even if she hadn't exactly been conscious or aware he was there.

He had only meant to hold her, but sheer curiosity entwined with wild, untended hormones had gotten the better of him. Once his hands began to ease beneath the fabric and brush against that beautiful warm, caramel pallet of flesh it was the hardest thing he had ever done, stopping himself from taking it too far. He clenched his jaw gently, nervously.

He had barely wanted to stop the last time... what if he didn't this time, and she woke up and became upset with him? The idea caused him to visibly recoil. He had never had a positive experience with anyone becoming upset with him. Instantly it brought to his mind the countless instances in which he had been beaten, burned, and denied meals for days because he had upset someone. It wasn't like that with his group, no... but his young life was terribly marred by the trauma of being held by raiders for years.

No... that wouldn't do. He doubted Charlie would be so upset as to try and attack him. The thought of never seeing her again on positive terms still brought an unfamiliar weight to his chest, and a thoughtful expression over his youthful, usually expert poker-face.

After today's events, he had an idea. A marvelous idea, however devious it may be...

Days... she'd spend days in this suite if she had to. She wasn't prepared for it. Everything she owned had been taken from her aside from very few things. She had to make herself incredibly uncomfortable parading around pretending to be a boy just to feel safe around these people, and it had turned out that even that did not necessarily make her 'safe'. Everything she feared and anticipated about these people had been true.

She took comfort in knowing they couldn't get through her door easily... these heavy, thick, well-crafted doors with their card key locks, security bolts and heavy deadbolt locks—no, it would take all of them, and maybe a battering ram, and likely several long and tiresome hours to get through. Thankfully they wouldn't even consider it worth their time with how things were.

She let her hair down completely, washing it promptly in the shower, enjoying the feel of it tickling her shoulders and cascading down her neck. Charlie felt as if she had spent an eternity in the shower trying to wash away that grimy, dirty feeling that she'd picked up from the madman with the drugs. Once she stepped out, she dug out some of Matt's old clothing again—his favorite pair of sweatpants and a Nirvana t-shirt, curling up a large comfortable chair with smooth wooden legs which pushed easily across the plush carpet to the balcony window. There Charlie rested, bare footed and sans bra with her damp curly hair draped over a shoulder as she watched the ocean, the stormy clouds lingering overhead contemplatively.

Charlotte ignored the soft rumble of her stomach as the minutes turned to hours. She ignored the desire to go down and check on the chickens and goats, or the greenhouse, observing twilight beginning to fall over the coast—the bastards had probably picked it dry by now and killed her hens for their dinner, anyways.

At sudden she felt her body seize up, a soft knock upon the door snapping her out of her melancholy trance, slowly turning her head to peer over her shoulder with disdain.

"Go. Away." She called out venomously. Had she not been specific enough in the letter she'd slipped under to Oz? There was silence from beyond the heavy door for a long few moments, and her eyes finally resumed their empty stare upon the tremulous waves beyond when once again—

Tap... taptaptaptap.

A much softer knock, this time. She growled huffily and shot up from her seat, advancing across the room to shout angrily at the door, "I said go away!"

She could hear footsteps quietly descending the hall... she didn't have superhuman hearing, and through the walls she couldn't decipher whether it was only one person or several of them. Probably just the boyish young man they had appointed to be her shadow, who seemed endlessly interested in her... not that it brought her any comfort.

Charlie stood on the tips of her toes and peered with one eye through the peephole, to see no one there. Leaving the security bolt in place, she unlocked the deadbolt and the small lock on the door handle, and opened the door quietly, peeking out through the sliver of space to find the hall empty, and something sitting on the floor at the base of her door.

There lay a bottle of water from her store-room, a small note resting atop a little black box, and what looked to be a cigarette. She paused, making certain she heard no motions beyond, and slowly undid the chain lock, opening the door to better observe the items left for her. She picked up the bottle of water, the note, the cigarette and box before quickly shutting the door and locking it back.

The note was poorly scrawled on one of the tablet sized pages of the resort's notepads on every desk in every suite. 'Sorry about Slash. He's an asshole. - Dog' She turned the box, which she recognized as one of the gift-shop boxes for jewelry, trinkets and things like that, tugging the lid free and unable to help the gentle teasing the corners of her mouth. Inside were five small squares of soft sea-salt caramels. It had been years since she'd even seen a sweet treat.

