'Hungry enough to kiss me now?'
He's back, holding a tray just like the one from yesterday.
Merle stares at him at him. She still doesn't know for sure if he's Cole or not. Which is weird because if someone is your own personal bogeyman they might at least be kind enough to introduce that fact properly.
'Or thirsty? Let's see.' He sets the tray down on the floor like before, but this time walks over to Merle holding the glass of water.
Merle looks at it longingly. She'd actually managed to scrape up some of the water from the floor after he'd left yesterday, but it hadn't been enough and she's still horribly thirsty.
He's very close to her now, but holding the glass carefully out of easy reach. 'Just a kiss.'
She has to drink. She doesn't have a choice. She has to kiss him. But now he's this close the fact he might be Darius Cole isn't half so appalling as the smell of him. Like blocked drains on a summer's day. Merle holds her breath, screws up her face and pecks him on the cheek.
When she opens her eyes he hands her the glass and she drains it.
'Oh,' the man says, 'you were thirsty. I'll bring a bigger glass tomorrow. I am sorry. We really have no idea how much humans need to drink.'
'Eight glasses a day,' Merle says tautly. Like he didn't know that.
'As much as that.' He pauses and looks as if he is making some kind of mental calculation. 'I'll have Kris-tina bring a pitcher down.' He turns and walks back across the cell to collect the toast. As he picks it up he says, 'We gave him no blood for a month. Nothing. We didn't know what it would do. He started to hallucinate. We kept him naked and he knew we were watching him lose his mind. Do you see those marks there on the bench?'
Merle looks down next to where she's sitting. There are a number of deep gouges in the wood. 'Yes.'
'He bit right into it.'
Merle's brain seems a little clearer now she's had some water. 'You said "we", "we gave him no blood for a month". You're one of the Black Emerald Clan.'
The man nods at her as he carries over the plate of toast.
'I thought Cole had killed you all.'
'Not quite all,' says the man. Now Merle isn't so thirsty she can feel her hunger gnawing and burrowing inside her. The toast isn't particularly nice. Limp plas-ticky white bread, barely browned, but the sight of it is making her feel light-headed. The man reaches out and runs a finger down the front of her T-shirt. 'I won't bite you,' he says, clearly amused by this not-very-hilarious statement, 'then he'd kill me for sure. But now, your food, I'm afraid the price is another kiss for the old man. On the lips this time. Your food for my food.'
The man is gross, but, Merle knows, she can't go 25 days without food. So she just sits quite still and lets him move in and kiss her on her firmly closed mouth. His lips are inhumanly cold and the smell is nauseating.
'Ah, the warmth of it after so long on plasma packs. Too rich for an old man,' he says as he pulls back. Then he sets down the plate of toast before turning away, almost sulkily, and stalking out of the cell.