Trees swayed outside in the brisk wind, kicking up fallen leaves that were nothing but remains of what was once green and bright. It was bleak out, grey sky and beige grass. The air was cooler than it had been thus far and you could tell. It leaked through the crevasses and cracks of the old shack, whistling and moaning through the boards like a spirit trying to communicate with the living. The window itself leaked something awful, so you'd stuffed a spare blanket through what ever means you could to try and save yourself the trouble. Outside you could hear the dull thud and crack of wood splitting, rhythmic in timing. You listened with half interest at the consistency of the axe, blocking out the sharp and drawn out whistle of the windows moans.
It had been a little over a week like this now since Tim had snapped at you. You, sitting upstairs in your room, and him avoiding you by any means necessary. He would be gone more often now for whatever work he did while away. Days sometimes. He'd once left you food on the foot of your bed one time with a note saying he'd be back. No words spoken, just gone. With the door locked of course. It was more bearable now to sit and wait with what he'd given you, but it was nearly impossible for you to not get in your own head and deteriorate without being out of that room.
Stranger still was when he would be around. You would meet him downstairs and suddenly now you were serving yourself food, something you never thought he'd of even let you think of doing before. You didn't think it was his generous host behavior either, but more so a control of sorts. But now you knew where everything was. The silverware, dishes, cereal, even the cleaning products he kept everywhere around the place as if owning that much would somehow fix the years of repair the home was neglected of. The bathroom was spotless with the amount of roaming you did with nothing to do and your room had slowly started to become more of a room and less of a prison cell. But only by a fraction.
He would avoid you at all costs. You'd ask what he was going to be doing for the day and he would respond curtly. Not in a snapping tone or even with irritation, but with indifference. It was something you hadn't even remotely experienced from him yet. Quite the opposite it had seemed. Then he would find a task to do. Chop wood, stack said wood, take a walk, grab food, meet up with someone, go to work, ect. It was always like this now. You'd thought at some point you'd grow used to the silence and the way it enveloped your days now, but instead it was starting to eat at you. Days and days would go by with barely a handful of words exchanged between the two of you. If you tried to start, he'd shut it down.
At some points, you find something to start busying yourself with. Maybe the floor had become too muddy from his boots, so you'd find a flimsy scrub brush and start scrubbing. You had started this before realizing that you were also washing away some of the stain on the floor boards and quickly stopped. So then you would find another task. You'd re-arrange your room, moving a small desk of sorts with drawers up to your room that sat vacant downstairs for you to put your things away in. You'd fold up your clothes nice and neat and stow them away in a compact drawer. Occasionally you'd even take up the task of helping Tim. Boredom can do many things to a person, but helping a man you hated was one thing you never thought was an option. Even though you resorted to it, you found it to be entertaining enough. A person can only go so long with nothing to do before they will find things to occupy the mind. So you'd find his old clothes, dirty and caked with what looked like mud and take them upstairs to the tub. There was no washer or dryer out here (not something that entirely shocked you), but there was a bathtub. Tim had never told you or shown you this, but you'd caught him the one time in there washing a shirt in it in a soapy bath in the middle of the night. He had jumped nearly out of his skin and snapped at you to get out, now. You obliged, wondering what had set him off so bad. Maybe walking in a small room with his back turned to you was something he wasn't too keen of. At least you now knew how to wash your clothes at least...
You faltered your quiet observation of the outdoors when you heard the axe swing stop. He must've been done for the day. You saw out of the corner of your eye Tim walking over and setting the axe down near the front door and walking back, no doubt stacking the wood up and stoking the fire in the wood stove soon. This you were thankful for, as the room had begun to get colder as the hours went on.
The days of silence in the beginning were ones of confusion and hate. You couldn't stop thinking about the things Tim said to you, the threats he made towards you. When he had taken that knife that he'd forgotten in his pants pocket and had grabbed you, why didn't he hurt you then? All you could think of, after he had said what he could do to you and how he could kill you, rape you, torture and abuse you, all you could think about was but why didn't you? Why didn't he?
You heard the downstairs door open and close and the familiar stomp of boots as they kicked off his feet. You paused, debating if going down to try again would be a good idea after all. Was it really worth you time to become friends with this man if he behaved the way he did? Did you have any other choice? As you took a few steps towards the door, you faltered again. Swiftly, you turned towards the small drawers you'd scavenged and had begun to dig through the neatly folded shirts and clothes before pulling it out: the necklace. A small glint of light caught off of it as you looped the chain around your neck, clasping it with quick fingers and shutting the drawer as you stood. You thumbed the tree absently, as you left the room feeling the crevices of detail- the roots, the branches and leaves. You hadn't touched it since the day you got it. The chain was cold on you, light and delicate. You felt a phantom finger grace your collarbone as you steadily made your way down the stairs, felt those eyes of his when he first put it on you watch as you stopped into the living room.
