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“I’ve missed you.”
The words are ones that Collei doesn’t particularly hate in and of itself. On their own, they’re sweet. Until Mondstadt—and by extension, Sumeru—they were words that Collei never thought she would ever hear. At least, not directed towards her. They imply she is known. They imply she is wanted, that the lack of her presence has left somebody with longing. That she holds importance, and most important to her self-esteem, is loved. All of that is water down the drain when the second variable comes in.
Said variable being who is the one saying it to her. Amber? Well, Collei misses Amber with each day that passes, too. Collei misses Amber like a newborn animal chases warmth. Master, Cyno, Kaveh. The people that have given her new hope, the people that have hoisted her up from her ashes and built her anew. The words on their tongues would wash her with nothing but warmth and joy.
But, that drawl. That low timbre that carries memories of nothing but agony and pure fear. They are words Collei never wants to hear from him.
A cold hand rests on her shoulder. Collei hadn’t even heard him coming. She tenses, his grip does not. Why is he being gentle?
“Well, do you have anything to say?” He’s practically speaking directly into her ear. The vibrato of his voice is nearly a purr, and it does nothing but unsettle her. How his tone is always so sickeningly even is beyond her. Unwelcome memories resurface, and it’s all of a sudden hard to breathe. In her silence does his grip finally tighten. The pain is sure to follow. “I’ve been told that you’re literate now. Please, do indulge me.”
Collei says nothing.
Words are always swallowed up by screams, anyways. The energy is best directed towards other things, like trying not to cry. Her eyes sting and it’s an embarrassing sensation. He laughs at her. The bark of the tree trunk she sits atop is digging into her bare thigh. It’s bound to leave scratch marks. (Then again, so is he. Collei almost wants to throw up at the sick things he has done to her. The sick things he’s going to do to her. Should she scream?)
“You’re trembling, lambkin,” he observes, the pet name eliciting a feeling better likened to old oil. Disgusting and slimy. “If you’re cold, you ought to cover up more.” His hand slides down her spine, the only barrier between his palm and the skin of her back being the leather of his glove. “You’re hardly being modest. Don’t tell me you’ve grown to become some common slag. That would be a rather disappointing turnout, would it not?”
She cringes. The word is unfamiliar to her, but the connotations aren’t difficult to discern. Collei wants to slink out of her own skin, shed it all and be born once again as a new creature. One that has never been touched by him.
He’s standing right behind her. Her tree hollow is just a few feet in front. Collei’s safe space doesn’t feel very safe anymore. Her heart tells her to run, to get as far as she can and make as much of a scene as possible. Master would hear, he would come to protect her. Collei’s mind tells her it’s no use. The Doctor doesn’t like disobedience. The Doctor always gets what he wants. She’ll only cause more pain for herself.
Her legs feel numb, anyway.
Collei doesn’t want to turn around. She doesn’t want to see him. Seeing him would only solidify that this is real and she’s always been quite good at hiding in delusion.
An arm curls around her front, pulling her flush against his broad chest. Collei’s body does not cease in its trembling; her breath hitches and it takes a few seconds for her to remember that she still needs air.
“Please,” she chokes out without thought. He chuckles again, and this time, she feels the vibrations against the beat of her own heart. His hold around her tenses, and Collei knows that there is no way out.
It’s nonsensical. Begging has never worked in her favor in the past. There’s no reason for it to help her now.
She easily recalls the first time; she’d had no idea what was happening. He had been frustrated, and almost slow in his work that day. Slow days were always more painful, in the way he took longer to slice through her skin, blood already beading before the scalpel was out. Then—on that day in particular—it was almost like a switch inside of him flipped. Collei remembers glass shattering as he carelessly dropped a beaker or something onto the ground. She remembers him hiking up the thin fabric of her hospital gown (and she was too weak and terrified to stop him, or even protest.) She remembers cold hands on her stomach, her thighs, opening her up in ways she had never known (and wishes she didn’t, even now.)
