Broken Doll

He had been about to reach over to wash the rest of the soap out of her hair when she'd suddenly jerked away from his grasp, sending a ripple of electricity into the air for a split-second and, for a moment, leaving them in total darkness. When the lights came back on, he didn't move, only started down at her. Her entire body shaking enough to disturb the tub water, sparks still flying around and bounding off everything in sight. Preston, of course, remained completely unharmed still - probably only adding on to her annoyance.

It almost made him feel physically sick, the way she looked at him. She really just didn't fucking get it, did she? If it had been practically anyone else that he'd been stuck in this situation with, besides his own family, he more than likely would've told them just to fuck off and find someone else to do the job. But no, he was the one volunteering, the only one who volunteered - and he was doing it for her. Hell, maybe it was because he felt sorry for her, but did that fucking matter when your only other option was getting sponge-bathed and spoon fed baby-food for the next few months? Sure, this might've been a shitty-ass situation, but he couldn't figure what her deal was.

'It's like you're daring me to leave you pruning in the water all night,' he thought. And damn, it was tempting to let the words go. It was a damn shame he knew that he wasn't going to.

He couldn't help but feel pretty fucking fed up then, and was strongly considering throwing her back to Beata's nurses after all. "I fucking could, if I wanted to." Pres said, holding back a groan and splashing water on top of her head, rinsing the rest of the soap out of her hair before reading over and letting the water begin to drain out of the tub. He stood up, staring down at her. "Unfortunately, I give somewhat of a shit about your dumb ass."

Forget that though. Preston turned her back to her and began searching in the cabinets for a few more dry towels to try and haul her into. They couldn't pay him enough for this.

Her eyes burned into his, hot bronze against emerald green. She never looked away from him, but he just fucking sat there, with the same bored fucking look on his face that he always had. Like he was dealing with a little kid, like he was disconnected from the whole situation, like she was barely even there. Don't look at me so fucking miserably. The thought crossed her mind but never passed her lips; they just gradually curled into a bared snarl when he finally spoke. That same aloof voice like always, with a discontented lazy splash of water over her head. Kayla clenched her eyes against it, biting back a sharp response. She wouldn't flinch or cry out. Even like this, she still had her fucking dignity, even if Preston wanted to treat her like his personal doll.

No you fucking couldn't.

Finally, he reached over into the water and pulled the plug. It began to lower around her in a slow reveal, down past her shoulders and then to her stomach, finally draining past her crooked knees and the scars down her arm. Foam and water swirled around her as it began to empty, coalescing over the drain, just under the faucet.

She glanced up at him as he stood up and met his eyes.

It was an unexpected blow.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Kayla just glared after him, uncomprehending, as he turned around and began to rifle through her cabinets. The gurgle of the water down the drain felt as loud as a jet engine inside her head.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she spoke.

"If you really wanted to know," she said, as if she was deliberating on every word, "Then you just have to fucking ask." An electric buzz seemed to fill the air, tiny sparks wandering all over her body.

She hadn't had to deny anything he said aloud. Her cold silence was more than enough. He could feel her ice cold glare shooting daggers into his back. In reality, he figured, what could she do to stop him? Her lightning would literally only tickle him, she was laying in a bathtub with several broken bones, and even if she was in her top shape; what real damage could a scrawny thing like her do?

Preston shifted around irritably through the cabinets, pushing things aside and sticking his hands far in the back over clothes and other bathroom necessities until he finally found a few more dry towels, just waiting to be used. He grabbed one quickly, stuffing it under his arm and going in for another when she'd finally started to speak again. The Autumn paused then, hand resting on the thick fabric as he strained to hear her.

Her words had near fallen on deaf ears. He didn't say shit at first, grabbing the other towel and standing up again, closing the cabinet doors harder than he should have. Bitterly, he didn't want to move back to help her quite just yet, staring back into her burning gaze. For how long, he wasn't quite sure.

Finally, Pres let out a low, heavy sigh. He did want to know, but he wasn't going to stand around while she started shivering in the tub and explained how her entire waist had turned black and blue. Still too peeved to yet say a thing, he continued his work fairly quickly: drying her hair out and laying the new towels across her torso, hiding her whilst he dragged he damp ones out from under her, leaving them by the drain.

Somewhat awkwardly, he bent into the tub, slipping his arms underneath her legs and behind her neck, gripping onto her shoulder. "Stay still this time," he muttered, scooping her back up and carrying her out of that damned bathroom.