He stood there in the corner of the room, turning his jacket every which way as he was caught up in his own world. When he noticed you, he halted, slowly putting his jacket down on the couch behind him. You had thought he'd of turned around and retreated just like he'd been doing this whole week. Retreating outside and locking the door, or going to do some other activity. But you'd always find him checking in on you often, making sure you were right where you were supposed to be: in his range.
This time though he didn't. You swallowed, silently clearing your throat. "Thanks for making the fire again." He nodded slightly, saying nothing for a moment. The two of you stood, the distance making the interaction more awkward with the silence. Could he tell that you were desperate for something even remotely close to interaction? Maybe he found it pathetic. As you tried to come up with something more to say, he motioned lazily towards your necklace. "It looks really good on you." he said. You looked down at it then back at him, stumbling over what words to say. "Thank... you." you settled with, thumbing the tree in your fingers like a worry stone. "I think it's a very pretty necklace- I just- well I thought I should wear it today. You know?" your words were coming out clumsily, not an ounce of substance to them. You opened your mouth dumbly, working for some other explanation as to why you wore it when he spoke for you.
"When I saw it, I immediately thought you should have it." He said, staring at the tree and then up at you. "It suits you." You nodded your head in response. So the necklace was doing the trick, it was working. "Thank you." you said quietly. At this he nodded, giving a slight hum in reply as he looked from the necklace to you. "Do you want dinner soon?" You glanced outside, seeing that what very little sun had been out that day was retreating fast over the crest of the forest. Ever day it was getting shorter, and every day was spent in more darkness. "I'd like that thank you." you said, surprised as he then hummed again and walked to the kitchen. He rummaged around a bit in the cupboards, pots clanging and shifting before he brought out a large simmering pot. You watched as he started pulling out utensils before he paused and cast a glance over to you before continuing his work. "Care to help?"
You stared for a moment, before nodding your head and walking over. Here, he took a bag of potatoes out from under the counter. "Peel these." He spoke simply, not snappy, not demanding. Just matter of fact as he continued to take whatever else he needed out of the fridge. You silently grabbed the bag, about to ask if he had an knife when suddenly, without a word, he slid a knife from his pocket across the table. He had many of these on him, always a new one each time it had seemed. You stared silently, picking up the dull handle and flicking the blade open to reveal a clean, sharp blade. It was long, the kitchen light catching the shine of the well kept blade. You ran a light finger against it, knowing that if you pressed down even just a little, it'd draw blood. Glancing up at him, his back was turned to you as he continued his rummage through the fridge. He ran his fingers along ingredients, silently taking stock as you watched. His back had been turned now for some time. You cast another quick glance down at the knife, before grabbing a potato and slowly started to peel.
He now had turned around, placing milk out, seasoning out, and had now begun to peel some garlic as he leaned against the other counter opposite from you. You peeled diligently for some time before speaking. "So what are we making?" It felt weird to say "we" when it came to cooking, but for now you decided to drag on. "Potato soup." he replied, pulling out a cutting board and chopping the onion now with the garlic. You gave a small sound of approval in response. It was strange to see a man like Tim pull out a cutting board and do mundane things like cut onion while wearing that mask. Almost silly in a sense, an intimidating man like him making soup with you. The whole situation really was quite strange. A kidnapper and kidnapped person making soup. "So should I quarter them?" You asked, setting the potatoes in the sink to be rinsed. "Sure." He replied, scrapping what he chopped into a frying pan. You nodded silently as you continued to work. "You've made this before then?" You asked as you tossed another one into the sink. "Yeah, quite a bit. Easy to make." He had now begun frying the onion in a slurry of butter and flour. The smell made your stomach remind you on how hungry you really were. When was the last time you'd actually made yourself a meal here? Was it really the last time he'd cooked for you? "It's warm, so I make it a lot around this time of year." He commented. You shifted your gaze towards him before focusing back to work. This was the first time he'd started talking to you without you having to force it out of him. "I've never made it actually.." He nodded absently before looking over at you. "Guess you'll learn."
