Just Muse Me 27.5.4 Victim of a crime
She could hear water dripping from a pipe somewhere. She could smell the cold air reeking of concrete and half-finished siding, insulation. She knew what the smells of a half-finished room were from living with Cas for so long. And it was so damned cliche for him to keep her in a basement.
Chained to a bed, no less. She was going to ream him out for that as soon as he got back down.
He'd blindfolded her, not that it mattered because she was blinded anyway. Something had burst when he'd hit her in the back of the head that second time. Pam kept herself calm by reciting a list of all the easily solved medical things it could be, most of them involving blood clots. Or hysterical blindness, though she didn't feel all that hysterical at the moment. What she did feel was pissed.
She was pissed at a lot of people right now. Cas, for not finding her, though she knew when he did she would throw herself into his arms and cling like there was no tomorrow, crying all over him. Pissed at herself for not seeing it before, in the notes, in the emails, the little cards he'd left, the way he'd betrayed himself in a hundred different ways that she hadn't noticed until he'd injected her with Special K.
Of course that hadn't worked as quickly as he'd wanted to, not as quick as it usually did in the TV shows and in the movies, and that was when he'd hit her in the back of the head.
And now she was chained in a basement with a bucket and a plate of food two times a day. And a mattress. Mustn't forget the mattress.
Pam supposed she was lucky he hadn't raped her yet. He might have, if he'd been more socially normalized and less of a geek, but that had been what she'd liked about him once upon a time. They could have conversations about the science stuff and not lose each other, they'd enjoyed the same jokes. Sex, for him, wasn't tied so much into aggression and control, and she had the feeling he was working himself up to it, but he hadn't yet. She could emasculate him with a few sharp words and leave him limp and scurrying away.
He'd slapped her around some more. Called her all kinds of names. Insulted her science, which actually had pissed her off until she reminded him why he'd gotten fired in the first place, and then insulted her taste in men. She'd just laughed at that. And she'd kept a few choice comments about the cruder and more superficial things she saw in Cas to herself. Yeah, it would have been nice to hear the guy squirm and shriek but some things weren't for others. Some things were just for her and Cas.
She spent her days thinking about that, when he was off at whatever schlub job he had managed to find after she had gotten him fired for gross incompetence and screwing over a hundred or more hard-working officers. Not just about the sex parts, but also the little things. The way he smiled up at her when he was working on something and she came home with takeout or came out of the kitchen with microwaved leftovers because he'd forgotten to eat. The way he came up behind her and touched her, just a light touch at first before he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, like he wanted to make sure she was still there and not just a figment of his imagination. Even the way he curled up into her sometimes in the middle of the night, when he was asleep and probably thought she was too, lost in his dreams.
The little details about him, the way his eyes were always bright blue, even in light that should have leeched all color details. The way his hair flopped around all the time unless she attacked him with the comb. She could still remember it. Would always remember it, even if this blindness stayed.
She really, really hoped it wouldn't.
Pam sighed, ran her fingers down the length of chain that ended in a D ring at the wall. And a pair of thick solid cuffs at her wrist and this really was a dungeon right out of D&D, wasn't it. Wait, she'd used that one already.
He'd be back soon. She had the feeling he was triyng to get her to come to him willingly using some bizarre kind of pop psychology he'd gotten from watching too many profiler and master manipulator TV shows. Trying to induce Stockholm Syndrome. But being a victim was for other people, not for her, not when her would-be victimizer was a pathetic little worm who couldn't tell the truth to save his life. She told him he wasn't willful enough for that, and even without eyes she could see it fly right over his head. She would have told him she was stronger than he could ever be, except that would have invited more hitting and more yelling and she wasn't in the mood for that anymore. Hadn't been after the first two days.
She wrapped her hands around the chain and followed it to the wall till she found it, curled up and leaned against the cold concrete. When she got out of here she'd help Cas finish the basement, do the paneling on the walls for the living room section. Pick out carpet.
When the door upstairs clicked open and slammed closed again she was lost in those thoughts, smiling a little with all the conversations they'd had about all the things they were going to do with that space. She didn't hear a word the bastard said as he stomped down the stairs, wasn't paying attention as his hand cracked across her face. She was already six months into the future, curled up on the carpet in the mostly-finished basement, sharing a glass of wine with her lover and happy as she'd ever been.