He just kept digging through her cabinet like he had before, like he hadn't even heard her. Kayla gave a contemptuous sigh and turned her head away, resting against the cold iron of the tub. The last of the water swirled away into the drain, and she was just left laying there, the cold air prickling at her skin. Fine. If that's how he was going to be, then that was fucking fine with her. She was done with him, done with this day, done with this bathroom and everything that'd happened in it. Electricity leapt from her bangs in a quick sharp zap! Harmless.

She didn't look at him as he came walking back, just stared up at the ceiling with dull dead eyes. Kayla just winced as he ruffled her hair with a towel and draped more over her body, before reaching under to half-pull, half-peel the damp ones off of her skin. The new towels, haphazardly draped across her torso, almost drooped, but she reached put to plaster it back up, biting through the flash of pain.

Kayla only looked back up at him as he stooped down to scoop her up into his arms, chewing on the inside of her lip from the barely concealed pain concentrated around the stitches in her shoulder. It was like she could feel the fire from the bullet all over again, but she didn't say a word, just laid limp in his arms.

She hated being carried around like a doll, but she felt like she could finally breathe when they swept out of the bathroom and into the still darkness of her bedroom.

The worst was behind them now, right?

He supposed that you could've said that, though they weren't quite out of mess just yet.

By then, he'd spent so long trying to get her into the tub, scrubbing her down, and dealing with every other trouble he'd been dealt with for so long; by the time he was laying her down back on her bed, it was already dark outside, the only light shining in from outside being from the soft, neon moon and the orange sidewalk lanterns not far from where the dormitories stood. At least, with the bathroom light still on, it was easy to see and find their way around.

Preston was careful not to disturb the towels anymore so as he finished spreading her across the sheets, letting her head fall back on her pillow and sweeping her legs parallel to the rest of her body. "You're lucky even I think that thing is ugly beyond compare." He said flatly, glancing back to the odd-patterned nightgown left laying across the bathroom counter. He'd grabbed something else instead, stashing it away just out of sight between her bed and desk. It was an old shirt of his, not too often worn, but still a favorite. (A simply black tee with a large friendly pikachu ironed onto the front.) It was too large for his taste to wear often, but it would've fit her body almost like a gown.

He didn't have much patience to warn her, or give her time to protest.

The tricky part was getting it on without making much more of a fuss and it took quite some work on his part. Getting it over her head was the easy part. He'd have to grab her wrists the next moment and slowly guide them through the arm holes, all the while carefully avoiding the fabric that delicately kept her covered. He tried to ignore any sounds or flinches she'd made, simply so they could get it over with. By the time they'd finished that, he had nothing left to do but brush down the rest of the shirt over her thighs and tear away the rest of the towels.

He hadn't bothered to say much as he quickly worked. Preston had picked out a pair of panties out of random of her drawer, unfortunately a simple green color, and slipped them on to her; not as smoothly as he'd liked, thanks to her dampened skin, but there hadn't been a moment of hesitation. For extra measure, he did well to add on a pair of old gym shorts he found of hers.

Once it was all done at last, he let out a low sigh, falling back on his ass onto the floor lazily and glancing back up onto her shape on the bed. Her dorm room was kind of a mess, that entire situation was a disaster, but hell. At least he could take a short breather. "Just a few more things." He muttered, a look of exasperation on his face. "Have I mentioned yet how much you owe me for this?" Both for the trouble of the hard labor and for her sour-ass attitude.

It was a short walk from the bathroom floor to her bed, but she spent the whole time tensed up in his arms, cradled like a teddy bear or a wounded animal. She just wanted to close her eyes and for this to all melt away. When she opened them back up, it'd all be behind her, another old bitter memory to forget about. If only it was that easy. If only everything would just disappear when her head hit the pillow, like a dream she couldn't remember.

He eased her down onto the bed and stepped away, the towels still draped awkwardly over her torso. Was that it then? Was it over? She didn't even pay attention to his flat remark, just shivered in her bed at the breath of air against her damp skin. The implication in his voice didn't even register in his head until he went rifling between her desk, pulling out... a shirt? Kayla narrowed her eyes to make out the crumpled yellow shape in the dim light, and the realization hit her all at once.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Kayla grit her teeth, not sure whether to protest or just shut her mouth, but he moved during that brief window of indecision. Her vision went black as he pulled it over her head. When she could see again, he was gingerly grabbing at her limp bruised wrist like it was made of glass. "...agh..." The noise escaped her lips, a spasm of pain running down her arm, but she held back as he guided her hand into the arm of the shirt, biting her lip until she drew blood. The other arm went much smoother, and then he was pulling it down around her, rakes of pain sliding down her back with the movement of the fabric. The way he flattened the shirt down around her thighs made her flinch, but for a different reason. Did he have to fucking do that...?

