FicWad

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, still frowning as she moved to stand closer to him.

"Escaping." She whispered hoarsely, she had not spoken in days, save for screaming.

Peter Wentz was confused by this girl standing before him. She was blood soaked and bruised. He knew that everyone in the main room dared not to come in here for fear of what would happen. His managing party had made sure to instill that fear in them. They were running the show here really, all he did was have his name signed to it and even then he didn't know why he agreed to that much.

Why did this girl have so much blood on her though? Why would she escape to here of all places? Why would she even need to escape?

He turned from her, not bearing to look at the crimson stains anymore. It looked like she had taken part in a massacre. What had been going on?

He felt arms wrapped around his neck, draped loosely over his shoulders. Her breath was soft against his ear and neck. He felt her leave a kiss on his neck and then trail to his ear. "Thank you" was the whisper as she kissed his ear and then softly bit it.

Thank you for what though? He knew this girl. He had read her file when Aaron had brought her in. He remembered her hair swaying gently and her head bobbing softly as she was carried into the main room by one of Aaron's men. She had been unconcious, of course. They always were when they arrived. That was before they locked him in this room.

He spun around to face her. "Why?" he spoke, staring intently into her eyes. He always believed that a person's eyes could give away a person's intentions, who they were.

Her arms were still draped over his shoulders. "For saving me"

This only confused him further.

"I know I'm not leaving here alive." She said matter-of-factly. He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "I don't want to go back there. Alive anyway." She finished softly.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to die." he said, reaching up to cup her face. "I don't kill anyone."

What did he call everyone back in the other room or that room in the left tunnel. They were being murdered. He was murdering their souls, their wills to live.

Pete caught her last thought and gasped aloud. "What did you just think?" he asked softly. He could read minds.

"I'm sorry" she mumbled shaking her head. She forgot what people had said. They said God could read minds.

"What do who say?" he asked.

She bowed her head and continued to shake it. She was just digging her grave deeper now.

"Please tell me." he urged.

Did he not know what was going on back where she had run from? She was in no way prepared to describe the grizzly scene she had escaped. Remembering it now even made her feel like sicking up.

"Holy fuck" he gasped quietly. He had been in her thoughts when she had pictured the nightmare that made her queasy. Was that what they were really doing to these people?

"I am so, so sorry. I didn't know." he whispered, even he knew his pathetic apology would not amount to enough to even compare to the horror. "Saying sorry isn't enough but I.." he was cut short by her lips crashing onto his own.

The kiss started desperate and needy and only grew stronger from there. He placed his arms around her waist and lifted her so she could sit on the back of the sofa. She wrapped her legs around his waist and entwined her fingers in his hair.

He wanted this. He needed her, his brain screamed. Maybe she needed him too. She strangely enough needed the comfort of the man she had grown to loathe only by reputation.

Back in his old life Peter Wentz had loved this girl from afar, only speaking to her on his way into work at his imprint label. But in those few minutes every day he had fallen hard for her. Deep in her mind he knew that she could remember him. He now knew how she had felt about him, that was playing across her mind but right now she wasn't doing this because of her feelings. She was doing it for pure comfort. Damage control, maybe. It was inappropriate, it was stupid; but she wanted it.

He broke away from the kiss and shook his head. "It's not right." he said. "Not after all that. I want you, but not like this. Not when everything is so damn fucked up out there."

She placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth and pulled back so she could meet his gaze. "I want you just as much as I ever did. I need you more now."

"No you don't." He said trying to convince her. As much as he wanted her, doing this now would only cause more damage than good. "You need to get out of here."

"How?" she spoke almost accusingly. He was just as much a prisoner here. They had made that much clear. Before this he couldn't read minds, life had never been normal but then again it had never been this fucked up.

He sighed and dropped his arms to his sides, as she slid off the sofa to stand.

"I don't know." he spoke.

"Exactly." she whispered. "How do you expect me to leave this place when even you can't?" She couldn't read minds, but she was perceptive.

