The car ride was long and, for most of the time, dead silent. At first, you cried and screamed to go home, to be taken back to the hospital, to see your friends, but he just ignored you. He didn't say a word.
The first person to speak was yourself, and it wasn't anything too glorious. "I have to pee."
Jack just grunted.
"I really have to go."
"Fine." He turned down a road, and, despite having past multiple gas stations, he did not stop at them. You wanted to ask why, but you choked. You couldn't speak.
Your eyes went wide.
You had an idea.
***
Finally, after an hour, he stopped at a small gas station. It was worn down from the weather, it's once white walls dripping with an unknown liquid. They had faded to a brown color. The roof was red, but the color had faded You could see some bird's nests resting underneath the edge of the roof. On top of the faded roof, was a wooden sign with the word "HANK'S" painted atop.
"I'm hungry," you muttered. Your throat was dry, so your voice came out sort of raspy. You cleared your throat.
"What?"
"Hungry? I want food."
"Oh." You both were still sitting in the car, waiting to go out. "I don't have anything you can eat."
"I can pay for food inside." He turned in his seat, staring at you intently. You immediately looked down. You couldn't look him in his face. Every time this horrifying man looked at you, you could feel the hair on your body rise.
"Okay." Jack opened his car door and hopped out, opening yours and asking you to do the same. You did.
Your body was now flowing with adrenaline. Your heart was pumping so fast you thought you very well could die.
As you both entered, you could see this man that had taken you follow you to the bathroom. You went in.
Then he did too.
He stood in front of the stall as you peed, waiting patiently.
You felt pure fear as you shakily took your pen and wallet out of your pocket. You hoped the sound of you peeing was enough to block out the noises of you moving.
Your flow of pee stopped, and you could hear the man on the other side of the door shake the door. "Get out."
"I-I think I have to poop too."
"Ugh. Fine."
You quickly pulled a one out of your pocket and scribbled "call 911. sos" on the dollar. Your handwriting looked so odd from your shaky hands. You slipped the one into your wallet and your pen back in your pocket.
"I guess I can't. I'm done."
You quickly flushed the toilet and shuffled out of the bathroom, the towering figure following behind you.
You mindlessly grabbed a bag of donuts and rushed over to the register. The entire time, your kidnapper kept his head low and hood up.
"Will this be all?"
You groaned.
"Can I have a pack of Malboros? The red pack."
"Can I see some I.D?" The cashier sounded nervous, and you realized it was likely because of your bloody clothes.
You quickly opened your wallet, you hands fumbling and causing you to almost drop it. You pulled out your ID, showed it to her, and put it back in.
"That'll be...um...$11.39."
"Thanks." You grabbed the two ones and a ten, including the one. Your hands shook wildly as you handed her the money. You hoped and prayed she would flip it over and see the note.
Please. Please. Please.
You grabbed your things, and headed towards the door.
But he grabbed your arm.
"Wait here," he stated, his voice as smooth as sandpaper. You gulped. Your throat was dry and your mouth lulled open.
You turned and watched as he hoped over the counter and grabbed the woman as she placed the money in the register. She gasped as he grabbed her face and pushed her against the wall of various types of cigarettes behind her.
"No, please!" You cried out, tears streaming down your face.
"I know what you gave her." He turned to face you, still holding down the woman. "I'm not fucking stupid!"
"I know you aren't!" Your voice shook as you sobbed. You held on to the shelf beside you for support and sent your items clattering to the floor. "Just please."
He held her face tighter as the woman screamed for help. He turned towards the woman and placed a knife to her neck.
"Do you see what you did wrong?"
"Yes!" You cried, you fell to the ground. "Please. Please. Please."
"I don't think you do." You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to kill her.
But he stopped.
You didn't hear gurgling or screams of pain. You opened your eyes, seeing that he still had the knife to her throat. He adjusted his grip on the knife and moved his hand down to the bottom of the woman's face.
