October 11th, 2005
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You're not sure what time it is, but you passed out after being locked in your trunk. The panic attack and outburst you had was more than enough to make you feel exhausted beyond repair.
You groan and sit up, observing your surroundings. It's the same house from when you were kidnapped. Except now, you were sitting on a mattress, one of your blankets covering the lower half of your body. You move to stand, but notice that your right wrist is handcuffed to a nearby metal pole. Of course he would restrain you.
You flop down on the bed, facing the wall. This can't be real - you just have no idea why he would have lied to you this whole time.
Maybe I would have been better off not knowing him.
The tears begin to fall again, plopping down on the mattress in little wet drops. You still can't believe it - the way he lied to you this entire time. He kidnapped you for gods sake. All to keep up this little, "facade" of his. In reality, while you were relaxing at home, he was out butchering people.
The door creaks, and you close your eyes, pretending to sleep. Footsteps get closer and closer, until they stop right in front of you.
"I know yer not sleepin'." Says the gruff voice you've come to know and love.
....
You don't turn your head - instead opting to ignore him. Maybe if you pretend he's not there he'll go away...
He clears his throat. "I got ya somethin'."
Oh? Your curiosity piqued, you turn to look at him, a glare on your face. You don't look at his eyes - instead choosing to look at what he's holding. It's a backpack. It's YOUR backpack.
Bob holds it up the backpack, the usual grin on his face not faltering. "Here." He says, tossing it onto your lap. You say nothing, simply jumping a little as the bag is tossed onto you.
Bob sighs. "Thought you might want some stuff from home."
You avoid eye contact, zipping open the bag. There's some clothes, a toothbrush and... a cat plushie. You scrunch your eyebrows, pulling it out of the bag and holding it in your lap.
Bob is watching your every move, curious as to what you might do. He watches as you hold the plushie, staring down at it with a somber expression. Suddenly, you're sniffing - oh. You're crying again.
You look up at him, eyes red. "Are you gonna kill me?"
Bob raises his eyebrows in shock. Really?
He crouches down, getting to your level. You don't look at him as he speaks. "No, Darlin'. I'm not gonna kill ya." He looks at the floor. "If I wanted to do that...I would have already."
That does not help this situation. Instead, it serves to make you cry harder. Bob panics, noticing that comment made you more upset.
"Uh- listen sunshine." He cups the side of your cheek with his hand. "I love you. I wouldn't- I'm not going to hurt you. Trust me."
"You already did."
"Huh?"
"Hurt me. You already did." You say, grabbing his hand that rests on your cheek and moving it away gently.
He ignores the comment you just made. Bob sighs, standing up. "Are ya hungry?"
... oh yes. Absolutely. You've haven't eaten in 24 hours. But you don't want to eat what Bob gives you. So you say nothing, simply staring at your feet.
Damn. This is harder than he thought. You always loved his cooking. Bob sighs, turning away from you. "I'll take your silence as a yes." He says, walking into the kitchen. As soon as he turns the corner, you dig deep into your backpack and yank out a new shirt. It would be nice to change out of this blood-covered one. You go to take off your shirt, but then realize that you're handcuffed to a pole.
Great. You huff, throwing the shirt down on the bed. So much for getting changed. Soon enough, Bob comes back into the living room, plate in hand. He leans down, handing you the plate.
"Here."
You look at the plate without taking it from him. It looks like a sandwich. However, you turn your head away from the plate, scooting back on the mattress.
Bob is slightly offended. "What? You don't want it?"
You look at the wall. "It's probably a human thigh sandwich." You say angrily, crossing your arms.
Bob sighs in exasperation. "For Christs sake, (Y/N), it's peanut-butter and jelly." He angrily puts the plate next to you on the mattress and promptly leaves the room, angrily grumbling to himself. You stare at the sandwich, stomach rumbling.
Peanut-butter and jelly huh....
You pray that the jelly isn't made out of blood as you take a bite. Well... it certainly tastes like jelly. And it tastes heavenly - considering you haven't eaten. You devour the sandwich rather quickly, making sure that Bob isn't watching you from a corner or something. You push the plate to the side, wrapping your blanket around you. At least he was kind enough to grab some of your stuff. Sucks that you don't have your phone though.