The last of stale chocolate bars and things like that were gone at least three years back. There wasn't a grocery store or deserted home in existence that held food safe for eating anymore, so she knew without a fact these had to have been hand-made—or traded for. The ingredients—like cream and butter, while simple, were not easy to come by. I guess... maybe they all aren't crazy assholes. I'm still not leaving this room though.

She slowly moved to her bag, and fished from within her iPod, moving to set it aside the small bluetooth speaker upon the desk. She shuffled through the Classical playlist and let the soft tones of 'Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9, No. 1 in B flat minor. Larghetto' fill the room. The gift box of caramels in hand, she moved back to the chair beside the balcony door, tugging it open ever so gently to let the fresh air sweep into the room.

Settling back into her place, she turned the small box gently in her hands, debating on whether she should eat the sweets or pitch the box out into the sea. It hadn't come from the asshole who she was positive thought to sodomize her in an empty hallway... she decided, after a long time, that there was no point in throwing it away. She wasn't likely to come across anything like it any time soon, if ever again... and not having eaten for nearly a day and a half, her stomach grumbled low at the idea of throwing the box over the balcony rail.

Darkness had fallen upon the room. The soft golden glow of the bedside lamp warmed the room, the drapes shifting lazily as the wind gusted through the open balcony door. The caramels hadn't lasted longer than a half hour once she'd finally decided to indulge, and she wasn't the slightest bit disappointed she had. She hadn't really eaten regularly since the men arrived, she felt she was all but starving. She sipped the bottle of water slowly, hoping to make it last for a while longer—she could easily refill it from the tap, which drew from one of several wells on the property, and still not have to leave the room.

The little caramels were sinfully delectable and being rich and hand-made for some reason made her wonder if the Dog himself had made them. The idea made the fond sentiment and apology even more sweet to her. She didn't dwell on it though... It didn't take much time after that before she began to feel herself dozing off, and decided to crawl into bed, taking the cigarette she'd been gifted and placing it between soft pink lips. She left behind the thoughts of her ever so unwanted guests who it seemed were now quite literally forcing her to be a prisoner in her own home.

She lay there for a long while before lighting the end with a Zippo from her nightstand. She inhaled the stale tobacco deeply, musing silently to herself that this was the exact same brand of cigarette she had been saving in her room. She puffed on it gently and was soon all but fighting her sleep, barely able to keep her eyes open, deciding finally to stamp it out for the sake of safety before delving into her bedtime ritual. She brushed her teeth groggily, and refilled the water bottle to place it on the nightstand beside her bed. She realized she was rather relaxed and for the most part quite content, which did not seem terribly unusual—she simply considered it a lingering effect of the pills the asshole had given her.

Charlie brought her arms over her head with a yawn, slightly bothered by the scent of tobacco which was relatively unfamiliar to her these days... but not so much bothered to take another shower. She tugged the oversized shirt up and over her head to rid herself of the smell of smoke, and lightly brushed her hands at her hips to rid her of the large cotton sweatpants before sliding snugly beneath the sheets. She hadn't noticed in the slightest someone watching from the balcony. She leaned across to turn the light off and shifted gently in her bed to face the ocean, the scent of tobacco still lingering. Her brow furrowed. That's odd... She thought, I put that out... a while ago...

The hazy murmur of her voice in her own head seemed to echo, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, they slowly began to make out the shape of someone standing on the balcony. She blinked a few times, though barely so, her eyes threatening to dip closed entirely... and oh, how warm and snug she had become in bed. Far too snug to rise from her place to investigate a mirage, or a trick of her eyes in the dark standing in the balcony doorway.

She shut her eyes for a few moments and opened them again to the same figure lingering beyond the cracked sliding glass. A flare of red illuminated his youthful features for a moment, and she found herself smiling softly. It did sort of look like that teenager, this phantom on her balcony, didn't it? Or perhaps it was Matt's ghost standing out there, smoking a cigarette—that certainly seemed like something he would do. Stand there watching her quietly, not wanting to disturb her, puffing away on a damn cancer stick.

This time, she did want to rise, and she pushed back the blankets and felt her head spin and a twinge of nausea caused the room to spin. That.. that's nooot.. normal? N-no.. I should just... lay... back down... She felt as if she weighed a million pounds, and it seemed more trouble than it was worth to articulate a thought. She slid her hands behind her to hold herself up, staring as hard as she could muster through half-lidded eyes at the man on her balcony.

"Matt... knock it off..." The slurred, irritated murmur caused her to pull from her haze, stressed that she found herself all but incapacitated. Her brows knitted together in slow realization as she watched the cigarette the ghostly figure on the balcony was smoking disappear into the wind, watching the shadow grow larger as it stepped through the doorway. Her heart began to thump a little faster in her chest.