The two of you worked silently for the most part, occasionally Tim would give direction. He point and tell you where to put things or he'd hand you something to continue. As the two of you continued, you'd watch him quietly. It was all so strange to you, to see this man cooking. He was good at it, something that you shouldn't of been entirely surprised by considering he'd made food for you plenty of times before, but still you felt the same. Soon enough, you were sitting at the table, going back to running your finger across the tree around your neck as you watched him slowly stir the simmering pot.
It was dark out now and you'd already drawn the small curtains back to cover the windows. There wasn't people out here, but it was instinct for you at this point to close them. Besides, maybe there were. The smell now had drifted out and through the air to where you sat as you absently stared out the front door window into the blackness.
"Something wrong?" You jerked your head suddenly to look over at Tim as he turned the burner off. He glanced back over at you for a moment as you shook your head. "No no, it's nothing." He hummed, grabbing the ladle and a bowl and scooping the soup into it. Your mouth was watering at this point, hunger making your stomach cramp. The enticing smell wasn't helping with your impatient mood. Eventually he came walking over, two bowls in hand with steam rising off of them. He set the bowl down in front of you before pulling out his own chair and sitting across from you. In a way, it was comforting, this familiarity and routine of sitting down and eating together. You had honestly missed it.
The two of you sat for some time like this, silently scooping the soup and listening to the wind whistle through the cracks in the walls. Despite this, the warmth from the furnace kept you both comfortable. You were grateful for this. If you'd of been trapped out here in the dead of the winter with no heat to save you and a miserable man living with you, you would've lost your mind from the very beginning. If you hadn't already that is.
"It's really good..." You offered up into the silence as you scooped up another small spoonful. Tim looked up at you and you finally noticed that he hadn't touched his soup, instead had only cast a few glances down at it. You paused, about to question him when it very quickly dawned on you. He wasn't going to eat with you around. Not with that mask.
"Did you want me... to leave?" You said quietly. He stared at you through the mask as he contemplated what to say. Taken aback by your offer, he cleared his throat. "No, no you're fine..." He trailed off here for a moment and another uncomfortable silence ensued. There was always this lingering question in the back of your mind, especially as the days here progressed. Was he ever going to take it off? Was he ever going to let you see his face? It gave this sense of distrust, of unease for you that you couldn't shake. Why did he feel the need to hide his face from you so much? If he had you trapped out here, alone and isolated, why did he feel the need to go this extra step?
He shifted in his seat and got more comfortable, leaning back like he used to do and crossing one foot over his other leg. Casting a glance over his shoulder towards the windows, he turned back down to look at the bowl. You stared intently down at yours, refusing to break your gaze as you continued to eat diligently. The uncomfortable air made you want to get up and leave anyways, not just to make him feel better, but so you didn't have to deal with it anymore.
As you continued to eat, you saw him reach up to his face out of the corner of your eye. You faltered, pausing for only a second as you watched him slide the bottom of his mask to the side and reach for the spoon beside the bowl. As soon as you noticed, you snapped your eyes back down. Heart racing, you forced yourself to swallow. It was so sudden and surprising, that he'd just move a part of his mask from his face, that the only thing you could do was pretend it didn't happen. It'd been such a huge piece of contention between the two of you, that god awful mask. And you never knew if it was ever going to be resolved, but here- right now- he'd moved it. Even if just the smallest fraction, even if it was just for food, it was something. You almost felt giddy with the progress.
He never said anything as he ate, never addressed what he did and never really acknowledged you either. All he focused on was the food and the silent whistling of wind. You avoided looking at him, not necessarily out of respect, but more so out of fear. You'd seen the small corners of his face before, a loose cigarette hanging from his mouth from a distance far out, but never this close. At one point, you decided to steal enough courage and glance up at him as you continued to slowly eat.
The mask was skewed off to the left to reveal his lower face as he ate calmly. You scanned that small portion of skin like it was something you needed to know, like an all consuming part of you that needed to know this man. Even if it was just a fraction of him exposed to you, it was something you couldn't look away from. His jaw line was sharp, it was one of the first things you noticed. Next was the clean shaven and lean face that you could pick out from underneath the mask. A strangeness overtook you as you watched him, noticed the small movements of his mouth and jaw, or the way he would falter and continue eating. Small, insignificant things. But not to you. Instead they were some sort of knowledge that you didn't think would ever bestow you, like you would have to rip that mask off yourself if you were to ever make sure there really was a man underneath it.