Collei remembers never being the same again. Not that the Collei from before was particularly wonderful, no. Everything she had endured had been nothing short of complete torment. But she’d much rather the black and white of cold-blooded torture against the muddled mess that is sex.
She still can’t stand a simple hug without thinking about being caged beneath him. It’s only a matter of minutes before she’s in that position again, Collei knows. She wishes he would just plunge his hand into her chest and tear out her heart. With him, she misses the blood and gore.
His face presses into the crook of her neck, his teeth sinks into her flesh. Collei bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, but a pained squeak still slips through her defenses. It only serves to make him suck harder; he always did love marking her as his, an artist and his masterpiece. Collei’s skin is nothing but a canvas for him to paint with bruises.
“Leave me alone,” she protests weakly. Collei’s stomach churns. He won’t do it; he never does. She’s a slow learner, but even she understood very quickly that there is no stopping him. He will point out the moments she doesn’t fight him, though. He’ll try to convince her she wants it. Sometimes she’ll believe him. “I’m n-not yours. So, ah—” she winces in pain, blood is surely dripping down her collarbone, “—stop, please.”
Dottore pulls away from her neck, his saliva leaving the spot feeling distinctly cold. With the hand that doesn’t wrap around her body, he sets to squeeze her thigh. “Quaint, but I’m afraid you’ve been misguided. You are only alive due to the fruits of my labor, no?” She can’t correct the truth, no matter how sick it makes her feel. Her silence is met by a soft chuckle. “Good girl. You’ve not forgotten your place, you’ve only learned pitiful disobedience. It shouldn’t last.”
That switch—the one from that first time—flips abruptly, and before Collei can even scream, he’s wrapped his hands around her wrists. His grip is bound to leave bruises, but she can’t even complain because bruises alone are nothing compared to what follows. He yanks her backward, tree bark scraping against her legs and surely drawing blood. She shrieks, the noise muffled by a forceful kiss. He hunches over her, seemingly unbothered by the fact she’s practically upside down. He’s holding her, suspending her body in the air.
His lips are wrong in every way. They’re dry, and thin. Collei doesn’t bother trying to press hers shut, his tongue probes at her mouth and she doesn’t have the energy to fight him. Or rather, she doesn’t have a death wish. Not anymore. (After this, though, she just might.) He tastes like blood and saline; the blood is probably her own.
He draws back, and for the first time in years, Collei sees the crooked grin that haunts her nightmares.
She wants to sob.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. She feels more like a specimen than a person. Perhaps that’s why he loves her so much. Collei twists her gaze away from him.
“You’re a monster,” she mumbles.
In the next few seconds, he’s dropped her, her back and skull hitting the ground with an abrupt thud. Her head spins as the momentum disorients her, but before she can recover, he’s pushing his fingers into her mouth. Collei yelps around the intrusion, but finds the sound that comes out to be as disgusting as she feels. His expression is unreadable, hidden behind that mask, as he probes about.
Collei gags and retches. He pulls his hand away and tangles his fingers in her hair. “Apologize, brat.”
She hates that she knows it’s a retaliation of his ego rather than his feelings. Collei doesn’t even think he properly has those, not with the way he treated her. Treats her, she has to remind herself. Because he’s here, and she’s nothing against him. His anger outmatches her own. Her anger stems from torment and fear. His is indiscernible, unpredictable. His anger is dangerous; more dangerous than him on his own.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, voice raw. His lips turn downward into a frown, but he makes no immediate move. Collei shivers. He leans in to kiss her again, she clenches her eyes shut. She’d rather be anywhere else but here.
The position is uncomfortable. Awkward, too. Her legs are still bent over the log, her upper body splayed in the grass. Dottore crouches over her, the nose of his mask digging into her neck. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse when he fucks her with the mask on; it’s impersonal, and Collei thinks it might be easier when she can’t see the look in his eye as he ignores her screams. But on the other hand, at least she feels somewhat human when she can look him head on. At least it feels like he could love her. (Is that what she wants? Collei doesn’t think so.)
