His Only Captive - (Far Cry Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty Three - Just a Toy

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Katerina jolted as the ringing of a slammed door echoed in the room. Vaas stood in the doorway, his body arched like a sickened man, with his head bowing the floor. He had kicked the door open with such force and ferocity that the wooden door had almost been ripped off from its hinges – a small nudge could now result in the door crumpling to the ground with a daunting loud thud. Katerina, being so startled by the unexpected eruption of a door harshly thumping against the hard walls, stumbled forwards from where she was standing. She was by the foot of the bed, with a bra and pair of jeans covering her body, and when the unnerving vibrations from the loud bang chimed in her eardrums she subconsciously volleyed her foot forwards – sending it to unfortunately crash against the foot of the bed. She let out a sharp roar of pain, bobbing up and down like a doll, as she cursed under her breath, gnawing onto her bottom lip as a growl grumbled at the back of her throat.

“Fuck!” she snapped, shaking her foot in the air, with her shoulders relaxing as the throbbing pain in her toes slowly cooled – like water cooling a hot red flame. She looked across to Vaas, who still examined the floorboards – she could hardly see his face – and gave a pleasant grin as she regained her balance. “I thought it was someone bringing up food. You came back rather quickly, did you forget something?”

He didn’t say a word, not a whisper. Another slam from the door made Katerina jump and triggered shivers to scuttle up her Goosebump riven skin. Her golden eyes focused on Vaas, who silently poured himself a drink, shakily tipping the clear alcohol into his square shaped glass. The strong intoxicating scent of liquor burned Katerina’s nose and made her dizzy – Vaas didn’t seem to mind, knocking back not one or two but three glasses like one would do with a shot.

Katerina continued to glare at him with a cocked eyebrow. Worry grew in her troubled golden eyes, and she parted her lips to speak, watching with dread as Vaas squeezed the glass with his fingers and thumb. “Vaas?” she croaked, rubbing her fingertips across her ice skin that was rough with Goosebumps, “is everything alright?”

A loud gust of breath escaped Vaas’ lips as his neck craned upwards so that he glared at the cracks and marks on the ceiling. He sluggishly dropped his glass onto the withered table and roughly ran his hand down his face, stretching his skin as his palm travelled further and further down. Katerina watched the glass roll across the table, with droplets of alcohol seeping from the edges of the glass until it came to a stop when colliding with the wall. It did not then continue to roll to the edge of the table, in which it would crash to the floor, like expected. As Katerina watched it, she was expecting a shrill smash of shattering shards of glass spurting across the floorboards to fill the room. But that never happened – to her surprise.

“Sit down.” Vaas ordered. There was no tone to his voice – no rhythm or character to his words. In fact, a solemn coldness flooded his words, enriched with a low timbre which, to Katerina, sounded like a quality for sadness or disappointment.

“I don’t want to.” Katerina calmly protested, with her wandering eyes carefully analysing the expression that swamped Vaas’ face. His eyebrows arched solemnly over his empty tired eyes that refused to glimpse at Katerina. His face was like stone. It didn’t not move or change. It appeared as if there wasn’t even a person inside Vaas’ body – it was too still, and too vague. “Vaas? Tell me what’s wrong.” Katerina pleaded, taking one stride closer to Vaas with her confused eyes locked on his face that continued to puzzle her.