Your eyes flicked up towards the rest of him and with a sudden lurch of shock, you made eye contact. You felt yourself go stiff and slip back further away in your seat as the two of you locked eyes. Or rather, your eyes found his which had already been watching you. Your breath caught in your throat as you set your spoon down slowly. He held that gaze, looking up at you as he hovered ever so slightly over his bowl, spoon half raised to his mouth as he looked up through his tilted down head. "....I-I'm - I'm sorry-" you stuttered out, quickly flitting your gaze down from his but unable to keep it fully off of him. How long had he known that you were watching him? That stare was penetrating and burning as he continued to sit frozen. A sense of dread, or borderline horror began to take shape within you at the silence. He could be seething right now at you and your disrespect, could be wanting to wring your neck after all the stressors you'd seemingly put him through and this would be the last straw-
He stared for a moment longer, seemingly analyzing what he wanted to do next, before he turned his attention back down to his soup. Silently, he ate. You stared now in fear, without the shame you carried before as you watched him. Because now you were staring out of anxiety of what was to come next. His reaction was anything but casual, it carried venom, the gaze he held on you. And you had yet to understand or even know that consequences of this mistake. Your hunger had left you completely now and your bowl sat half empty.
"You not hungry?" You jumped slightly at his words as you looked up at his gaze. He held it for a moment on you, before taking another spoonful. You swallowed thickly before shaking your head ever so slightly. "No... I- I guess I thought I was more hungry than I actually was..." You muttered out as you pushed the bowl with a small gesture towards him as a means to show you were done. He looked down at the very clearly unfinished soup and then back up at you where he held that gaze -that burning, god awful gaze- once more. He hummed, a low, contemplative hum, as he then sat up right in his chair. "What? Does only a fraction of much of my face really make you lose your appetite?"
It took you a moment to think over his words as you watched them form over his lips. It was the first time you could see him speak, the first time you could hear him clearly without a single bit of muffle in his voice. He was joking with you. Of course it could be hard to tell if you didn't go off of his words and merely his mouth, because if there was a hint of a joke there you wouldn't find it.
You shook your head, a bit too vehemently for your own liking. At this you watched as a small corner of his mouth pulled upward. In a blink and you'll miss it motion, it was gone as soon as you noticed. "I'm sorry-" You began again before halting. The apologies were becoming redundant at this point, a mantra that the two of you both knew didn't hold any water, so why repeat it. You weren't sorry and he knew it too. "I just- I didn't know that..." Here you tried to find the words you were looking for. "That you were going to ever... take that off." At this he make a small scoff. "I haven't taken it off yet have I?" He said lowly. You faltered, not knowing how to respond as he watched you. You knew he could see you staring at him- that small, yet new piece of him that you weren't even sure existed before. With it, you felt that he was more real, more human than monster. More of a man than some captor. Even though he was both.
"No, I spoke too soon.." You muttered quietly. You tried not to sound disappointed, like you wanted to see his face. But that would be a lie to say, to yourself or him. "You want me to though. You've told me." He stated plainly. "I know you don't like it. That I don't take it off." You hesitated at this, debating on what to say next, how tactfully you should approach it.
"And yet you haven't." You were surprised by your own boldness as the two of you held a gaze. One of intensity and with a mix of emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on. It was like the two of you were toying with each other, not in a friendly manner necessarily, but like the two of your were on basic talking points again. Like how you would spit fire at him before and how he'd grow snappy with you in return.
His hand reached up, gripping the bottom half of the mask as you watched with a halt. Slowly, his hand pulled the mask back down over his face. You watched with intensity as it was back to what you'd always known, just a figment of your imagination behind blank black eyes and a white face. "Don't hold your breath."
~
It'd been quite sometime now since the last time the two of your had communicated, that was true, but that was also true for the (what seemed to be) regular routine. Even with the haunting reality that you were still captive and that you still did not know him, being around Tim again was... You felt your stomach churn as you thought of the word. Comforting. It was good to know that you no longer had to walk on eggshells like you did before. Or maybe you shouldn't celebrate just yet... after all the conversation the two of you had was far from inviting or friendly. And despite this, you couldn't help but have a small sense of accomplishment, a bit of pride to yourself that you held close.
The tree necklace worked, not only that, but it worked like a charm. It had only taken him a moment to notice it and he was talking in a heartbeat. Your hunch had been right all along, there was something lingering underneath his façade that he put up, that attitude he had towards you lately like you were nothing to him. That he didn't care about you and that he couldn't even be bothered to talk to you or acknowledge you. And yet despite all this, he gave you food for when he left for his "work", he kept the woodstove and fridge stocked for the both of you, he snuck extra blankets in one at a time to make sure that you were warm enough at night. You understood this, his motives and means to what he did for you. You saw it in his eyes the night of the fight, the look you couldn't shake.