"You're right." he said. "Stay here then. Until I can find a way to get the fuck out of here."

She nodded, "Okay."

"Good." he replied, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up so he could carry her up the tall winding staircase that resided in the corner of the room. He carried her up the stairs and into a small, dim bedroom. There was a messy double bed in the centre of the room. He set her down on the sheets.

"You stay here." he said smoothing down the sheets somewhat futiley. "I can't guarantee you'll be safe but I promise to protect you." he said as he fiddled with the edge of a frayed woolen blanket, avoiding her eyes.

"I know." she said quietly. She laid back on the mattress and suddenly winced as her back came in contact with the solid surface.

"What's wrong?" Pete asked, concerned.

"Nothing." she replied softly. She didn't want to draw attention to the wounds. They were horrific, they were ugly and she hated them.

"No, you're lying." he said, suddenly determined. He began tugging gently at the hem of her shirt, urging her to show him what was hurting her so badly.

"Okay, okay." she mumbled pulling away from his grasp.

She turned away from him, to face the wall and drew in a deep breath. She didn't want him to see this. It was a hideous reminder of 'life' that she hated herself for having, for recieving. Pete sat patiently on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to show him what was aching. She slowly peeled off her shirt, leaving herself in only a bra.

Her back was all torn up, the skin was bloodstained and raw. Almost every inch of her skin was bloodied and ripped. It was a terrible sight that set Pete's stomach churning. He knew he should look away but he couldn't. It looked like it had hurt and Pete could only try to imagine that it had.

Her eyes were tightly squeezed shut and her fists were clenched in the sheets. She was trying not to cry into the silence. She could only imagine what Pete was thinking as he stared at her horribly mutilated back.

"I am so sorry." he choked out.

The tone of his voice only released torrents of tears down her cheeks. She was still turned away from him.

"Honey, don't cry." he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She flinched and pulled away to reach for her shirt and put it back on so she didn't feel so naked in more ways than just physically.

"It's ugly." she whispered, finally facing him. "I'm ugly." she repeated, still unable to meet his eyes.

"You're not ugly." he said so strongly and confidently that the tone of his voice surprised her. He grabbed her hands and now his thumbs were tracing circles on the tops of her hands.

"But it's ugly. Hideous." she cried. There was silence. Even Pete couldn't deny that the sight had curdled his insides, but she was wrong about her being ugly.

"You didn't deserve it." He said.

She shook her head to try and shake away the tears that kept welling in her eyes.

"Look get some sleep, please." he almost begged her. He stood, not waiting for an answer and took one final look at her. She looked to be the pure meaning of a beautiful disaster. Even bruised and in so much turmoil, she was still as beautiful as he ever knew.

Her mind was pleading for him to stay, but she hadn't yet acted upon that want.

He was just about to leave when she reached out and grasped his wrist, pulling him back down onto the bed. "Stay with me." she whispered, pressing him into the mattress with her weight.

She began to trail kisses down along his bare neck. She stopped to pull his tee shirt off over his head and then continued to kiss a path down his chest. Every time her lips met his skin a shiver coursed through him. She was now kissing down his abdomen, over the tattoo that graced his skin and down to the waistband of his jeans.

She paused and looked up at him. His eyes were scrunched shut and his bottom lip was gripped tightly between his teeth. She continued kissing across hips, then reached for his belt buckle.

She felt a hand grasp her own. "No." he whispered hoarsely. His skin was burning and it took all his strength to stop her but she didn't need to do this to make him stay with her tonight. She glanced up and met his eyes, there she could see the most intense emotions reflected. Ones she had never seen in anyone's eyes when they looked at her.

"I'll stay with you no matter what." he whispered.

With that she crawled up and lay beside him, closing her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist, leaving his hand to rest on her hip bone. Her face was pressed into the crook of his neck.

It felt comforting and warm, and despite what was going on beyond the doors of Peter Wentz's prison, it felt like the safest place in the world.