He bites her lip, making it sting from where she has already chewed through her own skin. His tongue roams in circles through her mouth, attempting to incite a reaction with hers. Collei doesn’t have the energy to even fake reciprocation with him, there’s no purpose. No reason. He’ll use her either way. It doesn’t matter if she pretends to like it, it doesn’t matter if she tries to appease him. If anything, he probably likes it more when she’s limp. When he’s in complete control of her.
It feels like forever before he pulls back again, leaving her greedily gasping for air. He haphazardly wipes her mouth with his thumb, but the taste of iron does not go away. If anything, it pools in her mouth and Collei selfishly wishes that she’d choke and drown in her own blood. Her head throbs, an incessant pounding that serves to disorient her. Dottore’s composure softens abruptly.
“Did I hurt you, lambkin?” he coos with care so faux Collei can smell the chemicals. The man pulls her limp body into his lap, leaving them in the space just behind the fallen tree log. Collei can’t see her hollow anymore; but in a way, she prefers it like that. It’s as if the emptiness she vents and screams her frustrations to won’t have to bear witness to her agony. “You know that wasn’t my intention. I get… angry when you disobey me, Collei. You and I both dislike who I become when I’m angry. It’s alright, I suppose. I forgive you, for what you said to me. I’m aware you didn’t mean it.”
She meant it. She meant it. He’s a monster and she’s a victim and Collei can’t stand how he paints another picture with his words. It’s wrong; this is wrong. Her face contorts as she clenches her eyes shut.
Stop, she wants to say. Get away from me, she itches to scream. Dottore’s fingers sift through strands of her hair, pausing after a moment. There is the quiet rustling of fabric before his cold, bare, hand falls against her face. He cups her chin, and it takes no genius to know he’s scrutinizing her; taking note of every little detail there is to observe. A scientist and his subject, a predator and his prey, a blight and his crop.
His hand slides away from her chin, catching on the clasps of her cowl. It’s a warm afternoon in Sumeru, but the air that hits her shoulders as the fabric is pulled away is cold. Goosebumps prickle across her skin, mourning the loss of their cover. Collei wants to turn away and sob, scratch at her arms with uneven fingernails until she’s coated with blood. Until she feels raw and new.
Instead, she doesn’t move. Collei lays limp like a puppet, waiting for its master to play with its strings. Waiting to be told what to do, because some things never change. A broken doll never gets fixed.
“You’ve grown,” Dottore says impassively, fingers finding the edge of her bra with ease. He toys with it, slipping a few cold digits against her warm flesh, eliciting a shiver and a whimper. He pinches at her skin, drawing pleasure from the way she squirms. Collei can tell; she can feel his member hardening against the small of her back. The only blessing of her growth that she can predict in this situation is that it will probably hurt less. “Talk to me, Collei. I know you can say more than three-word sentences; or is your Master that incompetent?”
Collei bristles, body stiffening as she jerks. She doesn’t get very far; not when Dottore solidifies his grip around her, keeping her down. “Did that strike a nerve? My, you’re acting rather rash.”
“Master Tighnari isn’t–” she cuts herself off as she meets his gaze—she thinks, at least. His lips quirk upward in a cocky grin. She’s giving him what he wants, he wants her to fight him, wants her to act out and get angry. Her words die on her tongue as she pointedly looks away from. Their surroundings are peaceful, the leaves of the trees swaying in the light breeze. Nilotpala lotuses yet to bloom catch the light of the sun, reflecting back on the water they float within. Collei wants to float alongside them, face-down.
“Go on,” Dottore urges. Collei keeps her mouth shut. His grip tightens, surely leaving bruises on her wrists for her to deal with later. “He isn’t what?”
She squeaks, finally succumbing to his bruising hold. “He isn’t incompetent.”