"Are you really sorry?" You stared at him. Sorry?
Of fucking course you weren't.
But what about her?
"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. She didn't do anything. Please."
He closed the knife and slipped it into his hoodie pocket, then threw the woman to the ground with a loud thud!
He walked up to you, pulling you to your feet. He grabbed your neck and pulled you closer to him. You let out a gasp as he leaned down, his face almost touching yours. "I don't think you're sorry. I don't think you care. You're lucky I'm still nice enough to spare her." He moved his hand up to your face, squeezing your cheeks together. "You think I'm some ruthless monster with no grasp on reality? Right? Well guess what? I'm not some fucking TV killer. I'm real, and I'm smart. I can tell you don't care." He moved his hand to the top of your head and pulled your hair, making you let out a cry. As he held your head down, He whispered into your ear: "Don't ever do that again." He let go of you by pushing your head back and releasing his grip. You stumbled, but caught your balance. You just idled there, as though you were a shell of a person. Your whole being was just gone.
You didn't feel real.
"C'mon." He walked out of the door, and you followed behind, like a prisoner. You kept your head low as he opened the passenger side door for you and you stepped in.
As you pulled away, you saw through the windows the woman sobbing on the phone.
***
After what felt like years of driving, you pulled down a dirt path. You hadn't seen any vehicles or building in the last hour or so, probably longer.
You were in the middle of no where. No people meant no help.
You had no help.
After driving down the long, winding dirt path for a few minutes, you both reached a small cabin with a green door. The paint on the door and windows was chipped and washed-out. You could also see that the wood was broken and rotting in places, like in the steps leading to the porch. One step had a large hole, big enough to fit a foot in. One window was boarded up with wood panels, as the glass was missing.
"This is my house," the man said, putting the truck in park and shutting it off. He turned around in his seat, staring at you, looking you up and down. "You are a mess."
You said nothing.
"I'll get you new clothes. For now, you can wear mine."
You began crying again. You didn't want to wear his things. The thought of that made you vomit.
"I have new clothes I haven't worn yet, if that makes you feel better."
It did, but only a small amount.
"I don't want to hurt you," he mumbled, his voice softer than it had ever been before. "I am taking you here to protect you."
"You killed my friends."
He paused. The silence had enveloped you both, dragging you down. It felt like hours before he spoke.
"I have to eat to live, just like you." Your breath got caught in your throat. You couldn't breath. Eat?
"You really ate them?"
"Why else would they look like that?"
"I don't know. Oh my god."
He sighed, putting his hand under his mask and rubbing his face. "I forget how hard it is for people like you to adjust to things like this. You're almost like my friend Toby." The man flung the door open, then slammed it shut. He walked around to the passenger side and opened your door, letting you out. "Fuck now I have to have someone get rid of my truck." he groaned as he grabbed your arm, dragging you inside of the ramshackle building.
The inside, in contrast with the outside, was actually well furnished and clean. There was an older green sofas with a wooden frame—something you could picture being in a house from the seventies. On the floor was a large red rug with a dark colored wooden coffee table on top. Across from the TV, a short TV stand with a medium sized television on it. Hooked up to it was an Xbox One.
"The rooms are down the hall. I have an extra you can use." The man dragged you down a hall, passing what looked to be a kitchen. It was as plain and simple as a kitchen could get: a decently sized mahogany table with a set of four matching chairs. The oven and fridge were a creme color, but very clearly used. They were rusty in some spots, just brown in others. You tried to get a better look, but we're quickly thrown into a bed room, landing on a bed. The comforter was (f/c). You smiled a little.
"This is your room. Shouldn't be too bad. My friends clean up after themselves after they spend the night."
"How do you have friends?" You spewed, regretting it almost immediately. Hell, nothing you could do about it now. "How can people like you and not even realize what kind of monster you are?"
"Kid, believe me," he chuckled a little, sending goosebumps all down your spine. "They know."
He slammed the door shut, leaving you in the room alone.