Sooner than later however, Bob walks back into the room, scratching his head nervously. He stares at you, until he notices that you finished your sandwich.
He says nothing, instead pointing to your bloody t-shirt. "You wanna get changed?"
You continue to give him the silent treatment.
"...okay." Bob says, awkwardly walking towards you. He leans down, grabbing the shirt you chucked onto the mattress. If you wanna get changed, he's gonna have to uncuff you...
You watch as Bob's gaze slowly goes from you to the cuff on your wrist. You look back at him, noticing that he's already looking at you again.
"If ya wanna get changed..." he says, pointing at the cuff. "Ya can't run, darlin'."
Hah! Unlikely. However, you simply nod your head, lifting up your wrist for him to unlock it. He sticks his hand in his pocket, yanking out a small key. He shoves it in the lock, turning it, effectively setting you free.
Now's my chance!
You take this opportunity to kick him in the stomach, making him fall on his ass. You scramble up, but he grabs your ankle, making you fall face first onto the wood floor.
Bob growls, pulling you towards him. "Goddamnit I TOLD you not to run."
You struggle as he grabs you, sitting you directly on his lap. With every struggle, he grabs onto you harder. "Stop - fuckin'! Stop!"
After a minute or so, you give up, going limp in his grip. You still don't say anything, instead just sitting there on his warm thighs.
Bob sighs in exasperation once again. "Fuck. Okay. Let's... take off yer shirt." He sticks his hands under the bottom of your shirt, lifting it up over your arms.
Now you're sitting there shirtless on Bob's lap. You're glad your back is to him, because your face is beet red. And so is Bob's as he looks at your smooth back. He wants to run his hand down your flesh - but he doesn't want to stress you out even more. So instead, he pulls the clean shirt over your head.
After being clothed, you once again try to get out of his grip. He's way too strong however, instead grabbing you and shoving you down on the mattress. You scowl at him as he re-cuffs you.
He leans back, staring at you.
You stare back. "Bob. I can't live here forever." You say, at the brink of tears once again.
He blinks. "Sunshine, we're not gonna. We're gonna move once I can find us a place out of state."
You glare at him. "I can't live with you forever."
Huh? Why not? Bob sits down on the mattress right next to you. He's close, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. "(Y/N)... I need you." He says nervously, wringing his hands together. "When I'm around ya.... I don't have the urge to... kill."
He turns his head, looking at you with lidded eyes. He's not smiling anymore. "I think you can help me."
You squint. "You think I can...help... you?" You sigh. "Bob, I'm not a psychiatrist."
He shakes his head. "I'm not sayin' I need therapy. I'm just sayin', when I'm around you, I don't have the urge to murder."
You definitely think he's needs therapy, but you don't say that. Instead, you stare at your feet. "...what makes you think I'd want to help you?"
Bob grabs your chin, gently turning your head towards his. "Cause ya love me." He says matter of factly, that Cheshire grin reappearing on his face.
You bloom red, looking away from him. "I..."
"Listen, (Y/N). There's a lot of shit I lied about. But there's one thing that stayed true this entire time." He says, bringing his face closer to yours. "And it's the fact that I... love you." And at that, he kisses you softly. You don't pull away, instead melting into the warm embrace.
He's right. You do love him.
You pull away, looking at him. "...okay. Fine. I can help. But-" you say, lifting up a finger. "You need to let me go home. I promise I won't snitch."
Bob squints, inspecting your body language. It looks like you're telling the truth. However, he's still hesitant. "Maybe in a couple days." He says, kissing you on the top of your head.
Bruh.
You sigh, leaning into him. "...okay. Fine. But if you let me go home, I can use my computer to find us a place to live. Out of state." You say, grabbing his hand.
He grips it back, face in your hair.
He hopes he can trust you. Either way, he'll need to find something to hold against you if you decide to change your mind. For now, he thinks he'll continue to smell your hair.