{Reader's POV}
When I returned to the clearing, I expected Jack to be furious. I expected him to scream and lash out at me, to violently threaten me for fighting back and tying him up, to strangle me into unconsciousness.
I did not expect him to be a sniveling pathetic mess.
Disgust filled me as I stared down at him. This was the guy who ruined my life? I couldn't stomach how pathetic he was acting, just because he was tied to a tree with a little rope. He could break that easily! I could break it if I wanted to!
Yet even more than disgust at how he was acting, I was disgusted at myself for feeling pity.
This was the man who ruined my life, who took everything I knew from me, yet I couldn't help feel bad for him as I stared at him. His expression was full of so much pain, desperation, helplessness, despair... I sighed as I walked over, crouching next to the knot on the side of the tree. "Jack, calm down," I told him softly, untying the knot slowly and carefully. "You're okay, nothing's wrong..." His head was bowed, his bangs covering his hollow eyes. As I'd suspected, the moniker "Eyeless Jack" was pretty literal, but I could think about that later.
"Why?" he whispered, not looking at me. Black ooze dripped from his face to the ground, probably his substitute for tears. "Why...?"
"I didn't have a choice." The ropes fell loosely around him and he quickly hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms. Gently I reached for his shoulder, only for him to wince and yelp at my touch. Really? This was just getting sad. "Come on, Jack, let's go home..." He nodded feebly as I helped him to his feet, and he instantly leaned on me for support. I flinched as I felt something warm and sticky rub against my bare arm, shuddering involuntarily, but didn't push him off. When we got back, I'd be taking a very long shower.
As we began the walk back to the cabin he continued leaning on me for support, making progress slow. With each step I could hear something sloshing, and I almost gagged as I realized he had organs stuffed into his pocket. Gross. I pushed it out of my mind, focusing on hurrying back so I could take a long shower. Jack didn't look directly at me, head bowed to the ground, but he stole glances every now and then. "...What happened to your neck?" he muttered, his voice almost too soft to hear.
"...You tried to strangle me," I replied somewhat hesitantly. Didn't he remember what happened? Well, since he wasn't angry now, I decided to use this opportunity to clear all of that up. "While you were gone, a gust of wind blew away one of the patches, and when I went to get it you came back and thought I ran away." He didn't respond right away, just giving a small, feeble nod.
"...I'm sorry..." The apology caught me off-guard, and I glanced at him in surprise. His empty gaze was cast downwards, black "tears" still trickling down his cheek. His expression was hollow and empty, full of defeat. "...I'm sorry..."
"Stop apologizing, you sound pathetic."
"...Oh... Sorry..." I sighed and shook my head, almost wanting to laugh. This was just getting ridiculous. What happened to the scary monster who'd been terrifying me for fun for the past week? Silence fell over us until we finally reached the cabin, and I walked him inside and closed the door. I started to let him go but as I lifted his arm off my shoulder his legs began to give out, forcing me to quickly pull it back into place.
"Jeez, do I have to walk you back to your room?" Still no response, and eventually I sighed and began walking to the hall, grumbling under my breath the entire way. Jack's room was rather nice compared to mine, complete with a couple posters, a mirror and a large bookshelf full to the brim with everything from novels and biographies to textbooks. His bed was still messy from that morning, the covers in complete disarray, and I helped him over to it and released him. Immediately he flopped back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling vacantly. I sighed as I shook my head. Pathetic. Just so pathetic.
Unable to bear watching him like this any longer, I turned away walked towards the door only to pause by the bookshelf. Skimming the titles, I cast a glance at Jack before quietly pulling out a thick textbook and quickly left, closing the door behind me.
~*~
"Ow... Ow... Ow..."
Red stained the peroxide-soaked white cotton ball as I dabbed at the cuts on my neck, grimacing at the pain. Purple and black bruises covered the surface of my skin, making every little touch even more painful. Of all the places to get hurt, my neck was probably the worst. It was already still pretty sensitive from the first time he'd strangled me, but this one had been even rougher. With every stinging dab at the cuts, I mentally cursed Jack more and more, the memory of the strangling running through my head on repeat.
Gingerly I wrapped a roll of gauze around my neck, wincing at the pain caused by even the light pressure it placed on my bruised skin. Painful, painful, painful. This would take some time to go away, and it hurt like hell. Every ounce of pain served as a reminder of Jack's true nature. I smiled bitterly at my bruised and frazzled reflection, chuckling darkly at my own stupidity. I ignored the aching pain in my back as I returned to the room that I'd been using for nearly two weeks now, flopping onto the bed and opening the psych textbook I'd snagged from his room.
Cruel. Horrible. Evil. Sadistic. Monster. I thought I'd re-established that Jack was all of those things, and that he didn't care. Yet here I was in my room, reading a psychology textbook. An actual professional-grade psychology textbook. Why he had it was beyond me, and I didn't want to think about where he got it. Half the terms in it made no sense to me, but still I read through it, trying my best to understand. All for the sake of the monster who'd hurt me like this in the first place.
Yawning, I flipped through the pages only to stop as a certain phrase suddenly caught my eye. I snapped to attention as I carefully read the section, then re-read it several times. A few of the terms were unfamiliar to me, but I was able to understand enough. My earlier suspicions grew stronger as I read it. I couldn't confirm all of the symptoms, but there were a couple I definitely recognized. After reading it so many times I practically had it memorized, I decided I had nothing more I could learn from it and quietly closed the book with a soft sigh. I was almost totally convinced now.
Jack had PTSD.
Ridiculous, I know. If anyone here would be getting PTSD, I'd expect it to be me. I was the one whose lifelong guardian and only companion had died of blood loss while trying to murder her. I was the one who got kidnapped by a brutal monster who scared her for fun. Yet Jack was the one who seemed to be experiencing traumatic flashback episodes, not me. When he'd woken tied to a tree his first thought was obviously that Buddy was the one who left him there, not me. He'd panicked and given up too fast, resigning himself quickly and easily. Even when I appeared he didn't react with anger, instead looking shocked and betrayed.
Buddy had broken him. I don't know what went on in that basement, but obviously at some point his will had been completely shattered. Cautiously I exited the bedroom, peering nervously at my laptop on the kitchen table. Glancing at Jack's closed door, I sat down at the table and opened it, the screen quickly lighting up and casting its familiar glow on my body. It had been so long since I'd last touched it, the keys felt alien yet familiar under my fingertips. The login screen was open, but I didn't enter my password. Instead I pressed "switch user", bringing up a screen with two profiles: mine and Buddy's.
Trembling slightly, I input his password and his profile loaded, the screen displaying a photo of us smiling together as the background. While the laptop was primarily mine, Buddy still had an account on it. Our desktop computer was old, and recently it stopped accepting flash drives and SD cards. As a result, every time he needed to upload photos from his camera he'd use my laptop and just email them to himself. However, he wasn't the most computer-savvy person and never deleted them. I opened his documents and scrolled through them, finding the latest files. Inhaling sharply, I double-clicked it and opened it.
Filling the screen was a navy blue mask, black paint dripping from the eye sockets.