“Was that so hard?” he says softly, loosening his grasp. Collei meets his prompt with nothing. If he wants her to fight him, then she won’t. She’s going to deprive him of as much pleasure as she can—not that it will be very much. She’s weak against him, and she knows that at the end of the day, he’s already won. “Very well, then. I suppose that’s all I’ll be getting out of you right now. Not to fret, there’s still plenty of time.”
He should just strangle her already.
Instead, he tugs at her body, clambering on top of her with ease. Collei’s breath hitches, air refusing to enter her lungs. His legs straddle her hips, his weight disgustingly familiar. There’s no room for movement, even less room for escape. The Doctor’s clammy hands slide up her arms, wrapping firmly around her neck. Collei chokes, tears pricking at her eyes. All she can see on his expression is his smile, sharp and unsettling.
It doesn’t go on for too long, and Collei’s not sure whether or not she should take that as a blessing or a curse. Sometimes, it’s worse to wake up in the middle of it. Other times, she knows it has happened, but hadn’t been conscious to experience it. Her stomach churns, limbs paralyzed as the monster above her begins to pick at her clothing.
Similar to that first time, he doesn’t strip her. He bunches up the front of her dress, pushing it to the side enough to expose the front of her bra. With experienced fingers, he lifts the edge of her dress, pushing it up and leaving her undergarments on display. Collei whimpers, each bit of exposed skin growing colder and colder as the anticipation claws at her. Part of her feels like she is inherently disgusting, something that not even he wants to look at in entirety. The other part of her is clinging onto as much modesty as she can.
He pauses in his violation, and Collei just knows that he’s staring at her scars. Shame bubbles up, fueling the tears that start to trickle down her face. It’s an overwhelming emotion, one she can’t help but feel every time somebody sees them. Neat lines on the top of her thighs, done purposefully so that she’d be the only one to see them. Tighnari had inevitably found out and put a stop to it, but it doesn’t change the embarrassment that comes with their existence.
She’d been so selfish.
Collei expects him to say something. To make her feel even worse about the pain she’d chosen to inflict upon herself. But he doesn’t. Not a word leaves his mouth, all he does is chuckle to himself. Collei tries to push at him, but just as expected, it’s to no avail. Dottore bends down, hands locked at her hips, and licks at the scarred skin. She shivers, body involuntarily jerking at the sensation. His teeth nip at each linear cicatrix, making her only wince and whimper more.
Dottore pulls back, only to ease her undergarments down her legs. He doesn’t bother with her stockings or her shoes, leaving the black shorts pooled loosely at her ankles. The inevitable is soon to come, and Collei feels fear beginning to rear its ugly head.
She chokes on a sob. “Stop. Please—stop.”
Her answer comes in the form of a cold finger pressing against her slit. She jerks abruptly, back impulsively arching in an autopilot attempt to get away. He laughs at her, that curt yet maniacal laugh, and parts her thighs with ease. She will never be strong enough against him. Collei hates just how small she is compared to him, in more ways than size alone. He has power at her disposal, and she still can barely shoot a proper arrow without tripping over her own feet.
He is a god and she is a bug. He towers over her, judges her, stomps on her with his heel. He picks her apart like the useless pile of blood and guts she is, utilizing her for his own purposes.
With one hand and practiced ease, he spreads her labia, exposing her cunt to him. With his other, he inserts a singular finger. Collei hisses at the intrusion, body aching with the effort of accommodating him. Her breathing picks up; it almost feels like she can’t get in enough air. She tries to force herself into something along the lines of a sitting position, but the effort only makes her head spin.
Dottore slips another finger in, despite the lack of lubrication. The friction stings, but Collei knows that it could be—has been—worse. Without much thought, he sets to scissoring her cunt open with his fingers. It’s not quite unfamiliar, but it’s uncomfortable all the same. Collei always hated this; how he would act like he cared about preparing her, about making it pleasurable for her. It only ever made her feelings more complicated, made it harder for her to see herself as a victim when he always manages to get her body to listen to him.