The two of you headed upstairs, you in front and Tim behind. The stairs groaned under your weight as they always did and accompanied by the whistling windows the place sounded more like a haunted house that anything before. In a way, it was nice to know the routine this time. To know that he'd wish you a goodnight, or ask if you'd be warm enough, or make sure you had pajamas to sleep in, before locking the door behind you and hearing his boots recede down the steps. It was nice, really, to have that small sense of normalcy back. Whatever you could call normalcy now.
Sure as ever, the two of your reached your bedroom door. The hallway light flickered slightly as Tim's heavy boots landed a little too roughly to a halt. You reached for the handle, ready for your small celebration in peace, when his hand shot out suddenly to grab yours. Instinctually, you jumped, despite the touch being surprisingly soft. You turned your head sharply around to look up at him as your face was met with the white mask above you. Slowly, in a calculated move, his hand fell back to his side. You forced yourself to hold controlled breaths as you begged your heart to stop racing, all the while still locked in a confused look with the eyes hovering above you. You wanted to ask what he wanted, why he did that, when he spoke first.
"I'm sorry I..." He paused for a moment. As he did he never broke his gaze as it bore down into you. The air was thick with a feeling of dread, the fact that you knew he was going to address it and the fact that you wanted to forget it ever happened.
"I'm sorry about what happened." He sounded strained, like it was almost hurting him to apologize to you. You wanted to scoff, but bit your tongue and said nothing. "I shouldn't of... I shouldn't of kept lying to you for as long as I have been." He said this more quietly, his gaze growing more intense as it lingered. "I know you think you can't trust me. I understand that... I just... I want you to remember why I brought you here." At this you returned his gaze, eager to hear what his angle was. You felt yourself pulling on the edge of your shirt with stress as you willed yourself to stand strong. You didn't want to show him you had fear and you were doubtful you could hide it well but that didn't mean you weren't going to try.
"I want to keep you safe. Those... do you remember those men? That night." At this, you felt that the air had dropped a few degrees. The wind downstairs seemed to now be crawling across your skin and you felt cold. "Yes." you said quietly. He paused now. You saw how close he was to you now, practically hovering right above you. You swallowed thickly. "They want to kill you."
You stared up at him blankly. "....what?" He looked away for a quick moment, then back at you. "They haven't stopped searching for you. You're a loose end in their eyes and the longer you stay missing, the more there is a chance that they will search harder to find you. By any means necessary." The hallway was becoming colder by the minute as he spoke. You felt yourself becoming stiffer, no, maybe more light headed.
"That man that came here that one day..." You recalled the evening that man that had worn orange had visited. "Was he here... did he come here-" You faltered, afraid to ask. "He didn't come here for you." He was quick to reassure. "He came here for me. They have no clue you're here." A heavy silence rang in the air, suffocating the both of you. Your eyes darted down and back up. He wasn't lying then, saying he took you to protect you... You read him wrong. "I can't tell you everything because the information I am keeping from you could get you killed." He said lowly, with a sense of finality. "There are things going on here that are way bigger than you. Understand?" You nodded quickly in response with frozen fear, the nerves making you forget to question his words. "Good."
At this, he broke his gaze to glance down the stairs, sending a rush of fear through you for a brief moment. But then he was back to looking down on you and making you feel overwhelmed all over again. "I just wished you'd believe me when I say I don't want to hurt you." His voice was low here, almost a whisper as he spoke with sincerity you hadn't heard from him in what felt like ages. When he spoke like this you felt like you could believe anything he said to you, if only for the moment. You tried to search for the right response but came up empty handed. Because if you said that you believed him, you'd hate to be a liar in the future. But for right now, his words were enough for you.
"(Y/N)," He faltered for a moment and you looked away from his gaze sharply. It was intense, too intense. You felt your skin crawl under the scrutiny. "I... hate the shit I said to you." You stared down at the floor boards, the worn pathway from years of walking up and down it had taken all the color and smoothed the grain. "I should have never said that to you." You could picture it like it had happened only a few hours ago, you'd replayed that scene over and over in your head every moment you felt yourself stare into space. The way his voice raised, the pent up tension in his body, the anger in his voice as he threatened you. Told you all the ways you were ungrateful.
"I don't expect you to forgive me for it either. I just- I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry," He said this in a way where if you weren't listening close enough, you could almost miss the defeat in his voice. But you caught it, lingering in the back of each word. Regret.
Downstairs the wind howled, the intensity of it never dying- even into the night. The light bulb cast a dingy yellow glow to the hall around you and the shadow of him loomed over you like a great creature. You knew the silence could drag on forever, but you didn't mind it for right now. There was nothing you could offer to say after all. No "you're forgiven" or "it's okay", just silence in return.
