Brooke slumped down in the bath, hearing him walk away into the next room. He'd left the door open, presumably so he could hear if she tried anything, but she was feeling too weak to do anything but sit there in her ripped clothes and cry silently. She lifted her hands, still marked from the handcuffs, to cover her eyes, feeling the hot tears on her cheeks.
After a few minutes, she decided sitting there crying wasn't going to do her any good. And she didn't want to make him even more angry at her. She didn't know why he was treating her like this, but she didn't want to make it worse.
Standing up, she slowly stripped of her ruined clothes, letting them fall to the bathroom floor, before turning on the shower and letting the water cascade down on her head. Her body was aching all over, and her mind was whirling with everything that had happened; the way he had bitten her, the unnatural look on his face when he had done it, the speed with which he'd carried her, the rape - because, no matter how she dressed it up, that was what it had been - and his determination to make her scared of him. She slowly washed herself, trying to scrub herself clean of him, buying herself time before she had to see him again. Eventually, when she was completely clean and there was nothing else she could do to stall, she turned off the shower and stepped out. There was a towel on the towel rail which she used to pat her dark hair dry before wrapping it around herself. She didn't want to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom, but equally, she didn't want him to come in and get her. She knew it would be worse if that happened. She'd seen enough movies to know you didn't piss off the person that had kidnapped you, especially when there was something unnatural and downright scary about that person.
Timidly, she pushed the bathroom door all the way open and padded out, her hazel eyes nervously scanning around for him. "Da..." she started before correcting herself. "Master?"