The Lost American

Chapter Seven: Silence

Dutifully following like a love struck puppy, Ville didn't bother pretending modesty as he practically pried himself from the yearning comfort of his bed and high tailed it after Micheal-ann.

Stepping into the hallway, he felt a draft waft past him as goose bumps riddled his naked body and he had to force himself to quit the over dramatics that threatened, his teeth almost chattering for a moment.

Before he saw it, he could hear the tell tale splash of water falling to the bottom of a bathtub.

Glancing towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, he was greeted with a lovely vision of Micheal-ann sitting on the edge of his large black porcelain clawed tub. She sat on the edge, her hands holding on either side of the tub on the side of her body, her legs swept to the side, her toes barely grazing the floor. Her curls disheveled, sticking every which direction possible, tumbled past her shoulders reaching to cover her chest nearly reaching mid stomach. She was running her tongue across her bottom lip as she stared into oblivion, her eyes wide and thoughtful.

Ville stood for a few more moment's in the hallway merely watching her. He had no idea why in hell Micheal had wanted silence, but she could have asked him to dance naked in front of the Finnish monarchy at this moment and he'd do it, if only to see her smile.

He raised an arm to rub at his neck and hissed as a searing pain lacerated his shoulder, instantly shoving his arm down glancing at the offending spot. Four sets of nails stood puffed and bleeding on each of his shoulders, one thumb nail dug into each side of his collar bone both particularly cruel looking.

He hadn't even noticed an ounce when Micheal-ann had given these, and he was couldn't help but scoff shaking his head slowly.

He couldn't remember a time when he had received so many injuries in such a short time. His eye, chin, and now his shoulders were all throbbing dully, his body used to the pain easily after many a drunken binge night he had forced his body to recuperate from. That thought drew his eyes back to where Micheal-ann still sat lost in her mind.

Guilt washed over him, as he felt like an ass for being annoyed at his bruises and marks. Micheal-ann was ravished, her hips that once had the five inch radius of bruises now ranged closer to eight the cuts reopened as sluggish blood had found its way towards the side of her thighs. The bit mark on her collar bone was already showing sign of bruising as it yellowed underneath the bright red inflammation. Her chin was covered in a bit of dried blood as her lip lay open, and her nose was puffed and purple. Ville wouldn't be surprised if she ran from his home now and filed a police report on him. By the wounds, she would have enough and over to persecute him.

Ville sighed and moved through the hallway, into the huge bathroom closing the door behind him to keep the draft out, all while watching Micheal-ann.

Micheal let her eyes focus on the dark crimson wall paper, as she sat on the surprisingly not so uncomfortable edge of the huge clawed tub as she let the water run.

A good ten feet off from the door to the right three large sheets of glass and a bit of raised black marble quarantined off an over head shower, a black toilet to the right five from the shower, and a huge black marble counter took up the entire open wall next to the tub where she sat. The bathroom held a different assortment of candle on small shelves as well as a few small picture frames that held miscellaneous movie titles and pictures hung on the walls here and there. The towels that hung on a rack on the glass door to the shower were the same color as the walls, as were the range of towels folded neatly on a small bench next to the tub. Large black rugs seemed thrown haphazardly across the floor.

The contrast from all the dark colors, to the soft tan of Micheal-ann's skin was drastic and instantly drew the eyes to her no matter how much Ville wanted to glance at anything else in the room.