She keens, low and pathetic, as he presses his thumb against her clit, rolling the sensitive skin in slow circles. Collei’s muscles tense, burning with the effort to try and shut her legs. Against her will, slick starts to cling to The Doctor’s fingers. All he does in response is add another, stretching her walls thoroughly. It’s uncomfortable, like an ooze that slowly spreads throughout her body.
“Have you let your Master touch you like this?” Dottore asks out of nowhere, catching Collei completely off-guard. His fingers curl in a come hither motion, eliciting a strained gasp from her throat. His question boils her blood and encourages her tears, heart beating so fast it just might erupt from her chest. “Does he fuck you like I do?”
Collei balls her fist, hurling it at Dottore’s forearm without thinking. It hits him with a dull thud, and he barely responds. He gives her a disappointed frown, pulling his unoccupied hand away from her privates and using it to grip her chin. It smells like musk. It smells like failure.
“I’m being quite generous, Collei,” he says slowly, tone measured. There’s a hidden growl behind his words that stirs the fear already pooling in her stomach. “Acting so impetuously. One would think that you were raised by animals. I know that you’re better than this, dove.”
Again with the pet names. Collei wants to claw herself apart. She narrows her eyes at him, though she doubts she looks very threatening beneath him, his fingers buried in her cunt. “M–master would never.”
“Three words again,” Dottore sighs, pulling his fingers out with a disgusting squelch. Collei cringes, resisting the urge to retch at the clear strings of arousal that connect his digits to her body. “I’m rather disappointed.” He reaches toward her, prodding at her lips with his filthy hand. “Suck.”
And, like a puppet, she obeys. Collei lets them invade her mouth, wrapping her lips around his knuckle and mechanically cleaning him off. She hates this. Hates herself, hates how easily old habits come right back, how she isn’t fighting back. She’s weak, and she always has been.
She’s gasping for air by the time he pulls away again. He wipes her saliva off on her crumpled dress, reaching for the buckle of his belt. The sound alone brings back countless memories for her, dozens of phantom sensations felt throughout her entire body. Collei can’t help but tense up. She can’t say that she’s scared for what’s to come; she’s already endured it so many times in the past. There’s nothing new to be scared of. But…
With all the same vigor, she detests it.
He has to adjust his weight to ease off his trousers. Collei knows it’s useless, but in the brief window of opportunity she’s been given, she tries to turn away. She’s not quite sure what she expected, but she doesn’t get very far. A hand curls around her waist and pulls, bringing her body flush once again with Dottore’s. Even his cock is cold, the feeling of it against her skin sending shivers down her spine.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dottore mocks her. With brute strength, he pushes down at her shoulder blades and cages her body with his own. “I’m not finished with you.”
Collei cries pathetically—like screaming into a void—as he aligns himself. She feels the heat of his breath on her shoulder before his teeth sink back into her flesh. She’s not sure what makes her scream; the way he pushes all the way in at once, or the blood that is now actively dribbling down her shoulder. It hurts; it always does. He told her, once, that pain was the price of love. Collei doesn’t think that she believes him anymore, not after living under Master Tighnari’s wing.
Master Tighnari loves her. He cuts her peaches and peels her apples. He tucks her into bed and kisses her goodnight; never nipping at her with his sharp canines. He holds her when she asks him to, and stays away from her when she needs the space. He never pushes or prods at her, ever patient and kind. He loves her. He would never hurt her like this.
The Doctor would tell her that he loved her. He would cut her skin and peel away blackened scales. He would strap her to a bed and kiss her until he was satisfied. He would hold her until her skin bruised and leave her in the dark for days on end. He was never patient, never kind. There was never room for privacy or secrets. Collei doesn’t think that love is supposed to be like that, especially not the kind of love she craves. She doesn’t think that he truly loves her.
If he loved her, he would stop.