She closed her eyes again and drew in a slow, deep breath, exhaling it just so as she slid back down upon the bed and gazed through fluttering lashes at the ceiling. It wasn't real. She told herself this several times to try and calm down and turned her back to the window bitterly, her arms slowly curling around one of the many fluffy pillows upon her bed. What cruel trick for her mind to play on her. There's no one there... just go to sleep... you'll.. feel better... tomorrow...

Dog tilted his head ever so gently as he stepped into the room from the balcony. She should've surely been sleeping by now... perhaps he hadn't given her enough? He recalled with brutal clarity that Slash had commented on the many, many things he had in the way of medicine. 'Shit for sleep', Slash had called it. The thought crossed his mind in an instant and he acted on it just as quickly, before he could feel too badly, before he could convince himself that it was not the right thing to do.

Breaking into Slash's room was easy—he happened to have a room like Charlie did on the ground floor facing the ocean. It was nothing to hop over the balcony and jimmy the simple lock to the sliding glass door took only moments, and Slash was still gone and likely far from here, probably beating in the faces of some dumb dead bastards with Skully—a pastime they both shared a fondness for.

Sorting through the assortment of weird pills however was not so easy. They were crudely labeled and some not at all, and he could only remember taking a few of them for shits and giggles. He played the part of the jester when gathered around the campfire, doing just about anything for a few laughs, and along with out-drinking every man in their group he often took wild or random dares in exchange for trinkets of valuables among his comrades. Taking one of Slash's "sleepy time cocktails" and not falling asleep had been one such occasion... and he eventually found what he was looking for.

It had been hell to stay awake when he had drank two of those pills dissolved in a glass tumbler of Brandy, and when he woke up some six hours later with everyone in their own beds, he didn't even remember doing it and had vague blurred memories of the hilarity that ensued—back-flips from the low branches of trees, calling to wolves out in the forest and receiving a response from a nearby pack, trying to eat a pine-cone and showing off his rare juggling talent albeit a little sloppily while under the influence. He'd only broken apart one for Charlie, who was much smaller than he was, and crushed and folded it into the caramels he'd gifted her.

She rolled onto her side away from him, and he was certain she had dozed off finally by how still she was, the gentle rise and fall of the blankets with her breath, his own heartbeat wild in his chest. Excitement, anxiety, and a looming sense of this being so very wrong had him pause and debate heading back the way he came. He drew in a deep breath, and he could smell the scent of her skin, her freshly washed hair, even with the smell of the sea filling the room and the lingering scent of tobacco.

Dog slowly shrugged his leather jacket from his shoulders, and he tossed it back to gently drape over the chair she had been nestled in. The haphazard, mass of dark hair crowning his skull held down by the stolen goggles, was allowed its freedom as he removed them and gently placed them upon the desk.

He shed a slightly tattered black shirt next, undoing his belt and dropping his jeans as he eased his feet from his boots, finally removing his socks. The last to go were the boxer-shorts, leaving the lean, lanky youth bare and exposed to the cool night air... but only for a moment.

He lifted the blanket and slid beneath, instantly drawn to her warmth, wanting to move close to her. He didn't rush it, though... he shifted ever so gently to lay beside her and did not touch her quite yet as he felt her stir. She murmured something sweetly incoherent—the whisper of an angel, he swore. With marvelous restraint Dog nuzzled closer to her, closing the space inch by painful inch until he let a long arm curl gently at the curve of her waist between her ribs and the curve of her wide hips.

She wasn't entirely in the depths of deep sleep... not quite yet. She certainly wasn't coherent though, either. She tried her best to open her eyes, her brain shooting the proper signals wildly but to no avail—danger, it cried! Charlie simply could not gather herself the strength to respond. Her eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening slightly as she felt her body being drawn back against Dog, his bare body still somehow inviting, comforting and... almost familiar. He wasn't built so much like her husband, who was solid, toned and not nearly as tall. She supposed that was just instinct, some primal desire encoded in every human's DNA to crave to be close to another.

She didn't fight against him as she had Slash earlier in the day. Her slender arm shifted to rest against his, eyes dipping closed once more as she felt him nuzzle just a bit closer, holding her in a tight embrace. Oh, it was heavenly, her body had decided. Her small fingers laced with his and drew his hand up to clutch to her breast, just against her heart.