When it was all done, he pulled off the towel underneath. He couldn't have used one of her shirts...? It smells like him. The thought made her grimace. She'd been trying her best not to look at him when he went rifling through her drawers, and the flash of green almost made her choke. "D-Don't touch those...!" she'd started to spit through her teeth, but he'd already moved, pulling the underwear up over her legs. The brush of his hands against her skin, tracing up her thigh to her lips made her face light up the color of a tomato. It was too late to say anything. He'd already done it, turning back around to pick something else out of her drawer.

Fuck. Did he just want to play fucking dress-up?! Kayla just bared her teeth and looked away, sparks trailing up her legs as he pulled on a loose pair of shorts.

Was he done now, or was he gonna do all her make-up too? She huffed as he sat back down, but she couldn't help but feel relief flow through her body. Kayla would be happy so long as he never ever touched her again. Did they have to do this every day?

At the very least, she was glad to be back in her own bed, staring at a different ceiling.

His comment only made her snort with a contemptuous annoyance. He'd said the same thing hours ago, and it'd been a mostly harmless joke then, but right now it just made electric currents ripple down her arm. Kayla did her best to look at him from the bed, but when she met his eyes, she suddenly tore her gaze away to face the wall. "That wasn't enough for you?" she asked, and then she sighed. If anything, it felt like he owed her. But there wasn't any other choice but to humor him. "What do you want?" He still hadn't given her a good reason why he'd done it in the first place. Was that it? To get some kind of favor out of her? When she was all healed up, did he want her to go around playing butler?

It was completely obvious from the way he moved quickly, ignoring her sharp gaze and muffled protests, he didn't care in the least in the clothing he'd picked out for her. For all this fucking trouble, he was going to delight himself just a little bit, and there was no way in hell he'd pass up an opportunity like this. Anyone who said it wasn't befitting was completely wrong, he thought, and as for the actual fitting of the shirt... well...

The way it dropped down to her thighs, hiding most of the bruises and scars on her thin arms, he figured he could've chosen way worse. And as for the rest of her, "Did you want to go commando all night?" Preston said over her, getting it over with as quickly as possible, and had done the same with her shorts. When they'd finally finished, he'd looked like she'd just survived a slaughterhouse.

Not enough for him? If things could go the way that he wanted them to in that moment, he'd most likely already be in the living room, kicking on the xbox. He didn't say that, however, in fact muttering the opposite - just to get a little under her skin. "Not yet," He bit his cheek, fighting back a sigh as he crawled back over to her bedside.

What did he want, from her anyways? He pondered this as he began to work, reaching over and picking up her arm; still broken, still swollen red, and covered in splotches of ugly blacks, blues, and yellows. Ethan had shown him carefully how do to this, once when Kayla had been passed out some time ago, and had shoved many examples in his face; diagrams, books, how-to-videos. He supposed he was grateful for the reminder, but again, it was simply something he'd done before.

He picked up her arm, carefully holding it together and making sure the bones were locked in place - thankfully an easy task, as they were starting to heal already. Pres slipped one hand under, and the other hand over, gently cupping the broken bone in-between. In his head, he counted to three, and at once sparks erupted under his touch, illuminating the small area where they touched. He counted to three again, and it stopped. Three once more before the electricity crackled at her skin.

It was a common method for speeding up the bone healing process to 'excite' the cells responsible for healing, however, the voltage needed to do this for the common human was next to almost nothing. For a girl like Kayla, just a tad bit extra juice was needed. And so, he kept on doing this, having no clue if it helped her feel better or not - but it had to tickle a little, at least.

"... What do I want?" He repeated thoughtfully. Well, he supposed since she was dressed and out of the bath now, it'd be a far more appropriate time to ask. "What happened to you?" Preston asked as plainly as possibly, to leave her little room to dodge around it. That's what she'd wanted, wasn't it? "I want to know."

Not yet? How was he not done yet? She was fed, she was washed, she was dressed, she was in bed. There wasn't anything else he could do for her, and there was nothing she could or would do for him. But still, it wasn't enough. Kayla was wondering if this night would ever end as he got back up, moving to lift her arm up from the sheets. She tensed up, a twitch of pain in her wrist, but didn't cry out. She just stared up at him, watching every subtle movement. What the fuck was he doing now?