Instead, he uses his knees to spread her legs further apart, holding up her hips with the arm that isn’t actively forcing her down. He pulls back his hips, slamming against her almost immediately after. Collei whines, face flushed as her tears flow freely. She must look like a mess, she’s convinced. Blood on her collarbone and shoulder, hickeys surely to match. It’s got to be painting her thighs, too.
Logically, Collei knows there probably isn’t blood. It’s an understanding that makes her stomach churn worse; how is she supposed to prove that she didn’t want this?
His arm lifts from her back, but there isn’t much she can try to do. Her legs feel like jelly and there’s nothing she’s got that can fix it. He finds her clit again, attacking her with unwanted attention. Collei pushes her face into the grass, praying to anybody that will listen for the ground to swallow her whole. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t lessen his force. She’s biting her tongue, trying to swallow down her cries and screams. He sounds as lewd as ever.
Once the pleasure begins to pool in her gut, Collei knows she’s lost. It’s too much, too overstimulating to feel good by any means. But, then again, she’s never necessarily felt good when he fucks her. She feels dirty and used, like her whole body is on fire and anything more will make her combust on the spot.
Dottore leans in, closer to her ear. “Have you been masturbating?”
The shock and a particularly accentuated thrust makes her cry out, a sound that’s only met by laughter and even harsher thrusts.
No, she hasn’t been. She hates thinking about this, hates his touch and anything remotely adjacent to it. Collei hates him, for all of the ways he’s ruined her. She can’t even look at her bare body in the mirror for too long, finding it to be something inappropriate and gross. Even thinking about touching herself feels like it would be a nightmare in and of itself.
“You’ve been saving yourself for me, then,” Dottore remarks, at which Collei can’t help but violently jerk. Nothing happens, unsurprisingly. “Hm. You’re old enough to have your menstrual cycle now, no? Perhaps I can reward you with a gift.”
She’s screaming before she realizes it. “No! Don’t—get off of me, don’t touch me! Stop it, stop it, stop—!”
He adds more pressure against her clit, cutting off her protests and turning them into a strangled shriek. The coil of pleasure only winds up more; Collei wants to throw up. It’s too much. His hips haven’t slowed, but their pace has become something erratic and unpredictable. She hadn’t been able to completely understand the consequences back then, but she knows them now. Collei doesn’t want this.
Master Tighnari. She wants Master Tighnari. Not right now, she doesn’t think—The Doctor could kill him in an instant. But she wants him to wrap her up, wants him to help her feel safe again.
It’s happening too fast; Dottore manages to manhandle her onto her back, hands now tightly coiled around her wrists. It’s a harsh enough grip that Collei can feel her fingertips tingling, losing circulation. Still, she prefers his bruising hold over his practiced ministrations. He’s thrusting harder, deeper. If Collei hadn’t gotten the chance to learn anatomy, she would have believed him to be actively puncturing her organs. Maybe he is; he’s definitely strong enough.
Collei hates being able to see him now. She chokes on another sob in the same minute that The Doctor leans down to kiss her again. This time; she bites him first, feeling a sour victory as the taste of iron coats her tongue. He doesn’t pull back, but he does twist her wrists awkwardly; the sudden strain distracting her from the ongoing assault for just a moment.
It crashes back down on her as The Doctor orgasms, a moan on his tongue as he buries his cock deep into her folds. Collei’s world shatters in an instant. He doesn’t move as her own muscles spasm, a wave of overstimulation tearing through every nerve in her body. She can’t help it; she screams, swallowed up by his hungry lips. Of course, it only manages to coax another—smaller—orgasm out of him. Collei’s trembling, but of course he doesn’t care. He slowly rolls his hips, the movement allowing for some of his cum to dribble out of her cunt. He pulls back, a lopsided grin on his lips.
All she feels is disgusting. Collei needs him off, needs to be done. She can’t do this. Not now, and not ever. Her body aches; skin already turning pink in spots that are sure to form bruises.
