Vivian's POV:

Words! Mere words! Yet, they manage to leave me bewildered. My mouth hangs agape as I stare at the empty space once occupied by a pretentious and self-serving ass.

I fooled myself basking in his game of pretense, believing the unbelievable. Jess warned me of this, yet, I chose to ignore her in hopes of his kindness to be true. I fooled myself well.

It lingers in the air, thick and heavy, like a blanket. An inescapable silence. A silence needing to be filled with sound, words, anything. Then I find it. The only word that makes sense at the moment, the only word willing to leave my mouth.

"Steven!" I call after him.

My hands act on their own accord and begin to move the blanket off me as my legs shift to the side of the bed. A pain sears throughout my body at the quick movement and I hiss at the sudden attack. A few joints popping every now and then.

"Where do you think you're going?" mystery man voices, sending my heart rate spiking.

"Where do you think Mr.I-only-speak-when-we're-alone?"

I continue to position myself to the side of my bed, gripping the edge and ready to stand up. This is probably a bad idea but an idea nonetheless.

"I advise you not to, princess. Your body can't handle it," he says sternly but I choose to ignore his warning. I'm far too focused on going through with my initial plan.

My feet brush the floor and arms begin to shake as I push on them to raise my butt from the bed. Once my feet are flat on the ground I attempt to stand up straight. Just one step, I tell myself, ignoring my sweaty palms and trembling limbs.

My left leg shuffles forward as I mentally command it to and I almost gleam at the tiny accomplishment. Looks like physio won't be needed after all. I command my right leg to follow suit, which it surprisingly does and decide to let go of holding onto the bed and bedside table for support. I've got this walking thing under control.

A few more turtle-paced steps and I should reach the door in no time.

I take another step forward and all too soon my flaccid legs buckle and cave. My hands grab air trying to stop the inevitable, but I fall face down regardless of my attempts. The impact so powerful it sends shock waves throughout my entire body and I cannot stop myself from crying out in pain.

"I warned you not to!" he rails, the frustration audible.

Another crash can be heard.

Unable to move for a few seconds, I lie still, ignoring my exposed butt due to the open flapped gown and take a few deep breaths. With my palms pressed flat on the surface, I begin to shift so that my forearms are on the ground as I raise my head and upper body.

The side of my face feels wet, sticky. I look to the ground only to see I had fallen straight in Michael's blood and I groan with frustration. It decorates me like red paint.

I push myself up and notice an object near me to my left. Turning my head to get a better look at it, I see that I've somehow knocked the lamp over, the light bulb shattered to pieces.

It doesn't get destroyed during Steven and Michael's fight, but it does during my fall? Unbelievable.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I rotate my body so that I'm leaning my back against the bedside table. The cold floor stings my butt cheeks. My legs are folded to one side, remaining in the position they were when I fell. There's no point in getting up now when my energy level is close to nonexistent.

"You should have listened to me," he begins yet again. Of course, he knew better. He always seems to know better.

The authority I have in this forsaken place is zero to none, that much is clear, but it doesn't stop me from voicing my thoughts and demanding to know what's happening. I couldn't simply allow Steven to storm off without giving me a proper answer. Except that's exactly what happened thanks to my brittle legs. I could've caught up with him by now.

To say what exactly?... Shut it, Jess.

My head begins to pound. It's as if someone has taken a dagger to my skull, pressing it deeper every so often. I lean my head back against the bedside table, squeezing my eyes shut, begging the pain to go away.

"I'll get up in a few, just need to catch my breath," I manage to respond. The burning pain around my neck becoming worse than the throbs and aches all over. Scratch that. The toothache in my brain takes the cake.

"No need, princess. Help is on its way," he claims and a puzzled look morphs onto my face.

Before I'm given the chance to question mystery man on his statement, the door pushes open. A gasp reaches my ears and it doesn't take me more than two seconds to know who it is.

"Vivian, what are you doing on the floor?"

Do I answer, do I not.

"Why are your IV tubes out?"

Confused, I look down to my arms to see that she is indeed correct. Crimson blood spills from where the tubes used to be. They must've ripped out during the time Michael grabbed me after knocking Steven to the ground.

I shiver at the reminder.

She hastily steps into the room, closing the door behind her. I can hear her softly panting as if catching her breath, indicating she had ran until here.

"And this glass?" she questions, noticing the shattered light bulb, avoiding to step on any scattered pieces. But it's not all that catches her eye. "Blood too! What happened here?" She kneels in front of me.