In the darkness, the sparks flashed and sparkled like fireworks, with a low crackle that made her skin tingle. It stopped, the light swallowed back up by the gloom, before starting back up again in another three second interval. Flashes of light, like sparklers, and then nothing. What the hell was that supposed to be? She didn't say anything, just stared in mute bemusement as he did it again and again. Was he trying to impress her? Intimidate her? At most, it just tickled.

The strained silence stretched on until he spoke again. Kayla stared right through him, a distant look in her eyes. What happened to her... It all flashed through her head in bursts of memories, explosions and the glint of steel, balls of metal streaking through the air like bullets, glass raining down over their heads like snow. Electric currents rippled down her arm, snaking around her fingers, but then she just smiled and turned her head toward the ceiling.

All he had to do was ask.

"I got kicked." Fractures in her nose, wrist, toes, ribs, just below her eye. She could still remember the way she'd flown through the air and bounced against the concrete. She could still remember the way the girl's head seemed to melt away, how the blood sprayed out like a fountain. She could still remember the taste of blood and vomit on her tongue, the charred bone and flesh that landed on her skin, the way the smell had clung to her like perfume for days afterwards. "And I got shot."

He held back a sniff, as if she were joking with him. Hell, for all he knew, she may as well have been. That thin smile spread across her face didn't exactly tell him much, only made him think about what a weird sight it was. Her eyes were tired, her body bruised, her bones shattered. That smile of hers might have been genuine, but even still, it was all to easy to see how broken it was. Even if she looked away from him, it didn't change a thing of what he saw.

"No need to be so modest," Preston mused, grabbing a fresh roll of gauze and beginning to tightly wrap a cast back around her arm. If anything, she had to have been lucky to be alive. Sure, her body was practically useless and she was pretty much forced into roommate sponge baths, but anything was better than death, wasn't it?

The Autumn got up on his knees, beginning to do the same work on her other arm. "Who kicked you then?" He prodded, flashes of blue light illuminating the room for short periods, another bandage soon following. "And shot you?"

Ha, that was a good question. She almost could've laughed at the way he asked it, like she was playing coy with him. That really was all she knew, as stupid as it was. Maybe she'd skipped out on the details, but when you cut to the core, it all felt so pointless, so random, so confusing. Kayla had spent every minute thinking back on it, trying to search for an answer that wasn't there. In a way, it was like she'd never left that laboratory floor. She could remember it all, a hazy whirlwind of memories and emotions that always left her feeling sick to her stomach, and she could've told him all about the scent of blood and charred metal, the explosions that still rang in her ears, the way it felt when she was lying on the ground in a field of broken glass, but she couldn't have told you 'why.'

It was a long time before she spoke.

"I don't know."

A soft murmur, like from someone half asleep. It lacked the usual coarseness in her voice, the spirit, the anger, and even though she'd been a broken heap who couldn't walk or feed or wash herself, this was the first time she sounded truly helpless.

"They never told me."

By the time that she had finally spoke, Preston had gotten so far into his work that he was just applying the last bandage. He was assuming that that was the end of that and hadn't felt forcing the conversation anymore.

Every now and then, he'd glance up at her face, expecting her to be watching him, or glaring him down, or hell - just being ready to spit some stupid, hot-headed remark at him at any moment like she always did. For some time though, it almost seemed as Kayla had forgotten that he was there, that she was completely lost in her own thoughts. In a way, it was almost scary.

It wasn't until that she'd finished speaking that he was, well, truly frightened. Not so much for his sake as much as her own. This wasn't her. It was her voice, but it was far too pitiful, and distant, and empty. Pres said nothing, clenching his fists together and staring down at the ground. There wasn't a single word he could think to say. But he was finished working there...

In the still silence, he pulled himself up onto his feet and had thought to leave her alone to rest then, but something kept him glued to his spot. Fucking hell. The way she was, the way she spoke to him, there was no way he could leave her alone then without some guilty ass conscious.

"Shit, Pikachu..." He sighed lowly, feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place before he'd finally decided to do something stupid. He took a seat next to her, grabbing a blanket and tossing it lightly over her body and grabbing a pillow for him to lay on himself. "You're really fucking something else." Curtly, he laid out on the bed next to her, flat out on his back, mentally braced for the worst.