He slides a knife out of his pocket now and you squirm to get away, suddenly just that more afraid of him. Slash. Don't like don't read.
Your legs are shaking as you stand up, looking around. You’re in a dark room you don’t recognize. There’s no windows and only one door, which is closed. You walk over to it warily, desperately hoping it isn’t locked because you really don’t want to die of starvation in an empty room. But of course, it’s locked.
“Scared?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump. You turn around to see a man about your height you didn’t notice before. He’s smiling warmly but his eyes are what scare you. Something about them is off. You don’t answer his question and he doesn’t seem to mind, just steps closer to you until you’re nearly touching. You would back up but you don’t want to look scared.
“Do you remember last night?” he asks quietly as he takes your hand, tracing invisible lines on your palm. You shiver slightly as you shake your head. He merely smiles but gives no other signs of hearing you, obviously caught up in examining your hand. “Do you have a headache?”
You blink in surprise. “What? How did you know?” you ask. He just shrugs and trails one of his fingers up from your palm to your wrist, following the vein there. And you’re slowly starting to remember leaving the bar Jon dragged you to and finding a man outside—this man—who started talking to you. After that it’s pretty blank but all that matters is this guy is creeping you out.
He slides a knife out of his pocket now and you squirm to get away, suddenly just that more afraid of him. Your breathing picks up as the cold metal parts your skin. You whimper in fear or pain—even you don’t know which—as he makes cut after cut on your wrist, none of them too deep, but deep enough to make you bleed.
He rubs his hand over the various wounds and it feels weird but you’ve stopped protesting, just wanting him to get it over with. You watch him licking the warm fluids off his fingers and the blood oozes from his mouth a bit as he moves to kiss you. At first you try to dodge him but then give in, again hoping that if you comply it’ll be over and done.
When he’s done playing with your blood, he pulls some gauze from one of his pockets—most people you know don’t keep that kind of thing on their person—and fixes up your wrist before leaving you alone in the room. He locks the door. Eventually you figure out that he’s not coming back so you lay down on the cold hardwood floor and go to sleep.
After about two weeks of being held in that room, he lets you out so you can eat at an actual table rather than off the floor. The only times he’s been coming in since that first day were to bring you food or water. He hasn’t hurt you like that since. He gave you a bowl of spaghetti so you’re eating it silently while he watches. “Why are you keeping me here?” you ask around a mouthful of spaghetti.
His hand immediately slips into yours and he slowly lets it travel from there to your wrist that’s nearly healed. “You’re just so good. You’re the only one that’s fought the least out of all the others,” he says to you, slowly unwrapping the gauze. He’s only changed it once or twice since he hurt you.
“Others?” you ask quietly.
He nods. “Oh, yes, there have been many others before you. You’ve just been the best so far. I’ll be keeping you for a while.” You shiver as he says this. He nips the top of your ear and you let out a small surprised squeak. He just laughs and finishes pulling your bandages off. “Do you know my name?” he asks quietly as he moves away from you.
You think it’s strange that in the time you’ve been here, this is the first real conversation the two of you have had and that you don’t know his name. “No, sir.” You don’t know why you called him that but you want to call him something and putting yourself below him will almost definitely make him happy.
“Keep on eating, Ryan,” he says quietly and you have the desire to turn around and see what he’s doing but instead just simply obey him. You find it’s easier not to fight with him. You just remain silent but you’re curious about what’s going on. You’re almost too anxious to eat but you manage, thankfully. You can never predict his actions.
Finally he’s returned and his hand is rubbing the back of your neck, making your breath hitch from fear. Or maybe excitement. You don’t really know anymore. “My name’s Brendon,” he says quietly, kissing your hair lightly. “I’m going to take care of you from now on.”
You want to point out that you’re probably older than him and that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself but the fact that you’re here just proves you wrong and it’s not a good idea to argue. So you just nod and smile at him. “Hold still. This’ll only hurt a little bit, okay?” You just do as he says and sit there motionless as he jabs a small needle in your arm. You cringe and make a face but you don’t say a word.
Whatever drugs he’s given you, they seem to work nearly immediately. The room is spinning and everything is so blurry. Your brain is all fogged up and cloudy and it’s so hard to process thoughts right now. You feel tired, like you just ran a marathon, even though you wouldn’t do such a thing. When you start to pass out, Brendon catches you and carries you back to his room, not the empty one.
When you wake up, your body feels stiff and your mind is still pretty slow. Brendon is nowhere to be seen, as always. But he’s back soon, although it may not have been ‘soon’. You’ve lost your conception of time and your mind isn’t working right anyways so you don’t even really feel bored. You think vaguely he might’ve just gotten you high but you’re pretty sure that if that was the case, you wouldn’t have passed out so fast.
Brendon brings a friend with him, a man named Spencer. “How is he?” Spencer asks, actually sounding concerned.
“He passed out when I first gave it to him and he’s still acting a little off but he doesn’t have a third eye all of a sudden and he was even talking in his sleep like he usually does.” You didn’t know you talk in your sleep. Brendon smiles at you and sits down on the bed beside you. “How are you feeling sweetie?” The sudden pet names don’t really bother you.
“Okay,” you say and it’s kinda a lie but not really.
He just smiles and laces his fingers with yours. Odd. “We’re going to have company tonight, Spencer.”
“And?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“And I don’t want anything to get messed up.”
“Oh,” Spencer says and he looks at your arm where Brendon had placed a Band-Aid over where he jabbed that needle in. Spencer clicks his tongue disapprovingly after removing it and says, “This could get infected.”
Brendon nods, wrapping an arm around you and pulling your thin frame into his lap. You don’t feel comfortable with this but don’t protest. “So you want me to make sure your company doesn’t see him?”
Spencer sighs. “Fine.” That’s the first night Brendon makes you sleep at Spencer’s house.
It’s been four months since you were first taken into captivity and you’ve been staying more and more at Spencer’s house. Until Brendon comes unexpectedly, demanding he have you back immediately. You’re afraid but you don’t protest. You never do. Brendon is drunk and Spencer tries to convince him to just go home but Brendon is determined. In the end, Brendon drags you home. And yes, you think of it as home now.
Brendon gets to be extra violent this time, cutting more veins than just the one on your wrist. As you lay bleeding out on the floor, you’re actually rather calm. You never figured out just what those drugs were supposed to do but you keep getting given them on a nearly daily basis.
“I love you,” Brendon says quietly, after practically ripping your arm to shreds. You just smile weakly and let him kiss you, forcing yourself not to shove him away. When Spencer finds out about your arms and then the kiss, he finally calls the police. You’re taken back home only to be told your father is dead.
Spencer shows up the next night to comfort you and he takes you back to his house with him and it’s then that you realize that Brendon was never home. Spencer was always the one that took care of you, making sure you ate enough, making sure to dress your wounds properly, changing your bandages when he needed to. And now that Brendon’s in prison, you feel a lot better, like there’s a weight gone from your chest now.
And where Brendon had always left gaping holes in your heart, Spencer seems to fill them all in.