I can't get enough,
I like it rough,
Cause, I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Not exactly the most remarkable of names. And yet he himself was. At least, that was what the deep-set loathing and admiration in her mind told her.
Remarkable. Unique. Beautiful.
And he was beautiful.
To anyone else, they could have been siblings, brother and sister, fighting the ways of the world any way they could. Be it with knives, guns or twisted machinery, they would fight.
For him. For Jigsaw. For John Kramer.
He was her father, her mother, and her whole world. To be without him, was to be cast down into the dark abyss, into nothing.
Amanda had been a part of that endless nothing for most of her life. As a child, she had been victim to cruel bullying at the hands of her schoolmates and her 'parents'.
At age ten, she discovered the release that came from spilling her own blood. She relished the edge of the blade against her forearm, the rush of adrenaline as her life's essence stained the shining steel of the razor. It became her escape, her own little world that came with the blood shed.
Even now, as she slices into her inner thigh, tears spring to her eyes.
She wished she didn't have to do this. She wished she didn't have to keep feeling this way. But it was the only way.
You need to distance yourself from your emotions, or they will rule you, Amanda.
His words. John's words. They made sense and yet Amanda couldn't find it within herself to take them to heart. Emotions were what separated them from the animals, both metaphorically and literally.
She hissed in pain as a particularly deep cut seared with white-hot agony, setting her nerves on fire.
Blood seeped out from between her fingers, streaking her hands with red. Bundling up the washcloth at her side, she pressed it to her thigh, brows furrowed in concentration.
It hurt. Why did it hurt? It never hurt. Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried desperately to curb the pain that was shooting up her leg and settling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. Her vision began to darken.
A wet cloth against her forehead brought Amanda back round fairly quickly.
Immediately alert, she tried to pull away from the other person.
"Easy. You've lost quite a bit of blood"
His voice in her ear quieted her in a heartbeat.
"Don't try to talk," he murmured soothingly, "you're weak as it is."
His quiet, gentle words spurred on her resentment of him.
"Fuck…you," she gasped, trying desperately to clear her vision. All she could see was the fuzzy outline of the man she so despised.
The man she was falling for.
Hoffman chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure you would. Now, hold still."
His hand went to her thigh and she jerked, her eyes going wide.
"Get the…fuck off me…!"
"Calm down, Amanda, there's blood fucking everywhere!"
"Get your hands off me, you fucking--!" she tried to squirm away and fell off the mattress.
"For God's sake, stop acting like a child," he snapped, standing up and crouching next to her, a frown marring his face.
Amanda ignored him and rolled onto her side, gasping out in pain as the scars on her thigh stretched and began to bleed again.
"For fuck's sake, hold still."
Amanda reined in a shriek as Hoffman wrapped an arm under her knees and lifted her off the ground.
"Arm around my shoulders, Amanda," he said sharply. She obeyed, if only to steady herself a little more. Her nostrils twitched as she caught the scent of his cologne.
God, he smelled good.
She pushed the thought defiantly out of her head as he sat her on the nearest bench top, her legs dangling over the side. She resisted the urge to swear as she realized how much she looked like a naughty little kid in this position.
Scowling, she tried to close her legs.
"Don't close them, you'll only make it worse," he said, dabbing –what appeared to be– disinfectant onto a hand towel. Her nose scrunched up as the pungent odour assaulted her nostrils.
Hoffman turned back to her, cloth in hand, an apologetic look on his face.
"This is going to really fucking hurt, so…uh, try and keep the vocals low, okay?"
Amanda sent him a scathing look.
"What did I say about the vocals?"
"FUCK YOU, HOFFMAN!"
He winced, more at the volume of her voice as apposed to the vulgarity and moved the sodden rag away from her bleeding thigh.
"I did warn you," he said, smiling petulantly.
"Oh my fucking God, I hope you fucking die!"
"If I had a dollar everytime someone said that to me—"
"Oh, fuck off," she snarled, her fingers curling into a fist at her side.
He sighed exasperatedly and held up the cloth again.
"A little quiet while I save your life?"
Amanda crossed her arms and glowered at him but refrained from hurling any more insults his way.
As gently as he could, he touched the cloth to the open wound on her left leg. Amanda bit her tongue to hold in the gasp of pain that threatened to escape her.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Hoffman commented, sounding annoyed, keeping his eyes trained on the cut.
"I wasn't fucking thinking, alright?" she muttered irritably, determinedly looking anywhere but him.
