Chapter 6: Unleavened
AN: i'm sorry its been so long. essays are killing me. Enjoy, my pretties ;)
I wake in the darkness, heart beating, after another nightmare. Hands pulling at me, my own screams crushing the darkness. Bolt upright and shivering, I look over to Bane- he's lay facing away from me, heavy in sleep due to his intoxication. He has one muscular arm pulled around his ripping chest, the other bent up and around his head, covering his face and neck. I can see that he is shivering, also- profusely so. A scrap of moonlight falls around him, and I notice something dark about the forearm above his head- I stand, worried that he might somehow be bleeding, and touch it gently to find that it is infact blood, but it is dried. I carefully wrap my hand around his wrist and lift his arm upwards to expose his face and try to find the source of the blood, worriedly thinking he may have found the razor afterall.The light from the moon falls over his face, his expression hardened, even in sleep, making his features less beautiful than they should be. The bruises and swellings are less notable in this light, which I find to be of comfort.His eyelids flit gently, and I realize he must be dreaming. What would he dream of, a man such as this? I realize I know nothing about him- nothing important, at least. I know only the man I've seen these last few days- first a captor, then a Saviour. A protector and a friend. An asthete, a guardian. A fighter, a threat, a drunkard, and now this- a dreamer. A tired man; worn from the trials of this world, the tribulations it brings. Worn from me.His knees pull together and he exhales a shiver. I see that the blood has in fact come from his nose, which has at some point since our last encounter bled and re-clotted, allowing enough time to dry near-black.Gently, I trace the backs of my fingers down his cheek, rough with stubble. His face twitches slightly, but he does not break from sleep. I trace his jawline again, and it is only now I that I recognize the ice in his touch.After a few moments thought, I stand quietly and wriggle from the worn skirt, then turn it inside out so that the inner layer is on top and lie it down on my bed. In the dark I fumble under the mattress for the cut-throat razor, eventually finding it. I hold it up to the moonlight, watching the silver rays dance on it's surface, before digging it up and underneath the bottom layer of the skirt then pulling hard. The seams tear with a loud ripping noise, and I continue all the way around the waistband until the inner layer comes loose. I pull it free and lie the newly loose fabric flat, before holding one side firm and slipping the razor underneath, tearing at the fabric. I rip it from top to bottom, so that when it is unfolded it makes a large, albeit thin, rectangle of fabric. Seizing it by two corners, I swing it over to Bane's side and gently lay the fabric over him. His muscles tense a moment, but he stays subdued in sleep's delicate grasp.I pull myself back into the remains of my heavy skirt then lie back against the bed, drifting delicately into sleep.I awake a few hours later, dizzy from another nightmare. The orange glow of morning is creeping over the complex, and as I try to shake away thoughts of the haunting in my dreams, Bane's heavy form stirs.
Still wanting sleep, burning hot from the panicked blaze of my nightmare, I gather my hair up off my face and search for something to hold it there with in a weak attempt to cool down.I eventually resolve to use the shoelace from my paper-thin shoes, gathering my hair and securing it messily. The fringe refuses to be tamed, however, its bangs hanging uselessly. As my hands run through the hair I realize just how much grease has accumulated in it, and wish there was a shower facility in this damned place.There's a pained groan from beside me and I turn to see Bane, now spread-eagled on his small bed, the shred of skirt now kicked to the floor. Two of his limbs are hanging off the edge, one arm thrown over his eyes as he groans in a pitiful attempt to send the world away."Rise and shine," I say sleepily, with every intention to go back to bed in a minute. I pick up a mug of water left on the floor from yesterday and hold it out in Bane's direction."Drink this, it will help."Bane groans again, his voice like tattered sandpaper."What happened?" He says groggily, one hand shielding his bruised eyes from the light of the day."You got drunk last night," I tell him, then he seems to tense, and somehow manages to haul himself into a sitting position."I don't remember," he says, his expression harder than it had been moments ago, his body rigid."I'm not surprised," I say.He doesn't express what he's punishing himself for inside, but it is clear by his expression that he is doing so."Your face is looking better," I say in an attempt to divert his attention, remarking on the swellings which have unleavened nicely in most places. The gash above his brow is loosing it's plaster slightly, the woven scrap bandage becoming dog-eared at it's sides. The bruises of his eyes are now more black than purple.I watch as he sips the water, then hands me the cup without thanks and stands. I leave him to his thoughts, resolving to go back to sleep.
I scream myself awake a couple of hours later. Bolt upright, shivering with sweat, I hear Bane's voice from the bathroom. He draws back the curtain and leans out of the room, the razor in his other hand."Only a nightmare," he reassures, then sweeps the heavy fabric back and returns to shaving.Light glares through the metallic cell bars, and the prison scorches with life. I shakily stand, feeling the blood disperse itself equally throughout my body again. and somehow manages to haul himself into a sitting position.I re-lace my hair, pulling back the messy, half- blonde strands from in front of my face. Wiping my face, I hear a sharp hiss from the bathroom."What is it?""Nothing," he says. "Just caught my face with the razor."I nod, although no-one can see me."How are you feeling?" I ask, unsure as to his mood."Moderate," he responds with a cool voice, and I hear him tapping the cut-throat on the basin. There's a splash of water and he pulls back the drape fabric, wiping his dripping chin then moving towards the door."Where is the key?" He asks, staring out at the prison through the bars, sill shirtless from the night before. I slip my hand under the scratchy burlap mattress in order to find it, but retract my hand as a thought comes to mind."What are you going to do?" I ask. He turns his face to me and frowns."What business of that is yours?"I blink stupidly, upset by his tone."You're still mad at me," I state quietly, avoiding looking at the man."I'm not mad at you," he says. "Now, where is the key." It doesn't sound like a question."You're not going to fight again," I say worriedly, "are you?""I'm going to acquire some breakfast. It's drop off day. Now give me the key."I still don't believe him, but I can feel his calm exterior beginning to ware. Still, I hold steadfast."Let me come with you," I say."No," he answers."Please," I plead, "I've been here days and only left this cell once-""I said no, my word is final. Now give me they key.""But-""-You're trying my patience."There's a certain finality to that statement that stops my speech in it's tracks. He looks at me testingly, as if daring me to defy him. Silent, I move my hand and withdraw the key, holding it out to him. He takes it and twists it in the lock."Do not do that again."He opens the door and leaves me alone in the cold cell.
AN: unleavened? hasn't 'risen?' geddit? i'm so fucking hilarious.
stay tuned, folks!