"It's not my blood. It's Michael's."

"Michael's?"

Don't retort with some sarcastic shit, Viv... Jess warns and I'm forced to rethink my verbal response.

I sigh, it being an arts and crafts DIY project would have have been a great response, but Jess is right. Now's not the time. "Can you please help me back up, my body hurts and head's going to explode."

"Of course," she responds, tenderly grabbing my left arm, sounding apologetic. Perhaps for not helping me sooner.

Her right arm wraps around my bare back as she slings my left across her shoulders and begins to pull me up. Using what little strength I have left, I aid in making the situation easier and we finally get my sluggish self onto the bed.

"You haven't knocked your head have you? Heaven knows what further damage it could do."

I inform her that I haven't, knowing full well head trauma is the reason she had placed me in an induced coma in the first place. And I hope I never have to go through that shit ever again.

Peggy steps back and breathes a breath of relief. However, I cannot bring myself quit staring at her once spotless now blood stained uniform.

"Sorry for that," I point out, try to ignore the growing throbs in my head.

Her eyes flicker down and bounce with surprise at the site before saying, "I didn't think this much would get on me."

"Peggy, I'm really-"

She waves me off, "It's only blood and thankfully not yours, well, not entirely. Besides, I have another. Let's make sure that you're okay first."

Okay then.

She opens her coat and pulls out my file from, well I don't exactly understand from where as it seems near impossible to store such a large file inside of one's coat. But somehow she's managed to keep it on her undetected.

"There is something bothering me terribly," she announces, clicks her pen and writes the date on a new sheet of paper, "and I feel if I don't ask it'll eat me alive once I leave this room."

I gulp, knowing that feeling all too well.

They say seeking answers for the uncertain is like looking for water in the desert. Which, as true as it may be, doesn't sit well with me. I believe persistence is key in obtaining what you seek. Mystery man has yet to give me the answers I seek, and I have yet to give up on getting them.

I wait in anticipation, unsure of what her question will be. She clicks her pen, slams the file shut and tilts her head back up, staring straight at me.

"Which is?" I ask, finding the sudden silence unbearable.

"What the hell happened here?"

Oh. That.

-៛₹៛₹₪៛₹៛₹-

"I could kill him myself!" Peggy bursts, closing the tap and exiting the bathroom. Luckily the pounding in my head has subsided or her outburst would have ruptured my pain tolerance.

"Same," I sigh, wishing to have been the one to end him, "but my noodle strength was no match for that cinder block. I'm pretty sure Steven did though."

"How sure?"

She reaches into her pockets and slaps a new pair of disposable gloves on. The previous pair placed in a disposal bag.

The first thing she did when we started a while back was to make sure there aren't any excessive bleeding or new wounds. Especially in my hands since she removed the splinters from them that accumulated while stuck in that god-awful cage.

Thankfully there aren't, except for the scab around my neck which tore right open. Which explains the excessive stinging and throbbing pain. A wound caused by Michael himself.

Peggy explained that all of their collars and shackles have a special rubber on the inside to prevent marks being left once removed. Michael went ahead and replaced the rubber from the leather collar with an accessory of his own. Teeth spiked wires.

How I wish to choke him with that collar! Except, he's already dead. Opportunity terminated.

"Pretty sure?" I suggest. Not knowing what else to say.

"Mike has had a great number of idiotic episodes in the short time that I've known him but none to this extent. I still cannot grasp the fact that he tried to rape you." She sighs, a calmer reaction than before when she first heard the news, the distaste still visible.

Having nothing to say, I watch as she walks over to the tray on wheels placed next to the monitors. Then grabs a stainless steel kidney dish with gauze before making her way to the bathroom.

"Are you certain that's what he wanted to do though? He had a habit of forcing the girls to strip to their underwear when feeling disrespected or simply to shame them," Peggy continues, exiting the bathroom and making her way towards me.

I stare at her dumbfoundedly, hoping her question to be rhetorical but alas, it seems stupidity strikes even those most intelligent. "I don't have any on except for this gown. Anyone can see that," I deadpan.

"Yes, apologies. I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

There's truly not much to make sense off. But being in no mood to further linger on the topic I nod in understanding and decide to allow her to process today's events in her own way. Heaven alone knows the wars and debates taking place in her head right now.

For me, it's pretty simple. Michael was a problem, the problem got eliminated. Tada!