"I missed you."
You felt yourself slowly go soft as the tension from your left over anger, fear, distrust, hate, everything dissipate slowly over those softly spoken words. Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. Even in this dingy light, you could see his gaze behind the mask. It was an expression you'd never seen on his face before, something so earnest you had yet to know how to fully read it.
"I'm sorry I shut you out. I... I don't do good with talking I suppose." He muttered this last part, something you were more familiar with. That Tim that would begrudgingly apologize or hide his honesty behind a wall of indifference. But it was lost again to the look that he gave you. This Tim you did not know.
There was a brief moment where you watched him looked down at the tree around your neck, cool against your skin. You'd forgotten about it up until this moment, where you felt yourself become overly aware of it all over again. Slowly, his hand lifted and for once, you didn't shy away or flinch. You watched as he brought his hand down to that necklace and much like before, grasped the chain in his fingers as he felt it. You felt him twist it around his finger once, then untwist it again as he then trailed down to the tree itself, picking it up as if to examine it for this first time. He stared down at it with a look you couldn't read as you breathed in and out in a calm and calculated manner.
He did this, analyzing the tree for a moment longer before looking back to you, taking note that your gaze never left him once. Gently, he placed it back down onto your chest, the cold metal making goosebumps form across your skin for a brief moment. With movements slow, he gently brought his hand up to around your face. You flushed as he held the side of your face, almost cupping your jaw as you stared up at him with an expression of confusion and discomfort. You would say you were fearful, but of what you weren't sure. If he was going to hurt you, he'd of done it long ago.
His hands were cold and slightly calloused against your skin as he held it there for a brief moment, you waiting with baited breath. "I really did miss you." As you stared up at his eyes you half expected that same look you'd gotten when he'd given you the necklace, one of obsession or possessiveness. But instead all you saw behind that mask was a man wrought with his own decisions and riddled with regret. "I missed you too." You breathed out quietly. A moment passed as you said this, before just a quickly as he'd touched you, he pulled away. You felt your skin tingle as his touch left. He then turned behind you and opened up your bedroom door. "Well, get some good sleep then okay?" you blinked rapidly as you stared into the dark abyss of the bedroom, then looked back up to him. He stared back down at you, waiting for you to enter. Like he was trying to convince you nothing had happened here, like this hallway wasn't suffocating the both of you and that you couldn't still feel his hand on your skin, on your face and on your hand. Like there wasn't something electrifying the air around the both of you.
You cleared your throat, nodding and walking into the room as you flicked on the light. "Thank you." You said quietly as you turned awkwardly towards him. Your room was only slightly colder than downstairs, but the bundles of blankets you had would suffice for the night. You paused as you looked at him through the doorway, waiting for him to retreat like he always did but he didn't, instead hovering there with his hand still on the handle. "....Goodnight." You said, wondering if that was a good enough goodbye or hint for him. He nodded in response, his eyes still lingering on you as he took one last glance of you. "Goodnight." Then the door closed, and the fiddling of the key on the other side clicked as the lock slid in place for the night.
~
It never stopped, that chilling wind, as it leaked slowly around the blanket you had stuffed around your window. You rustled beneath the sheets and blankets you'd stacked atop of yourself for the night, adding an extra for security. The night was so black out here that it reminded you of home. How you could stare up at the ceiling and your eyes could only make out fragments of what was around. Shapes in the dark could take on a life of their own but here they weren't sinister anymore. A sense of complacency had overtaken you and now this room was nothing more than just that: a room. You glanced towards the window but no moon was there to guide your eyes, just the darkness and the moans of wind and winter to come.
You reached up beneath the weight atop you and clasped a hand around the tree. You thought of the maples outside and how they were surely all barren now. Everything outside was dead, dull and grey, and it made you long for the day he'd let you outside. The grass was still somewhat green then, the leaves held the colors of autumn and the air smelt of wood burning and leaves. Of fresh dirt and grass. You could still feel the prickle of the weeds on your skin.
Suddenly, as your hand grazed across your chest, goosebumps emerged across it, as that memory of the sunlight on your skin was interrupted by the feeling of another man's fingers gracing you. It was startling, how quickly your mind had changed course onto territory you didn't want to cross into, but it was far to late to change or have power over. Thinking about him after what had transpired was... exhausting. You could still hear his voice speaking to you in that low manner he always had whenever he was serious. It was different than when you were in trouble, it was cautionary, a warning. The lead up to something greater. And the information he shared with you made a feeling of nausea bubble up inside of you the longer you dwelled on it. If those men were really out to kill you, should you try and leave? You shifted again in your bed, trying to will yourself to find comfort to sleep, sleep and forget about everything. But you couldn't.
