Sandra slowly roused from unconsciousness to the beat of gentle music. Despite the persistent throbbing in her head, she was comfortably supported on a soft surface, but it wasn't her bed. Eyes still closed, she recognised the song 'With or Without You' by U2 playing, and dreamily wondered how much alcohol she'd consumed to warrant such a hangover.
"On a bed of nails, she makes me wait..."
Sandra's eyes snapped open as she recognised Simon's deep voice floating out of the kitchen. Over the next few seconds the night's events flooded back to her, and she sat up with a jerk. It was still night, and by the light streaming in from the kitchen she figured out her surroundings. The tacky, glow-in-the-dark orange clock on her mantlepiece read 2.20am. She was lying sideways on her velvet grey sofa, covered in a light blanket, half propped up with pillows.
Wriggling the blanket down past her waist, Sandra could see her arms had been retied, but not at her wrists. The same summer-coloured silk scarf that had restrained her to the bed was now elaborately wrapped around her elbows, and trying to figure out the complicated pattern to their undoing only enhanced her headache. Her legs were free.
Looking further down Sandra discovered she was no longer naked - she'd been dressed in a tight-fitting white singlet, no bra, and black cotton panties. Leaning back to inspect her hands, she could see the bind marks on her wrists from her struggles before, and that her torn finger had been expertly bandaged, twice. A little overkill, but thorough.
Though her hands were technically free, her movements were extremely awkward. While curled on her side in a traditional sleeping position, her elbows fit together comfortably, but now that she was half sitting up, she learned how limited her mobility was.
"With or without you, whooooaaahhh..." Simon sang, and the sound of his rich, vibrant voice sent a pleasurable thrill down Sandra's spine. In song, his voice was attractively strong, sexy, and infectious enjoyment resonated with every word. Just another thing about him that the girls at work would drool over. Momentarily baffled with reality, Sarah realised how very little she knew about Simon. Who would have thought the guy could sing, and that she could enjoy it after what had passed between them?
Hearing movement Simon poked his head through the doorway. "Awake, are you?" he said cheerfully, before ducking back into the kitchen.
Confused by his good mood, Sandra was speechless. She clearly remembered being half raped, stabbing him with her Chinese hair stick, thinking she was about to die.
The music cut out as Simon finished up what he was doing. Balancing a plate in one hand, he turned off the kitchen light on his way out. In the lounge-room the blinds had been opened, and as her eyes adjusted Sandra could see he'd put his black underwear back on, but nothing else. After running her eyes over his flexing biceps and hard chest, she noted that the injury to his side had been efficiently patched up. Only a faint red stain marked the centre of the large bandage taped over him.
"Took me a while to find your first aid kit," Simon commented, noticing where her attention lay. "I almost gave up. Thought I'd have to run out and buy one. Hope you don't mind the sight of blood, there's a lot of it in the bathroom. I cleaned all of it off you, though."
Setting a plate of sandwiches down on the glass coffee table in front of Sandra, he leaned over and clicked on the tall lamp by the side of the couch, showering them in dull, intimate lighting.
"I didn't think you'd mind if I dressed you, just a little," he said cheekily. "Thought it'd be cute if we had matching coloured undies."
Sandra just stared at him.
Simon stood to his full height, looking down at her thoughtfully. He lifted his large arms in a tentative stretch, not completely straightening to reach full length. Then he dropped his arms half-way, and twisted his toned torso side to side with a small grimace.
"You surprised me, Sandra," he nodded. "I wasn't expecting it. But you didn't even hit inch-deep. You lack stamina, girl, but not guts." He moved around the coffee table and casually eased himself down onto the couch near Sandra's feet, and she quickly drew her knees toward her chest to avoid his nearness.
"For a small flesh wound it hurt like a bitch," he confided, leaning forward and reaching across her to pick up a sandwich. "When I disinfected and sewed up, it hurt like a mother-fucker. I'm surprised my swearing didn't wake you."
Maliciously, Sandra regretted he didn't wake her - she'd have liked to hear him yowl in pain. Having never stabbed anyone before, she had no idea what strength it actually took to penetrate through skin and flesh. When she'd mustered up the courage to try and really hurt him, she was more focused on going through the motions than being effective. Not giving a second thought to consequences or how she'd escape, she was in survival-mode - her only objective was to stop him from impaling her.
"Don't worry, I'm over it. I hold no grudges," he said quietly, before biting into the sandwich. While he chewed, he stared absently ahead, his face was serious in thought. After swallowing, he continued. "Don't be afraid of me, Sandra. I've never struck a woman before. I only hit you because I had to. I needed to check the damage and I meant to temporarily stun you, not knock you out cold." He didn't face her directly, but watched her from the corner of his eye as he finished the sandwich.
The knock to her head wasn't too bad, Sandra knew. After she made her desperate move and saw the awful look on Simon's face, she was 100% sure he was going to kill her, that she faced certain death. Right before he'd struck, she was in the beginning stages of passing out from fear. Given his strength, she reckoned he could have punched her head clear off her shoulders if he wanted to.
"How did you know what to do?" Sandra nodded at his injury.
Glancing down at his side then back at her, his eyes lightened, pleased she was talking to him. "Before I joined our company four years ago, I was a medical intern. I'm no brain surgeon, but I know the basics of tending minor injury."
"You? Helping sick people?" she replied dryly.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Sandra," he said shortly. "You'll realise that once you get to know me better."
"I'm not interested. I've found out everything I need to know," she said, carefully keeping her voice calm. At least he was talking and not acting on his urges. In his current mood he might listen to her.
"Look, I know I've screwed up," he admitted, shifting to face her. "I know I've been a total asshole. Ok," he added, as her eyebrows shot upwards indignantly, "I've been an absolute fucking monster."
"Are you going to let me go?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.
For a moment he frowned down at his large hands. "I think that ship sailed a while ago." He looked up from his palms and turned to her. "Are you hungry?" he gestured to the plate on the table.