“I’ve missed this,” he breathes, tone light. He’s not quite out of breath, but he seems slightly exasperated. Gross. Much to her chagrin, he elects to punctuate his point with another shallow thrust, mixing about their fluids even further. Collei doesn’t think that she’ll ever be clean again after this; she certainly hadn’t been clean before, but it had been… almost manageable. She didn’t have to think about it. But, now, she’s terrified.
She doesn’t want to be pregnant, and definitely doesn't want to have a kid. She’s not ready, first and foremost, and she frankly doesn’t think it’s anything she wants. At least not in the near future. But, then there’s the fact that it would be his. And Collei knows, against all of her personal growth and achievement, that she would resent any child that comes from him.
“Get off of me,” Collei whimpers, pouring as much venom into her words as she can. It’s not as much as she’d like, it’s hard to focus through the agonizing buzz of overstimulation. “I don’t—want this. So, st—get off.”
It should probably spark some concern when Dottore somewhat listens, pulling his softened member out and wiping his hands off on her thighs. It’s all sticky and disgusting. It’s never going to wash off. She’s losing her train of thought. The point is that he never listens to her. Not back then, not a single time. He leans back, beginning to put himself back together as if nothing has just happened. Collei can’t even force herself to sit up.
Collei watches him like a hawk as he moves. She hates him. He tucks himself back beneath his trousers, smoothing out any wrinkles as he buttons them. He’s nonchalant as he feeds his belt through the loops, even more passive as he tugs his gloves back over his hands. She can’t help but shiver from the phantom cold that washes over her at the mere thought of them.
“You’re beautiful, lambkin.”
She’s not. Something beautiful would never be so violated. The vile sensation of cum seeping out of her abused hole is suffocating. Collei doesn’t know if she’s up in her own head, but it’s like there’s so much. Semen and arousal paint her inner thighs with an ugly scene, from a play better left forgotten. Has it always felt like this, in the immediate after? The memories are foggy. She’s not entirely sure.
Archons, it’s like her mind is a balloon she’s let go of. An unnatural calm nips at her toes, beckoning her closer. Her conscience doesn’t seem to have any reservations, chasing that alluring promise of numbness eagerly. She’s dissociating; she knows that she is, but she recognizes that she’s already too far gone.
“You’ve got to keep this where it belongs, girl. Ah, you’ve always been slightly scatterbrained, I suppose,” Dottore huffs. Collei thinks that she must have missed something, because she’s got no clue what he’s talking about. She hasn’t got the energy to respond or even ask; not that she should ask, imbecilic questions are not welcome in his presence. Collei’s learned that lesson more times than she can count.
Soon, though, she learns that she doesn’t have to ask. The Doctor’s gloved fingers find her cunt, scooping up some of the white ichor that has slipped out and pushing it back into her bruised folds. “It’s rude to refuse a gift, especially one that I have poured so much attention and care into. You ought to know better, Collei.”
Collei’s got no response, head lolling to the side in an effort to push him out of her line of sight. The world is slightly off-kilter, colors muddle together. Her head hurts. Is she dying?
It’s perhaps the most selfish thought she’s had in quite a while, but Collei hopes that she’s dying.
Again. It should terrify her that The Doctor leaves her behind so easily. She’s half expecting him to drag her limp body all the way to Snezhnaya, expecting him to keep her caged and use her as his pet like he once did. But, despite everything she’s been trained to anticipate from him: he doesn’t.
He stands up and walks away, leaving her to rot in her own misery. Somehow, that hurts the most.
Her mind isn’t thinking logically right now. She might not even be thinking, even. Collei’s eyes lethargically The sky has a pinkish haze to it, it’s got to be getting late. Master will be looking for her. She can rest now, can give in to the exhaustion and comfortable nothingness that comes with it.
Collei would have half a mind to be embarrassed, knowing that Master Tighnari will find her like this. But, it’s only another thing her consciousness can’t force herself to care about. Not yet, at least. Her eyelids are much too heavy.