Timeless

Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

Bright white was made glaringly painful by stark florescent lights. White walls, white tile floors, white metal bed frame, white sheets, white window frame, white blinds, even white bars on the window. Everything was harshly searing to look at, so Ri just curled up in the corner in her white scrubs and a long, light grey, wool cardigan and tried her best to squeeze her eyes shut and pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere else aside from this hell.

"Ms. Willow," a rough hand gripped her arm. She squeaked, twisting wildly like a fish on a line. "Ms. Willow we need a few more samples, I'm afraid. Some blood and urine samples, some of your vitreous gel, some marrow, no-no, no-no-no, if you struggle like that it will only hurt more," But she didn't listen. It did hurt, so much. They drilled into her bones, stuck needles in her eyes, they tortured her, and she would scream at them, beg them to stop. But she had no say, no free will, no consciousness. Not to them, not for their purposes.

She was one of many subjects in the lab, although she was the only human subject, and the only subject used for this particular set of experiments. Test Subject Number 5093754, to be specific. She had memorized it, hated every one of those numbers. Because she was no longer herself, not here. Maybe she never would be again, but she refused to give up. She knew who she was. And she was a fighter.

She screamed, struggled, flailed. They would not take her, not back to that room, that chair with the straps. They would not stick her and draw her essence again and again until they had drained her of all life. The hands gripped harder, first her arms, then they wrapped all around her, holding, restricting. She struggled, screamed, cried.

"Ms. Willow, please, calm yourself," she cried harder. She didn't want to hurt, she didn't want to give them pieces of herself, didn't want them to take them from her. "Ms. Willow, tis alright," The hands became rough, calloused, and the voice took on a brogue-ish quality. "Ms. Willow. Riona. Ri. Ri, tis done. Yer safe here." Able fingers pulled gently at her shoulder, trying to pull her out of herself. Firm, yet gentle hands turned and pressed her against a hard, warm chest. Shaw; strong, capable, dependable Shaw. He offered comfort without folding her up against him and making her feel trapped. As soon as he had her settled in, he let her go, a single hand lazily draped against her lower back, easily brushed aside if she wanted away. Slowly, the nightmare faded and Ri rose to consciousness.

Ri gave a soft sob as she wrenched her eyes open. No white, no cold, soulless tray of tools next to the bed. The fire had died, the embers still white hot and chasing the chill from the farthest corners of the room. Shaw's room, all stone and wood glowing orange from what remained in the hearth, with tapestries on the wall and moonlight trickling in through the window. Shaw, lying stretched out on his belly beside her, snoring violently, the bed linens twisted around and through his legs, leaving his arse bare to the world. He slept naked. And Ri was too stubborn to give him any sort of reaction about it, even if he insisted on them sleeping in the same bed. Too stubborn to even act on the urge to reach out to him, to gently touch his massive shoulders and attempt to draw strength from them.

Ri froze, lying as still as possible, trying not to shake as she held her breath so as not to sob. Slowly, she eased upright, pulling the heavy furs closer around her, her knees to her chest. She curled up and hid, just like she had in the dream. What else was there to do? There was no one to fight, nothing to escape from. In this instance fighting was useless, so she wallowed in pain and misery, reliving every horrible moment.

Ri threw off the covers, scooting to the edge of the bed. Shaw had his back to her, still sleeping so loudly that Ri wondered how the whole castle hadn't come to shut him up, completely oblivious to the world, let alone that a woman was undressing right there in front of him. She pulled the shirt she'd slept in, a fresh one pulled from Shaw's clothes chest, over her head and reached for the borrowed shirt and pants she'd left folded at the end of the bed. She eased her boots on, belted Shaw's dirk around her waist as quietly as she could, then tip-toed out of the bedroom door, shutting it behind her with a solid but quiet thunk.