Since the routine check of my vitals, functionality, and head trauma have already been analyzed and penned, Peggy begins to clean away the blood on my arms using gauze and mild soapy water that she mixed in the hand basin.

"Anyways, that's basically how I ended up on the floor. Then you arrived and well, you know the rest," I finish, recapping the entire morning's event from Michael's invasion, to Steven's heroics and his unending mood swings.

She remains silent, thinking, processing. Sends an attentive nod my way to indicate her conscious presence, but I can tell through her eyes that her thoughts are very far away.

"Why don't I go and take a shower? This is going to take a long time to clean. Even the bedding needs to be changed," I suggest, realizing she needs some time to herself and I to my own with a decent hot shower. A bath even better, but I doubt they have one of those here.

"I know we've done some physio, stretching out your legs and all, but you can barely stand on your own two feet. Let alone walk. Besides-"

"I need a shower." Michael's blood has stained not only my gown but the sheets too when Peggy aided me back up. I guess my blood is in the mix of it all but knowing that his remains makes me all the more eager to get rid of it. "Please, I don't want his blood on me anymore. I feel filthy."

She glances at me with pity in her eyes, her lips curl a sad smile before saying, "Tell you what, allow me clean and cover your neck wound first, as hot water will only irritate it, then I'll aid you to the shower. You can't stand but you can sit on the floor and I'll wash you."

Her kind gesture, as small and as ordinary as it may seem, causes my heart to beam with contentment upon hearing her words.

"I'm sure I'll be able to wash," I chuckle, trying to rid the image of Peggy's hand sailing across my naked body with a soapy sponge, "but thank you. I undoubtedly appreciate it."

She nods, a polite smile accompanying her graceful features and aids to my neck wound. Once she's done wrapping a bandage around my neck we begin to make our way to the bathroom.

Upon reaching our destination, she opens the shower door with her free hand and rotates the shower head towards the wall. Then turn the taps until reaching a scorching but survivable temperature, the water cascading in a hypnotic pattern.

All the while I stand still, limbs trembling, hoping not to fall as I hold onto Peggy's frame and the shower door for support. With her left arm still wrapped around my waist, she aids me into the shower. I find a way to rotate until my back hits the wall, then slide down until I'm sitting on the tiled floor. A breath of relief escapes me and I watch as the same does with Peggy.

I loosen the knot from behind my back that holds the thin, now wet, gown together and peel it from my body. Peggy grabs hold of it and casts it to the laundry corner. For some reason, my eyes flicker up and I catch a glimpse of the camera. That red light, it taunts me. My eyes dart away as I force all nerve-wracking thoughts to dissipate.

He has seen you naked before, I remind myself.

She reaches for the soap and sponge then places them in my hands. "Are you sure you don't want my help? I could wash your hair for you," she suggests, grabbing the shampoo bottle.

"You're going to get wet," I state, ignoring the fact that her sleeves have already been drenched by the very water that runs down my bare body.

She sends an unimpressed, rather dull expression my way before removing her bloodstained coat and tossing it to the ground. Then proceeds to open the shampoo bottle and wash my hair.

"Hold your head back and close your eyes," she warns as she rotates the shower head so that the water sprays directly onto my hair. The shampoo lather runs down my face and I know all too well if I should open my eyes now I'm screwed.

Once she's done rinsing my hair, her thumbs brush away any remaining lather on my face and I'm able to see again. She takes hold of the conditioner and runs the product thoroughly through before twisting my hair up in a bun. "Don't rinse that out yet, only wash. I'll be right back," she announces while rising to her feet and closing the shower door. I watch as she exits the bathroom right after picking the dirty clothing from the floor.

Fifteen minutes go by and I begin to wonder if Peggy has abandoned me in a shower of all places. That's a cruel trick to play on a temporarily crippled person.

"Peggy?" I call out, hearing some movement in the room. Except there's no answer.

I call out to her again only for the same silence to greet back.

I remain silent and listen to the sounds bouncing about. The sound of water hitting the floor is more prominent than the rest and I force my ears to hear beyond it. A sound. Two sounds. The shuffling of feet and throwing of blankets.

Is someone making my bed?

Three sounds. The clanging of metal objects. A sound that revives the memory of chains.

Flashbacks of Michael flood my once clear mind and alarms set off in my head at the thought of him having survived Steven's death choke. My heart begins to pound as fear rises, "Peggy!"

"She's not here," an authoritative voice announces before stepping into view and I scream at his sudden appearance.

This isn't right.