A cold, bloody shoulder.

John stepped inside the room hoping Pocahontas was sleeping. Of course she wasn't. She was wide awake when he entered.
He made a point out of not acknowlegding her excistence and pretending she wasn't there.
He walked over to the bandages he had left at the table before he started taking off his old bandages, turning his back on the bed and on Pocahontas.

Pocahontas heard him walk in the room, and, instead of looking at him. She looked away, making herself stop crying. She didn't know what to say, and she wasn't going to open her mouth, and say something stupid. She looked at the bed sheets, wondering what was going to happen..

He let the old bandages fall to the floor. They had bled through, and was now nothing but a wet cloth soaked in blood. He quickly put the new bandages on before pulling a new top over his head and walking to the kitchen. He hadn't eaten all day.
He stopped in the doorway and glanced over at Pocahontas, just to make sure she was completely fine. Then he left for the kitchen and grabbed the first thing he could find on the table. A green apple.

Pocahontas stayed laying on the bed, she then slowly moved herself. Having her head laying on her hand, looking at the wall now. She wiped some tears that were able to escape her eyes, making her force the tears away..She wasn't going to cry in front of him..

He sat down by the table not wanting to go into the other room and face Pocahontas right away. He needed to stop bringing girls into his room. It always ended in him wanting to ignore her or having her leave... or both.
He got up from the table when he finished his apple and walked into the other room looking at Pocahontas.
"Tomorrow," he said in a straight, calm voice.
"You're going back tomorrow."

Pocahontas nodded, not knowing how to respond. It took her awhile to reply, "Okay.."

[OOC: Writing this as if my latest fanfiction (The First Tear) happened right before, so if you want to understand more of the meaning behind this post, or John's actions in the future, I suggest you read it.]

He was soaking wet as the snow had melted and he was making small pools on the floor wherever he went.
He desperatly needed a shower, but was too tired to stand up any longer than he already had. He had to sit down.
Grabbing a towel, he tried to dry himself as much as he could, or at least so much he wouldn't drip on the floor anymore, before he sat down on the edge of the bed by Pocahontas.
He looked awful, he knew that. He looked worse than he had since he was a child. And if he knew her right, she was bound to open her mouth. He just did not want to hear anything from her at the moment.
"One word, and I.. swear..." His words were broken, and he had to stop his sentence as the words became choked and broken. He was about to cry, but would not let himself. In fact he had just stopped crying before he entered the room, and he had no intentions of starting again now. Not in front of her.

"One word, and I.. swear..."

Pocahontas didn't open her mouth, she stayed quiet. Waiting for permission to talk, though, she knew she was never going to be allowed..She knew the consequences if she would disobey him. She only looked to the left, staring at the wall. Her emotions weren't showing, and it was more that she didn't want to have emotions. Everything that had happened to her..Everything he had done to her..And what he had done to Odette..She was just another toy, and, she was tired of being a toy..Though, she wasn't going to cry..In in front of him, that was the last she was going to do..Though, she kinda wanted to cry in front of him..Show the hurt she had been in, showing how much she just wanted her freedom more then ever now...

She would do anything...For her freedom..

OOC: sorry to spam... but i just got this song stuck in my head, when i read pocas post.... It's a finnish song about domestic abuse. "If you hit me one more time, i'm gonna kill you. And beat you with something that you beat me with."

John got up and left the room. He would deal with her in the morning. Now he was too tired, both physically and mentally, to even lift a finger. He couldn't exactly make himself sleep in the same bed, or even the same room, as Pocahontas, so he was going to have to spend the night somewhere else. He'd probably go to the basement. It was freezing cold, but at least there were beds down there now that he had moved them all out of the other rooms. He was going to remove them. He would. Soon. Just not now. For now, he was in the right mind of "everything can wait until tomorrow." He just needed some rest.