"Cold in here, isn't it?" Will asked, closing the heavy metal door behind him with a clink. Delilah watched him shrug the dark gray coat from his shoulders and toss it over his arm, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath and sleeves slightly rumpled. His fine dark hair had a faintly damp look to it, as the dull overhead light illuminated its warm undertones, and cast shadows along his narrow face.
He could've hit his stupid head on the fixture, in this tiny concrete box of a room. Instead he just ducked slightly as he approached her and then stood, not three feet away, leaning forward and offering her the bundle of heavy fabric.
"I suppose bastards don't freeze," she said stubbornly, keeping her hands down and chin up to look at him.
He didn't smile properly, just the inkling of one, as he shrugged and tossed his coat onto the table beside her. "I've got a good tolerance for it at this point."
"Thus proving my point."
"Oh yes, of course," Will said satirically. "But you're still shivering."
Delilah was. Nearly an hour in this cold room on a solid wood chair in nothing but a night gown would do that. Her arms and legs held a persistent tremble, goosebumps rising and falling with a pervasive prickle and burning on every follicle of her exposed skin.
"I-is this your advanced method of torture?" She asked. "Or merely an attempt to woo me?"
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. "I'd have more efficient methods for both," he assured her. "But unfortunately some other things on my to-do list took precedence."
"So 'shivering girl tied to chair' couldn't make priority in the middle of November when the heating is out?" She snapped, but she got the feeling he wasn't telling the truth. This felt, intentional, a way to make her vulnerable, scared.
Willing to accept any small gesture of warmth and salvation.
"That's correct. But you know you could've made this whole thing a lot easier by cooperating with me before."
"Your plan is going to backfire when I end up freezing to death," she said, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands over them in a feeble attempt to keep warm.
"I wouldn't let it go that far," he said wryly, still leaning forward slightly. "I'm not a monster." There was always something particularly condescending about the bow of his shoulders, the way he was always looking down on her.
"You're just a liar."
"I'm a lot of things," Will said, shifting to a more contemplative tone of voice. He took a step closer, his green eyes narrowed. "So are you. You're...spunky I want to say, but that's not quite right is it?"
Delilah just stared back at him, confused. Fear prickled at the back of her neck too though, as something unusual crossed his face, something pushing the line between the playful mocking and an actual attempt at intimidation. Will wasn't scary. She'd never thought of him that way, but now he was something different.
Something completely unnerving.
"All this attitude," he said curiously, "coming from such an innocent little creature, it's fascinating really." He cocked his head to the side, leaning over her and placing his hand on the arm of the chair to support himself. "But you're not bold or stubborn, you're frightened, trapped. Like a little rabbit backed into a corner and starting to scratch."
A peculiar warmth mingled with the cool tingle of her fear, flushing her cheeks and neck as she pressed her back against the chair. His face was inches from hers, cruel and cold but still his. Still the same person she'd willingly locked lips with more than once.
"So I should do what? Give in?" She said, her voice wavering as she tried to retain control.
This feeling should have gone away the moment Will betrayed her trust, but instead it had morphed into something else. He was right she was afraid. She also hated him. Yet he was still...
He genuinely smiled then. "Oh no, I think it's endearing." His voice was low and soft in a particular way that made her muscles feel tense. Laced with intention as he leaned right into her ear and added, "bunny."
"I-I'm not a rodent," Delilah stammered, frustration, fear, and confusion toiling inside of her as he gently gripped her chin and tipped her head back so she was looking up at him.
"You're soft, nervous, and absolutely adorable," he said, nearly laughing. "Not to mention small."
She wanted to hit him, knock his warm hand away from her cold skin. "Get your hand off of me you fucking giraffe."
"And there are the claws," he laughed, sliding his hand to her cheek and leaning in so close she thought he might kiss her. But he hesitated. "My little bunny," he cooed.
Was he just trying to get into her head? Come up with a demeaning pet name, get right up in her ear with that lovely voice of his. He knew how she felt.
She looked away, her hands sweating despite the chill. "I'm not yours," she insisted.
Then he smirked, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I think I should change that." His hand dropped, sliding briefly across her neck before landing on her thigh, just above her knee.
Delilah's face turned red again as she tried to push herself further back into the chair away from him, feebly pulling her legs together but her ankles had been tied to the chair legs. They were stuck, stuck spread apart in front of him in a fucking nightgown.
"W-what the hell do you think you're doing?" She asked, but there was no venom in her voice this time. Just fear, cold, trembling fear at the feeling of his long fingers splayed out over her thigh.
"It's about time I made you mine," he muttered, hand sliding further up her leg, back down again. She felt queasy at the thought, squirming under his touch as she looked at him with pathetic panic.
"You wouldn't," she said, but it was more to soothe her own anxieties. A poor attempt really. There was something in his eyes, or a lack of it really. She couldn't be certain anymore, what he would or wouldn't do. He'd lied so well for so long, it felt like she didn't know him at all. Perhaps she never had.
