Hold The Elevator {Saw/Detective Mark Hoffman}

Chapter 1

*My first story back in almost a year...and it's a Saw fanfic. Oof. Look I've been watching the series lately and had an idea ok? Don't judge. Anyways I probably won't be back on here much but enjoy. ~Jess*

Alessia's POV: I figured that once I moved I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. No more fear, anxiety, just a new beginning. Instead, all I got was a whole lot of assholes. Worst part is I can't tell them off in response. All I see is yelling and physicality in the future if I do.

My life wasn't always like this. I just wish I could go back to what it used to be. I moved to L.A. to escape my past, yet it followed me, and takes over every aspect of my life.

I was only 20 when I started dating my ex. He seemed like the perfect guy. Then again, they all did to me. All I ever wanted was to be loved. Hell, I still want that. The beginning was picturesque enough, he would buy me flowers, compliment me, the works. But slowly, it got worse. It went from verbal assault to physical to sexual. The tell-tale domestic violence situation. And as predicted, I was terrified to leave him. If a guy is consistently beating you and then threatens to kill you would you have the metaphorical balls to leave? Don't think so. Four years of this hell. The only reason I managed to get away was because he was arrested on drug charges. As soon as I could, I packed my belongings and moved.

L.A. should be a fresh start. Should is the key word there. I want to be able to sleep easily at night for once and not worry about being strangled during the night. Is it too much to ask? Yet, despite escaping that hellhole I called a relationship, that man is still in my head. He still has the upper hand. What looks like a dirty glare to you looks like a death glare to me. Simply being bumped into can trigger a panic attack. Yelling of any kind is the worst. Needless to say, my worldview is kind of warped. It's almost as if I've lost all ability to see kindness in others. This basically means that since I've moved here, I have no actual friends. Just work colleagues.

Speaking of moving, today I'm finally moving into my own apartment. For the first few months, I was living in a shitty motel as I saved up money from work. But now I have enough to where I feel confident moving into a place of my own. A fresh start.

Given, it's in a slightly-less-shitty building, but still.

For the last hour or so I've just been carrying boxes one by one up to my new place. I have no upper body strength whatsoever, so bringing up multiple in one trip is out of the question. Fortunately this is the last one. My knick knacks. I have a pension for collecting things to clutter up my living space with, and that's essentially what this box is filled with. Figures, books, mugs, whatever odds and ends I could shove in it. Why am I bothering to tell you this? Because not even two seconds after I waddled back into the building, to which no one offered to hold the door open for me, someone bumped into me, knocking me over and causing the box contents to spill.

"Fucking watch where you're standing!" He said, walking outside without another word.

I had to stop myself from tearing up on the spot. I hate confrontation like that. This is what triggers the PTSD I have from my past abuse. But it also reenforces everything I said earlier.

After finally getting everything back into the box, I continued waddling back over to the elevator. A man entered it from the other side of the building, and suddenly the doors started to close. Of course. Just my luck, right?

"Hold the elevator!" I called out, thinking it was in vain. Knowing what I've been dealing with since I got here, I figured it would fall on deaf ears.

But to my surprise, a hand calmly slid out between the doors to stop them from closing.

I turned the corner and was met with the, admittedly handsome, man who actually did something nice.

"Thank you." I said with a smile.

"No problem." He said, rather calmly, "What floor?"

"Nine."

"Oh, good, that's my floor." He let out an awkward chuckle. "Are you moving in? I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Yeah, been living in the city for a few months but only just now got my own place." I replied. He nodded.

"Here, let me help you with that." He said, holding his hands out, offering to take the box for me.

"Oh, you don't have to do that." I said.

"No it's fine." He said, "Besides, you've probably been doing this all day, might as well give you a break." I reluctantly handed him the box.

"Thank you." I replied. "So far you're the nicest guy I've met since I've moved here."

"If I'm the nicest guy you've met then your bar is set really low." He chuckled.

"You have no idea." I replied.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened on the ninth floor.

"After you." He gestured.

"Thank you." I chuckled, stepping out first, him following behind. "I can take that from you now." I tried to take my box back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please, it's really not heavy anyways." I chuckled.

"If you insist." He said, handing it back. "Name's Mark by the way. Hoffman."

"Alessia. I'd shake your hand but obviously I'm a little occupied." I replied, sticking out my elbow as an offering. Mark chuckled and shook it. "Oh, 9-03, here I am!"

"Well not only are we floor neighbors were actual neighbors too." Mark replied, "I'm just down there in 9-02."

"Good to know." I said. "Well, Mark, it was really nice meeting you. I'll definitely stop by and say hello at some point when I'm settled. Thank you again."

"Nice to meet you too Alessia." He smirked. If you ever need anything, you have my apartment number." I nodded before heading inside my apartment...