Not a victim. Never a victim. Not because of this.
Chained to a bed, no less. She was going to ream him out for that as soon as he got back down.
He'd blindfolded her, not that it mattered because she was blinded anyway. Something had burst when he'd hit her in the back of the head that second time. Pam kept herself calm by reciting a list of all the easily solved medical things it could be, most of them involving blood clots. Or hysterical blindness, though she didn't feel all that hysterical at the moment. What she did feel was pissed.
She was pissed at a lot of people right now. Cas, for not finding her, though she knew when he did she would throw herself into his arms and cling like there was no tomorrow, crying all over him. Pissed at herself for not seeing it before, in the notes, in the emails, the little cards he'd left, the way he'd betrayed himself in a hundred different ways that she hadn't noticed until he'd injected her with Special K.
Of course that hadn't worked as quickly as he'd wanted to, not as quick as it usually did in the TV shows and in the movies, and that was when he'd hit her in the back of the head.
And now she was chained in a basement with a bucket and a plate of food two times a day. And a mattress. Mustn't forget the mattress.
Pam supposed she was lucky he hadn't raped her yet. He might have, if he'd been more socially normalized and less of a geek, but that had been what she'd liked about him once upon a time. They could have conversations about the science stuff and not lose each other, they'd enjoyed the same jokes. Sex, for him, wasn't tied so much into aggression and control, and she had the feeling he was working himself up to it, but he hadn't yet. She could emasculate him with a few sharp words and leave him limp and scurrying away.
He'd slapped her around some more. Called her all kinds of names. Insulted her science, which actually had pissed her off until she reminded him why he'd gotten fired in the first place, and then insulted her taste in men. She'd just laughed at that. And she'd kept a few choice comments about the cruder and more superficial things she saw in Cas to herself. Yeah, it would have been nice to hear the guy squirm and shriek but some things weren't for others. Some things were just for her and Cas.
She spent her days thinking about that, when he was off at whatever schlub job he had managed to find after she had gotten him fired for gross incompetence and screwing over a hundred or more hard-working officers. Not just about the sex parts, but also the little things. The way he smiled up at her when he was working on something and she came home with takeout or came out of the kitchen with microwaved leftovers because he'd forgotten to eat. The way he came up behind her and touched her, just a light touch at first before he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, like he wanted to make sure she was still there and not just a figment of his imagination. Even the way he curled up into her sometimes in the middle of the night, when he was asleep and probably thought she was too, lost in his dreams.
The little details about him, the way his eyes were always bright blue, even in light that should have leeched all color details. The way his hair flopped around all the time unless she attacked him with the comb. She could still remember it. Would always remember it, even if this blindness stayed.
She really, really hoped it wouldn't.
Pam sighed, ran her fingers down the length of chain that ended in a D ring at the wall. And a pair of thick solid cuffs at her wrist and this really was a dungeon right out of D&D, wasn't it. Wait, she'd used that one already.
He'd be back soon. She had the feeling he was triyng to get her to come to him willingly using some bizarre kind of pop psychology he'd gotten from watching too many profiler and master manipulator TV shows. Trying to induce Stockholm Syndrome. But being a victim was for other people, not for her, not when her would-be victimizer was a pathetic little worm who couldn't tell the truth to save his life. She told him he wasn't willful enough for that, and even without eyes she could see it fly right over his head. She would have told him she was stronger than he could ever be, except that would have invited more hitting and more yelling and she wasn't in the mood for that anymore. Hadn't been after the first two days.
She wrapped her hands around the chain and followed it to the wall till she found it, curled up and leaned against the cold concrete. When she got out of here she'd help Cas finish the basement, do the paneling on the walls for the living room section. Pick out carpet.
When the door upstairs clicked open and slammed closed again she was lost in those thoughts, smiling a little with all the conversations they'd had about all the things they were going to do with that space. She didn't hear a word the bastard said as he stomped down the stairs, wasn't paying attention as his hand cracked across her face. She was already six months into the future, curled up on the carpet in the mostly-finished basement, sharing a glass of wine with her lover and happy as she'd ever been.
Not a victim. Never a victim. Not because of this.