The door opened slowly, her heart racing as she glared at the dimly lit figure. How many days had it been? How many nights? There were no windows, no clocks, no indication of time passing except her own fatigue. The familiar clunk of his boots as he slowly walked across the hardwood made her pant in fear, her heart racing. All of her nerves were screaming as she whimpered against the gag in her mouth. Her hands were bound together, tied to a metal slat in the headboard. Her legs chained to the metal frame.
There was enough slack for her to move around, and she was permitted off the cot to use the restroom and eat. But she was never allowed to leave the room for any other reason. A crinkle of latex gloves pulled her back to reality as this man adjusted black medical gloves over his hands.
"Captive 813," his voice boomed, filling the stifling silence. It made her cringe every time. The sound was like melted honey, smooth and warm as it molested her ears. For however long she was trapped here it was her only interaction since the first man disappeared. She'd seen others, people who would bring her food or bring her to the bathroom to bathe or use the toilet. But this man was the only one who seemed permitted to speak with her.
"It is time for our meeting," he breathed, as per their daily ritual. He adjusted the mask covering the lower half of his face. The dim light of the room only ever gave her a muted understanding of his appearance. He was taller than the others who visited her. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark and wavy as it hung a bit shaggy when he didn't style it back. His eyes were almost like ice, a brilliant blue and seemed to reflect all light. They were beautiful and haunting as he stared her down.
He stood next to the bed studying her frame. Her skin was alabaster, marked from her ankle and wrist bindings but otherwise perfect. A thick, auburn mane waved and wound its way over her body. She had her bland captive gown on, the number of her identity embroidered on the front left breast over her heart. What always caught his attention was the confused yet enraged stare that penetrated him. Those amber eyes studied his every move.
"We will begin at the start, again, Captive 813," he breathed in what he presumed to be her native tongue. She gave no indication of understanding him. The previous interrogator had given up after five days of no response. He had studied her files tirelessly, hoping to prove that he was more capable than that bastard. As his hands reached out to untie the gag, to release her mouth from its bind, she flinched and pulled away. A sigh escaped his lips. He held back his frustration as he ignored her cowering and untied the fabric. It fell from her lips to the blanket on the cot. Her lips looked irritated and puffy from the strain. He noted that, ensuring he'd tie it much loser this time around.
Her eyes continued to run over his muted frame. He had on a white button up, a black tie, a black vest that shaped his torso, and black slacks. All of his clothes seemed perfectly tailored to his frame. Each day was some variation of the same outfit. A vest, a tie, those irritating black medical gloves that squeaked and squelched obnoxiously. The only thing she never caught a glimpse of were his boots. They sounded heeled, the way they connected with the wood.
"Tell me, do you remember your name?" he asked plainly, pulling the stool across the room to sit next to the cot. Her eyes were narrowed, her tongue making quick work of moistening her lips as she smacked them a few times. He couldn't help but notice the contrast of her tongue, the pale pink texture, to her ruby lips. It was stunning. She was stunning. He was warned of this though, that this creature was designed to be this way. "Do you understand me?" he showed no indication of his growing frustration, but he was three days in with no luck. "Would you like to know how long you have been here?" he offered noticing a subtle shift in her eyelids. They twitched, expanding just enough to expose the slight whites of her eyes around her irises before she returned to her normal stare.
He took a deep breath and adjusted his tie, pushing his hair back from his forehead. This was the first sign of progress he had ever seen. It was the first indication she understood them. He clicked his tongue and pressed the heel of his palms to his knees as he narrowed his eyes and studied her. What was going to crack this woman?
"I will tell you how many days you have been here, Captive 813, if you tell me your name," he offered gently. She blinked once, twice, her eyes shifting here and there as she studied him back. A moment of excitement welled up in his stomach as her lips parted as if to whisper her thought. She pressed them back together, the color fading from them briefly before she released the tension in her face. This was going nowhere. Her eyes seemed to be dancing between his eyes and his mask for some time and he hesitated.
"Would you like me to take my mask off?" he asked softly, her eyes snapping to meet his. He saw her eyelids narrow, an immediate twinge in his stomach told him he had her. "How about I make a generous deal with you. I will take my mask off, and tell you how long you have been here. I just ask that you tell me your name," he insisted, still using a steady and gentle tone with her. A wrinkle in her forehead, the puckering of her skin between her brows made him falter. But then her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before she closed her eyes.
"Aeryn," it was only her first name, she did not give up her birth family nor her country of origin. There was no reason to. She was the captive. It wasn't like they didn't know that already, or so she thought. His body was overwhelmed with satisfaction at the sound of her voice. The sound was lilted, tickling his ears in the usually quiet room.
"Aeryn," he breathed and she grimaced. Without hesitation he removed his mask, her eyes locked onto his face out of blatant curiosity. He rubbed his face hating the itchy material, happy he found a reason to not wear it. "May I call you Aeryn?" he asked softly, hoping the breach in familiarity made her more open than referring to her as Captive 813. She blinked once, looking at him as her head tilted slightly. "This is your eighth day here Aeryn," he offered up, letting her name dance on his tongue. It felt nice, a warped sense of pride tingling in him.
"What happened to the first man?" she asked, his chest tightening. He nearly lost his composure as her voice seemed to caress his ears. It was melodic, like a song bird's and as smooth as satin.
"You have yet to cooperate with my questions and now I must answer yours?" he let out a soft chuckle, actually rather amused with her emboldened and unexpected behavior. Her tongue flitted against her teeth before she closed her lips and turned her head to glare off toward the door. Not that it mattered if he told her. In fact he was certain she had her own assumptions of why he was the one interrogating her now.
The silence festered, neither of them moving. All that was heard was the gentle breaths awkwardly timed between the two of them. His hands shifted, the rubber gloves crinkling and she sneered, her eyes darting to his hands. He hesitated and then smirked, slowly sliding them off. She watched, her face relaxing as he crumpled them up into his palm. He cleared his throat, standing up and turning toward the waste bin by the door. He dropped the mask and gloves in there, making a mental note that she detested both. He walked back over grabbing the cloth gag and her eyes widened slightly as they met his.
