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She knew that the bath was the perfect temperature. It had the soft smell of roses, it flooded Abigail’s nose. Hannibal sat next to the bathtub, he looked to human in the bright lights of the bathroom. The bathrobe that Abigail was a soft blue, and she was pretty sure it was the most expensive thing that she has ever worn.
“It matches your eyes.” Hannibal had said as he handed to her like the words wouldn’t pierce her heart and shake her apart. They mimicked when her father would tell her she looked best in blue. But Hannibal had a different look in his eyes. Something softer, something more far away. She had a feeling he thought of somebody else when he looked at her.
She feared it was Will. That he didn’t see her but saw a treat to dangle in front of Will. She was always a smart girl. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t. Wish she couldn’t see through Hannibal and could take his pretty presents and soft smiles at surface levels.
“Abigail, the bath will cool.” Abigail nodded and slid off her robe. Stood naked in front of a man who would kill her, without a second thought. She thinks of Will, of his soft hands and a nervous smile. She stepped into the bath, and let herself sink into its warmth. The bubbles were soft to the touch, and she skimmed the top of her bath. She was covered up to her small breast, her nipples perked at the difference of the cold room and the warm bath.
“It’s nice.” She whispered, she felt like she should be more nervous than she was.
“Let me wash your hair.” Hannibal smiled at her, the soft fatherly smile. She wondered if that was a lie too. If everything he was, everything he pretended to be was a lie. She moved so he had easier access to her head and let him wet her hair. His hands were nice, sent tingles up her spine. She couldn’t get the thought of the blood on his hands to go away.
The hair on her neck stood up, and she knew what it felt to be prey. He could snap her neck, he could drown her. He could kill her if he wanted too.
“What’s going to happen to Will?” His hand’s pause.
“What has to happen to Will, Abigail.” His voice closed the topic down, and he rinsed her hair. The smell was familiar, something earthy and over expensive she would try with her friends in the mall. “I wouldn’t worry about Will, he’s a survivor.”
“Would he have hurt me?” There’s one thing she wasn’t sure about, and it was Will. The way he had looked at her in the cabin. He had never reminded her more of Hannibal.
“He was sick Abigail, I don’t think he would have hurt you if he wasn’t.” Hannibal hummed a far off song. His hands trailed down her neck, and she felt herself relax instead of tense up. Maybe if she kept still, he wouldn’t attack. “You are so beautiful.” His voice was soft, and she couldn’t help but relax into it. She wanted to please him, more than anything.
Wanted to survive this, more than anything.
“You are healing nicely too, there should barely be a scar.” His fingers trailed up, where her ear was supposed to be. She leaned back, so she could catch her eye. He was closer than she thought he would be, and she took her chance to lean and press a kiss to his lips.
He kissed back, softly. He didn’t have any passion for her, but she craved him. She trailed her wet fingers up to his neck and gripped his shirt keeping him in place as she kissed him. She had only kissed two boys, and a girl before this. Hannibal was a wonderful kisser. Sent sparks up and down her spine. It was like, watching somebody sketch something perfectly. The talent is there, but there was no passion in his kiss.
She still never wanted to stop, wanted to kiss him until she could crawl safely inside of his chest. Be protected by his ribs.
He pulled away, too soon.
“Do you want to head to bed?” His voice was low, smokey. She felt her self get high off of it, nodded before she could think of a reason why not. He helped her out of the bath and lathered her in lotion. His hands were strong, caressed her. The touch of his hands didn’t remind her of her father, the way his eyes lingered on her. She felt safe.
Maybe she was damaged.
He put the robe back on her after he combed out of her hair. She felt like a doll, something expensive and breakable. He put the robe back on her, and it felt like a crown.
He kissed her once more before they left the bathroom, pressed her against the wall, and consumed her. She allowed it. She wanted this. She wished Will was here, he lingered in the back of her mind like a ghost.