"That's fairly obvious," he murmured darkly, glancing up at her briefly.
There was silence for a while, broken only by Amanda's almost inaudible gasps of pain and Hoffman attempting to breathe quietly through his mouth in order to block out the powerful, medicinal fumes.
"That should keep infection from getting in," he said after a while, more to himself than to her, and turned away, "there's gotta be bandages around here somewhere."
Amanda fought the hot flush that was creeping up her neck as he rummaged around in the numerous boxes that lined the shelves on the far side of the 'dungeon'. The detective wasn't wearing his usual police issue jacket and she could see the muscles of his back flexing underneath the blue cotton shirt he was wearing as he moved.
She thought about crossing her legs before deciding against it. More pain was not on her agenda.
Amanda hadn't bothered attempting to assess Hoffman's sense of smell, so she just had to sit there, legs open, praying to God he didn't realize exactly how aroused she was at that moment.
"Here, this'll have to do. I'll see if I can get some more later."
Mark—no, Hoffman – returned to the table and unraveled the small roll of bandages.
"Should do for," he looked carefully over at the cuts, "maybe one thigh?"
"Whatever, just…do it quick, would you?" she said through clenched teeth.
Hoffman rolled his eyes at her and shook his head.
"Okay, you'll need to bend your knee up—"
"You'll need to bend you knee up so I can get to it! If your leg is lying flat on the table, I can't get the bandage around it."
"Why is this bothering you so much, Amanda?" he demanded, "We're both adults and I'm just trying to stop you from bleeding to death!"
Amanda mumbled her reply, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze.
"I don't want…"
"For fuck's sake, Amanda—"
"I don't want to open my legs to you, okay?" she finally burst out, her face now akin to the skin of a tomato.
There was a prolonged, tense quiet while Amanda simmered in her anger while Hoffman just stood there, silently.
"Funny," he said softly, "for some reason I always had a slight inkling that's what you did want to do."
Amanda's heart skipped several beats and she turned her head to face him, her eyes the size of dinner plates.
"What did you say?" she asked, her voice several octaves higher than normal.
Hoffman shrugged innocently and idly lifted Amanda's leg a few inches off the bench in order to slip the bandage underneath.
"I was just assuming that, given the amount of times I've heard you moaning my name in your sleep—"
"I have not 'moaned your name in my sleep'," she snarled, feeling goosebumps rising on her arms as his hands brushed over her skin.
"I have pretty good hearing, Amanda," he paused for a moment and grinned, "my sense of smell is fairly acute as well."
Every single drop of blood in Amanda's body immediately rushed from her face and down into her centre of heat. The fire in her stomach ignited and she could feel her muscles tense up.
"I would've thought," Hoffman continued, smoothing his fingers over the bandage, "you'd be so insanely hot about the idea of me fucking you, that this would be the first possible thing on your mind."
Amanda was frozen. Rage, hate, lust and want pumped through her body like adrenaline and she was absolutely positive if his hand moved any more up her thigh she'd either cut it off…or force it higher.
"Given that you haven't had a proper fuck since you were recruited by Jigsaw, I'm amazed you'd only gotten yourself off over me, rather than go straight for me."
He finished binding the bandage around her thigh and rested his hand on her other thigh, leaning in to the point that she could feel his breath against her neck.
"You're stuck in a fucking warehouse every day of the week and have been for months," he leant back enough so his nose was just about brushing hers, "I'm not surprised that you want to fuck me."
The next second, she had grabbed Hoffman by head and shoved her mouth into his so hard, she was sure her lip had split.
Her legs, injured though they were, wrapped around his waist and slammed their lower bodies together.
Hoffman wasn't even slightly hesitant. His hands slipped up the back of Amanda's shirt and seized the back of her bra.
He broke away for long enough to get out, "Do you want me to--?" giving her the opportune moment to grab at his belt.
"Do you really need to fucking ask?" she hissed, unbuckling the accessory in one deft movement, pulling it through all the loops and throwing it over her shoulder.
Hoffman's eyes widened a touch.
"Hold on a second—"
"No holding on," Amanda panted, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, "no holding back."
Slipping off the bench and onto the floor, she deftly slid out of her underwear and pulled her shirt over her head.
Standing there, half naked save for her bra, she paused long enough to take in his expression.
"Is there a problem, Hoffman?"
He eyed her up carefully and smiled.
"Just the one, actually," he ran his hand up her side and leaned forward until his lips were a hair's breadth away from her earlobe.
"Call me Mark."