She cried herself out and slept a bit. When she woke up she was still alone, on that bed. Her bleeding had stopped but her arm hurt, so did her face. She was worried about looking into a mirror. She knew her throat was probably bruised, as well as her face, and now her arm was cut. She was in bad enough shape without having to deal with the reality of the situation by seeing the scars of the past…how long had she been here anyhow? Without the light from the sun she couldn't even ascertain if it was night or day. He'd even taken time away from her. Fuck him. She didn't deserve this. She wasn't a bad person, other than the stealing. She wondered if her friends, and her sometimes boyfriend, might come looking for her, but dismissed that thought. She was independent, a loner, and had made her point to them before to keep out of her private affairs and leave her alone. They'd think she'd just gone off somewhere and would be in touch eventually. It might be six months before they honestly worried about where she was. The boyfriend might question things, but even he would know better than to come looking for her and invade her space. Her independence and identity were so important to her and they all knew it. She'd trained them all well. She wanted to kick herself for her independence, but then decided Riddick would be coming back and was sure to hurt her enough on his own. She didn't need to help him out.

There was little to do in that bed but think and worry and cry and sleep. She couldn't move, there was no where she could get to. Even if she had the strength to cry for help no one would come to her aid, not in this neighborhood. And if someone did Riddick would probably kill them both for their effort. Didn't seem worth it right then.

What did he want? Her cooperation. Her attention. Control over her entire being. Well, he'd hurt her if she didn't cooperate and while she wasn't going to give in she decided maybe she could try to avoid being smacked around and cut up, at least for a day or two, until she got her strength back. He had her attention and there was nothing she could do about that. She was terrified of him and worried about all the things he was capable of doing to her. More or less he had all the control. He could push her around, drag her around and force her to do a lot of what he wanted. She needed to make a stand though and take something from him. How about her voice? Don't speak to him, or answer his questions at all. It didn't seem like much but she figured it was something at least and until she could come up with something more substantial that didn't result in blood and pain, this would have to do.

She'd just made her decision when she heard him return. She sat up in the bed, pulling the blanket tightly around her, huddling in the corner of the bed. He came in with a few bags, and put them in the closet. He sifted through one and emerged with some first aid supplies. "Let's clean that arm." He said, coming to the bed, and pulling the blanket away from her. He noticed the blood on the blanket and threw it on the floor. "Have to clean that." He said out loud, and moved towards her. Her first instinct was to pull away and then he remembered she had no where to go so she turned her injured arm toward him instead. He cleaned off the cut, and then placed a bandage over it. "You know, you are such a beautiful woman. Really amazing. Everything about your body is pure perfection. Why do you have to go and force my hand like that? Make me hurt you and damage this body?"

She refused to answer him, refused to look him in the face too. Was she supposed to be flattered? Fine, thanks for the compliment, let me go.

"Not talking to me now?" He asked, with a sly smile. "I admire your spirit. That's why I chose you." He waited for a response of some kind. "You'll talk to me when you get hungry enough." He told her. He turned and undid the rope from the bed. "Go ahead and use the bathroom if you'd like. I'll give you a few minutes."

She tentatively moved off the bed, past him and made her way to the bathroom. "Leave the door open." He called after her. She flipped the switch for the lights, and then had to shield her eyes from the brightness. Again she wondered how long she'd been there. She avoided the mirror for the time being and used the toilet first. Then she stood and checked out her reflection. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Her throat had only mild discoloration in some places. Her face too had a small bruise on the left side. He was right handed, she remarked in her head. Her hair was knotted and her arm hurt like hell, but otherwise she looked better than she'd expected. Her eyes were the only things that betrayed her time here. They looked dark and desperate. Nothing she could help.

She leaned over the sink and ran her hands under the water. She splashed some on her face, loving the feel of the coolness. The she cupped her hands and drank some handfuls. She wondered if he'd anticipated her doing that to avoid asking him for water and she figured it didn't matter. When she'd drunk enough she shut the water off and went back into the dark bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, resting against the headboard, waiting for her.

She walked to the bed, and stood there. "Climb on." He said, and she did as she was told. She allowed him to retie her to the headboard. He had gotten her another blanket and he wrapped it around dher so she'd be warm.

Then he pulled a comb out from under the pillow next to him and handed it to her. "Thought you might like this." He told her and handed it to her.

She accepted it and started to use it to get the knots out. He sat and watched her comb her hair. She was aware of his gaze but she ignored him and concentrated on her hair. When she was done he took it out of her hands and set it on the table beside he bed. Then he ran his hands through her hair. She was grateful for the comb. She felt a little more like herself now. But she hated that she had him to thank for that.

He caressed her face softly, and ran his fingers down her neck and arm. His touch repulsed her so much, but she knew she couldn't do anything to stop him from touching her. Any protest she made would just bring harsher touching. "Tell me your name." He requested. She didn't answer or acknowledge him. "Come on." He continued. "It's just your name. I need to know what to call you." She continued ignoring him. He chuckled a little. "That's okay. Don't tell me. I'll name you myself then." He told her, and then he leaned to her, kissed her cheek and her arm where he'd cut her and pulled away.

"Lie down and get some sleep." He ordered and then he lay down himself, closing his eyes.

She sat there for a minute thinking. What was she, his pet? Come, sit, walk, speak. And now he was going to name her? Like she belonged to him! She belonged to him. What could she do?

Eventually she lay down and closed her eyes. He owned her.