In Consequence

FIFTEEN


A change seemed to come over his features. They softened somehow, and he reached for her face. She pulled away before gritting her teeth and forcing herself to endure his touch. It was strangely gentle, almost hesitant. Sensitive fingers traced over her hair, her features, and slid down her neck toward her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, already knowing she wouldn’t have a choice if he chose to touch her or not. To her surprise, he complied and pulled his hand away. Instead, he ran it over his head. She noticed, somewhat distractedly, that he needed to shave.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked. Before she could answer, he elaborated, “You can’t, so don’t get your hopes up. But what you said… about wanting to stay with me… what did you mean?”

The sensitivity of his voice rendered her speechless for a moment. Where was the callous, sarcastic asshole she knew and hated?

“I don’t know what I meant,” she confessed slowly, wondering when this new—well, not niceness, but this new absence of abject cruelty—would scatter and disappear. “You scare me, Riddick. You know you do. But… sometimes… you’re not all bad.” She looked up at him earnestly, before looking firmly at the bedspread. “I got over you, after you left. But when I was a kid, you were all I could think about. But I guess you knew that.”

He nodded. “I did.”

She looked at him. “I don’t understand. What do you want? I don’t understand you.” That same wall, the wall that had so attracted her as a girl, was what puzzled and frustrated her the most right now.

“You’re not going home. Accept that,” he said bluntly. “According to you, it’s what you want anyway.”

A voice inside, while most of her rebelled angrily, crowed in happiness. Jack, horrified, shoved that bit of joy away and locked it down tight. “Okay,” she forced out in a shaky voice.

“I don’t know how to treat you like a human being. I kill people, Jack. I don’t know how to be human. I’m not human. You understand?”

Do I have a choice? She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “I understand.”

“I’ve been thinking. You’re mine, so that means I’m in charge of your well-being. But you need to help me a little bit. I don’t know how to take care of you. All I know how to do is push everyone around, and hurt them. I’m really damn good at hurting them.”

I noticed. Jack fingered her stitches gently. It was like there were two men living in the same body. One was hell-bent on terrorizing her. The other took care of her when she was sick and stitched up the cut—which the other one inflicted. She just had to be at the mercy of a madman, didn’t she? Of course.

But he wasn’t crazy. This new Riddick, this gentle one... well, as far as a man like Riddick was capable of gentleness, at any rate... he was logical, and he was aware that she had needs, too. He was aware. It was like he’d come out of a bubble, like the other half of him just woke up. This Riddick wasn’t so bad. This Riddick was one she could live with. She could even grow to like him.

She thought about making a request, but didn’t want to push him. If she could be granted one thing, it would be to be allowed to wear clothes again. The fact that she was nude was just dehumanizing. She suspected that was why Riddick made her strip in the first place. He wanted to keep her stamped down.

But this new Riddick… what did he want? He seemed more likely to listen to her. The changes were both radical and subtle. He wasn’t laughing at her, nor was he mocking her. He was treating her seriously. Though she was still wearing a collar, like an animal, there was something about his attitude, his vibes toward her, that made it almost insignificant.

It was all so confusing. She wished it had never happened.

Stop it!

The thought hit her like a lightning bolt, like a whirlwind. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Jack! She needed to stop wishing. Wishing wasn’t going to change a thing, not a damn thing. This was reality. This was what was happening. She needed to suck it up and deal with it.

~*~

If I let her go, this will all be over.

Riddick knew, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, that he would never do such a thing. Impossible. Though the new depth and sensitivity to his personality was disconcerting to the extreme, the human side was latching into his being and holding on tight. She was the only reason he’d come back to himself. If he let her go… he didn’t even want to think about not having her.

She seemed just as lost and confused as he felt. In a way that was gratifying to him. Misery loves company, and all that jazz.

He went on, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He knew how that sounded. He didn’t… but at the same time, he did. A great part of him wanted to hurt her, to see her cry, to see her weakened. It was just that the human side had some semblance of a conscience. He hated it. It was easier just to be a monster.

But the price was Jack. He didn’t want to destroy her. Much as he hated the thought, it was true. When he claimed her, she became his responsibility.
God, but he was an idiot.

~*~

She didn’t know what to say. She was completely out of her depth. It seemed that Riddick had turned a complete 180 in the way he was behaving. She didn’t trust it. For all she knew, it was some kind of trick, some kind of mindfuck.

What was all that shit about being his responsibility? Legally, she was sure he was right. But it struck her as unlikely in the extreme that he would take it seriously. What had he shown her up until this point? Sadism. Cruelty. Disregard for her as a person.

Now he expected her to believe that he had her welfare at heart? That he didn’t want to hurt her? The very idea seemed laughable.

“So… what now?” she asked cautiously, trying not to be afraid of the answer. She had no idea what would come out of his mouth next-- if anything. What could she expect? This new Riddick was more unpredictable than ever.

He was silent for a moment, and stared at her. She could feel him brooding inside his goggles. That really was the question, wasn’t it? What now, indeed?

“I’ll give you one thing,” he said abruptly. “For now.”

Her heart thumped in her throat. She knew by now that he wasn’t going to offer her freedom. In truth, their recent confrontation made a traitorous part of her wonder if she would have taken it, had it been offered. It was a nasty little thought that she would deal with later, in private. “Yes?” she asked, prompting him gently.

“The clothes I bought you for your trip to the clinic. They’re in the locker under the bed. Get them.”

Was this what she hoped it was? Was he going to allow her to wear clothes again? It seemed ridiculous. She was a modern teenage girl—and she was looking at something as basic as clothing as a heavenly comfort. Riddick really had changed her world.

She got on her hands and knees, painfully aware of the spectacle her body must be presenting, and opened the storage locker. Yes, there they were: synthetic jeans, a single set of undergarments, a grey t-shirt, and some socks and tennis shoes. They looked to her like the rarest gold. Beautiful.

She glanced up for permission. She wanted to be sure that this was no joke.

At his nod, she started to hurry into them, as though they were water and she had been in the New Meccan desert for days and days. It was so wonderful to feel the smooth artificial fibers sliding over her skin—a veritable luxury.

“Slow down, Jack.”

His voice made her pause, and she looked up at him nervously. What did he mean, slow down? She wanted to get the damn clothes on. Clothes would make her feel so much less vulnerable.

“If you’re going to wear clothes, put them on slow, so I can watch.”

There it went. Her good feeling was gone, swirling down the drain. She was still an object. Still a nothing.

Riddick must have sensed her internal rebellion, because he said, his face deadpan, “Quit being so defensive. You’ve got a gorgeous body and I kind of liked seeing it all the time. If you’re going to deprive me of that, you’re going to do it slowly.”

She gritted her teeth, but did as he requested. This was a favor he was doing her. Something she hadn’t had any right to expect. She didn’t want him to change his mind at the last minute. If he were looking for a reverse strip-tease, though, he’d come to the wrong girl.

“Now. I’ve done something for you, so you do something for me.” Riddick took her upper arm, not roughly, and guided her over to where he was sitting. He stood and faced her, both arms firmly on her shoulders. His gaze bored right through her.

"I need to know how you're feeling. Don't answer right away. But figure it out."