Then it was his hands, how they felt so soft in their touch whenever they held you. You felt the imprint of him on your chin and cheek, like his hand had scalded you and left a mark. Why did you even let him do that? Disgust rose up and into your chest as you furrowed your brow and rolled over again. You could feel your stomach do flips over the gaze he'd held on you, the intensity in his eyes as he apologized. You could hear him now. You could picture him too, speaking to you with the same mouth you saw from behind his mask earlier that day. You could picture him saying I miss you.
Abruptly, you shot upright in bed, covers half hazard flung off as you held your face, hands then digging in your hair as you brushed it back in a self soothing gesture. You willed the flips in your stomach to stop as you inhaled and exhaled deeply, forcing yourself into a rhythmic breath of ins and outs. You hated this. How he'd be so cruel, so hateful, and then so kind and loving the next. How he would shut you out for week at a time, not even to look at you or speak to you no matter how many times you tried. How he would scream at you, berate you over simple things, over things that could set him down a path of destruction. How he would threaten you to keep you complacent. And then-and then- he would call you down for breakfast that he'd made. He would bring you outside despite knowing the risks to you and him. He hid you when that other man came here, knowing he could've just handed you over right then and there. He gave you this god awful necklace... And after he'd blown up at you, say the kindest words you'd heard from his lips yet. How he was sorry, how he'd make it up to you, that he didn't expect you to understand, how he was protecting your life, how he had to keep you safe.
How he had missed you.
Those words rang inside your head over and over. Such simple words really, but it revealed something you had yet to of suspected. That you could've conceivably missed him too. Despite all the hate you had towards him, the distrust, the venom, the uncomfortableness of it all, you missed him too.
At this realization, you swallowed thickly, stomach churning like you were going to be ill. You breathed out slowly, in and out with deep breathes. You rested your forehead on your knees as you closed your eyes. You felt disgusting, like when he'd first touched you, or when you first wore his clothes. You felt your skin crawl that you had fallen so low as to feel sorry for him. But you couldn't help it.
You wished you could shower to wash away the guilt and disgust that lingered across your skin. You wished you could rub your collar bone and your face until any trace of him lingering would of never been.
~
Flicking the collar up on his jacket, he trudged back to the house with quick steps as the wind bit against what exposed skin it could. The wood stove was now fully stocked for the night and even though he'd gotten to it later than he'd wanted to, he knew the warmth would have already started to rekindle in the house by the time he got back.
Swinging the door open and quickly closing it behind him, he silently shed the jacket he wore. The woods were quiet, the occasional creak of a tree sounding off and then carried away into the night. With soft feet, he walked over to the place he'd been sleeping at since he'd taken you here, that small, sunken in couch by the windows. With a small creak, he sat down, unlacing his boots as he did. The couch was uncomfortable, yes, but it was better for you to have the bed than him. Easier to keep track of you that way.
With a small sigh, he leaned back, rubbing his eyes as he willed the headache that had started on to go away. He took his medication hours ago but nothing was seemingly helping anymore and he was certain it was the stress. The last week and a half had been hell, for the both of you. Work was ... brutal, as of late. Nothing was lining up right, leads we're going cold on hits, Toby was constantly getting his shit confused, and Brian... Brian had asked a question.
-
It was clear to him, as he remembered their walk back. It was early morning, around two or three a.m. as the two made their way through thickets in the forest. He'd already been bruised that night from an altercation, but the ring razor cuts of thorns and thistles weren't helping. Brian could hear the frustration coming from Tim as he muttered to himself, hacking at the thicket as they continued out into a clearing. Silence ensued as it often could between the two of them. Not one of discomfort, but one of comfortability. Where no words needed to be spoken because there was understanding there and a way to read the other without having to speak at all. It was nice this way, for both of them. Somewhere in the distance ahead of them, they heard the familiar sound of Toby rustling through the forest. Usually Tim would snap about how they were supposed to be quiet out here, but for tonight and where they were, it didn't matter since he'd done the same. And besides, he was in no mood to ridicule or babysit.
