He's lucky there's a lift on the stairs, well marked, as otherwise there was no way he'd have gotten up them. After that, finding Kim's room is easy, though when he opens the door and finds what looks like a nice hotel room, it feels unreal, dreamlike. After so long in a small, bare cell, something about the room makes him uncomfortable.
More uncomfortable, though, is finding men's clothing in his size in the bathroom, neatly folded on the countertop; a towel, soap, beard trimmer and electric razor laid out for him as though someone had been expecting him. Looking around her room, he finds nothing that looks like there's a man living there, nothing to indicate that this isn't for him. His stomach twists, panic gripping him for a moment as the thought comes back to him that this might be another trap. But then it's all so elaborate. There had been so many people downstairs, they couldn't all be working for the Chinese. Kim couldn't be.
Locking the bathroom door, he stands there for a moment, staring at the things on the counter. He's avoiding the mirror with his eyes on purpose; he hasn't seen himself in a mirror for however long he's been imprisoned.
Finally, he reaches over, picking up the beard trimmer, and looks up into the mirror.
Suddenly he's not so surprised Kim didn't recognise him at first; with his long, shaggy hair an beard, deeper lines around his eyes and forehead and thinner face, he's not entirely sure he'd recognise himself.
He looks down into the sink for a moment, trying to take it all in, not sure how he feels, or if he really feels anything. Then, he turns on the trimmer and gets to work.
Twenty minutes later he's in the shower, clean-shaven, his hair down to a long buzz cut. Stepping under the stream of lukewarm water, he can feel some of the muscles in his body start to relax; the first pleasurable feeling he's had in a long time, even if the feeling of the water on some of the more recent cuts and burns makes him clench his fists in pain. For a moment, he just stands there, enjoying the feeling of the warm spray, opening his mouth and letting it run down his parched throat, before picking up the bar of soap and starting to scrub himself all over, clenching his teeth as the soapy water makes his injuried stinkg. Washing off the accumulated dirt and blood and grease, using warm water and actual shampoo and soap... It feels like the most decadent of luxuries just to feel clean again.
He doesn't want to get out of the shower, but eventually he does, wrapping himself in the warmth and softness of the towel, before pulling on the sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt provided, grateful that there's nothing involving zippers or buttons as the fingers on his right hand are still stiff with new scar tissue. He can't raise his arms much past shoulder height but he manages to get into his clothes, stepping out into the room.
The bed looks soft and inviting--God, how long has it been since he's slept in a bed?--but it's not his room, and lying down doesn't feel right. Instead he takes a seat in one of the chairs--still much mroe comfortable than anything he's experienced in a long time--and sits in the silence, trying to believe that this isn't all fake, that it isn't a hallucination or a dream.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-02-11 03:35 am (UTC)More uncomfortable, though, is finding men's clothing in his size in the bathroom, neatly folded on the countertop; a towel, soap, beard trimmer and electric razor laid out for him as though someone had been expecting him. Looking around her room, he finds nothing that looks like there's a man living there, nothing to indicate that this isn't for him. His stomach twists, panic gripping him for a moment as the thought comes back to him that this might be another trap. But then it's all so elaborate. There had been so many people downstairs, they couldn't all be working for the Chinese. Kim couldn't be.
Locking the bathroom door, he stands there for a moment, staring at the things on the counter. He's avoiding the mirror with his eyes on purpose; he hasn't seen himself in a mirror for however long he's been imprisoned.
Finally, he reaches over, picking up the beard trimmer, and looks up into the mirror.
Suddenly he's not so surprised Kim didn't recognise him at first; with his long, shaggy hair an beard, deeper lines around his eyes and forehead and thinner face, he's not entirely sure he'd recognise himself.
He looks down into the sink for a moment, trying to take it all in, not sure how he feels, or if he really feels anything. Then, he turns on the trimmer and gets to work.
Twenty minutes later he's in the shower, clean-shaven, his hair down to a long buzz cut. Stepping under the stream of lukewarm water, he can feel some of the muscles in his body start to relax; the first pleasurable feeling he's had in a long time, even if the feeling of the water on some of the more recent cuts and burns makes him clench his fists in pain. For a moment, he just stands there, enjoying the feeling of the warm spray, opening his mouth and letting it run down his parched throat, before picking up the bar of soap and starting to scrub himself all over, clenching his teeth as the soapy water makes his injuried stinkg. Washing off the accumulated dirt and blood and grease, using warm water and actual shampoo and soap... It feels like the most decadent of luxuries just to feel clean again.
He doesn't want to get out of the shower, but eventually he does, wrapping himself in the warmth and softness of the towel, before pulling on the sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt provided, grateful that there's nothing involving zippers or buttons as the fingers on his right hand are still stiff with new scar tissue. He can't raise his arms much past shoulder height but he manages to get into his clothes, stepping out into the room.
The bed looks soft and inviting--God, how long has it been since he's slept in a bed?--but it's not his room, and lying down doesn't feel right. Instead he takes a seat in one of the chairs--still much mroe comfortable than anything he's experienced in a long time--and sits in the silence, trying to believe that this isn't all fake, that it isn't a hallucination or a dream.