"What's wrong?" Brian spoke into the dark, the sounds of crunching leaves and an occasional twig snapping as they trudged on. Tim grunted, neither glancing towards Brian or acknowledging what he said, merely fixated on the invisible path in front of them. But he knew this wasn't going to satiate him. "I know somethings up." He continued, pushing a branch out of his path as he ducked down under a low hanging tree. "So either talk to me or buck the fuck up." The way Brian spoke was usually far and few with words. He was calculated when it came to others, but with Tim it was different. He knew Tim and Tim knew him. Whatever was happening inside Tim, Brian knew it was deeper than surface level aggression or work stressors. This had been happening for weeks now it seemed.
Tim sighed, short and quiet as he took a quick glance under his mask over to him before reverting back to the path at hand. "My meds haven't been working a lot lately." He replied. A half truth, but still one all the same. "The headaches are back, the migraines are bad at night." There was silence as the two of them continued on until a clearing began to form ahead of them. As they stepped out, they felt a buzz through the air as they waited. Toby was already there, a bag in his right fist with blood seeping out the bottom.
-
He looked down at his own boots and saw flecks of blood across the laces and leather toes. He scrapped at them absently with his finger nail, but to no avail. He'd have to hide these from you until he gotten the chance to wash them. You were most certainly asleep upstairs right now and he could go and wash them since now he wanted to be more careful. He'd double check every once in a while that your door was closed and locked, especially since he'd not fully latched it that one night and you'd found him washing his clothes in the bathroom. He was thankful every second that you never saw the blood that he'd gotten mostly out of them moments before you'd come in. What would you of done? What would he say? The honesty of it all was the eventually he would have to say, and he would have to tell you. But would he? Could he?
He got up, flicking all the lights off as he lay down. He pulled the one blanket he had left for himself up to his chest and stared up at the ceiling with unblinking eyes. His mask lay next to him on the floor and he listened to the weather outside slowly but surely die down from the anger it held all day.
He watched the ceiling, much like he did every night, and pictured you above him. Wrapped in blankets, fast asleep in his old bed. He thought then of what he'd done, what a fool he'd been. Of course he'd been thinking this all the while he'd stayed silent towards you, how this was foolish of him to cut you out like this, how he was acting like a child. But it didn't matter how self aware he could be, because it was hard for him to come out of it. It was like every time he'd think the anger was gone, it would rise back up whenever he was reminded of how stupid he could really be.
And then he thought that if he could just ignore you, pretend that you were merely a hostage and nothing more that everything would go away. Whatever he had towards you would disappear and he'd be left with nothing but adversity or at the very least indifference. But it never came. Instead, every time you would come to him with the look of someone who'd done nothing wrong, he was reminded of how horrid his actions were. It was strange to him. He'd done horrific things in his life to keep it. Things he wouldn't want anyone else but his colleagues to know. Things he would do anything to keep away from you. But when it came to him saying some flimsy words that hurt you, he was wrought with guilt.
He'd experienced this before, guilt was no stranger to him. Guilt, disgust, self hatred, they were simple and long companions he'd know for many years now into his life. Simple things to deal with too. Never acknowledge them, and they will cease to appear in a way that matters. But this time-this time- it was something that cut deep. Because he didn't care what his colleagues thought of him. They knew him, they knew what he was and what he'd done. There was nothing left to change about that. But with you, he cared about what you thought of him. That feeling of guilt, or second guessing leaked into every crevice or his being that it made the headaches seem immune to the pills he'd constantly eat. He'd started taking them twice as much and yet nothing would change. He was eating himself from the inside out because he couldn't stand to think that this was it. That he'd blown the multiple chances that he'd been so graciously given by having one last final melt down. Because he couldn't keep himself in check.
But as he lay and thought of your face at his confession of remorse, he captured it and stored it away as best as he could. Looking down at you was like breathing a first breath of fresh air, seeing you look into his eyes and acknowledge that he wasn't like this. That he could do better, that he would try and do better. He retraced in his mind how soft your skin was and how the air hummed with a buzzing in his head as he felt the space between the two of you seemingly grow smaller and smaller as you both talked. He never realized how much he wasn't just attracted to you, but how much he wanted you.
He wanted you. He wanted to make sure that you were safe, that nobody was going to find you. That you could trust him, that he could trust you. That he was only here to protect you. It was nice, to finally understand now.
He loved you.
As he drifted off to sleep, Brian's words lingered in the back of his mind. He knew he wasn't satisfied with his answer. And he knew that he'd come looking for you.
~~~
Woooooowwww two chapters in like a week??? Crazzzyyyy
Hope y'all enjoy! I have a pretty solid plot line for this story that I'm rly excited for and I hope you guys are too! Also I know this is a slow burn but I wanna build some build up and precursor before they just start going to town. So gimme a break ;-;
-M