Is this what a pillow felt like? Hard and lumpy? Where was that softness you remembered? Where was that cloud-like bliss you had fantasized about? Spending so much time sleeping on a floor could lead to idolizing something as simple as a pillow.
Grumbling to yourself, you sat up on the bed, punching your tried fists into the pillow. It didn't look any more comfortable, and you simply found yourself staring down at it. You wanted to cry. Then again you had spent the past two hours crying in the car. The moment you had hit the road was the moment you had begun crying. There was no phone nearby, no GPS, no memory that could tell you how to get home. So, you followed the road wherever it would lead you. It's not like you could go home anyways, you knew that would be the first place they'd look. You vaguely thought of your family now, they had never come to mind before, you were probably too caught up in your terror to think of them.
A small thought occurred, would they go after your family to get to you? You began crying harder.
The first motel you discovered was one you passed by. Same goes for the second motel. You didn't actually stop until the fifth motel. You didn't stop until you were a thousand percent certain they wouldn't be able to track you. There was no money on you or in the car, but luckily the motel manager didn't ask for any. He probably expected you to pay after you were done with the room. Were you a criminal now? It's not like you had any other option. You couldn't go to the police, you had already tried that, it had already failed.
God, there was no way out. Maybe you were better off dying, you surely felt dead. You couldn't even sleep, Jack would torture you, he'd find you like he had before. Was it so crazy? To want to live? It didn't feel like you were asking for the world. Around 7 billion people lived on this Earth. Was it so wrong that you just wanted to be one of them?
Your body felt sore and tired, your mind ached, and you felt emotionally drained and traumatized. Claire was still back there, still alive, left to be that monsters plaything. She would still be free if it wasn't for you. She came back for you. All your fault. You deserved to die...
Wiping away the hot tears on your cheek, you got off the bed, your arms cradling your chest as you stumbled over to the dresser. There was a mirror mounted there, and the reflection that looked back didn't look like you. You had gotten even skinnier than before, your eyes had sunken into your skull, and they now held a certain wildness about them. There was more though, a certain fire behind them, determination. No, fuck that, if you deserved to die, you'd be dead by now. Yet here you were, alive and fighting.
The sadness began to turn into bitterness and anger as you headed off into the washroom. You roughly pulled off the clothing he had bought for you, not caring if you tore some of the fabric as you tossed it onto the floor. You were even sure to step on it as you walked into the shower stall. You tried to picture all the stress and anxiety being washed away with the water- it didn't really work out like that though. You felt equally distressed, just a little wetter.
"Clean fresh start," you whispered to yourself, "It's over now, it's all over." That was a lie, but maybe repeating it enough would make it more convincing. "Over, all over, done, free, safe, so safe, extremely safe, the president wishes he was as safe as me." Alright, maybe a little overkill. Sighing, you let your legs give up, laying your head on the glass as you just sat there. Your fingers had become significantly pruned when you finally stepped out of the stall, closing the tap. There was no towel, you hadn't planned that far ahead in your traumatic state of mind. Heck, the only clothes you had were the droopy, smudged, and crumpled mess on the floor.
Great, now you were cold, wet, and extremely underdressed. Who's idea was this again?
Alright, you could use the bedsheets to dry yourself off, and you'd regrettably have to wear those clothes again. Or hey, maybe you could be extra rebellious and turn a nudist leaf in your life. Clothes are so 18th century anyways.
Yeah, the inner monologue wasn't helping your situation. They probably kept towels in the closet. So, that's exactly what you did. Stepping out of the washroom, you quickly tiptoed over to the closet, and hallelujah, they had towels. You dried off immediately, wrapping it around your body before heading back to the bed. You wrapped the blankets around you, suddenly feeling so cozy, so warm, so hazy. Your eyes were beginning to lull back in your head, the premise of sleep becoming clearer and clearer until you were certain you couldn't fight it anymore.
"Ms. Coles?"
Your eyes snapped open when you heard the knock that followed that name. You had told the man at the desk your name was Whitney Coles. It was the first thing that had come to mind. He knocked once more, repeating the same name.
"Yes?" wow, you're voice sounded as weak and frail as you felt.
"Can I come in?" he asked awkwardly.
"N-no," you stated rather bluntly, glancing down at your indecent self. "Hey, do you have any spare clothes?"
He was silent for a moment, but you distinctly heard faint whispering. Was there someone else there with him? Alarm bells went off in your head. Oh, God. Were they here? You weren't ready. It was too soon. Where was the window? You had to get out. Where did you put the car keys? Clothes, was there even time for clothes?
"Ms. Coles please, I- I know who you are," the man sighed, "please open the door."
You got up frantically, running from side to side, trying to open windows to no avail. Perhaps they weren't meant to be open or perhaps you were simply too weak at the moment. Either way, it felt as if the walls were closing in.
"Look, I'm coming in..." the man said again, and you heard the distinct clicking of keys against the lock. Of course, the owner had a spare key.
Swallowing your fear, you decided to grab the nearest lamp, pulling it out of its plug and holding it in front of you like a sword. Fine, if they wanted a fight, it'd be a fight they'd get. The door opened. The manager stood there with wide eyes as you swung the lamp at him. It would have probably connected if it wasn't for the firm hand that caught yours, stopping you mid-swing. It took you a moment to see that hand was connected to a familiar looking woman. Officer Danvers, she was the woman that interrogated you when you had gotten to the hospital. She was the one that was supposed to stop those monsters.
"I've been looking for you for a while," she said slowly as she eased your hand down, forcing you to drop the lamp. "You've been a missing person for weeks, you were supposed to be in protective custody."
You tugged your arm away from her, pulling your towel in closer.
"Wasn't very protective in my experience," was what you decided to mutter.
Danvers frowned at that, her eyes thoughtful for a brief moment, "I'm supposed to take you into F.B.I care."
Now that sounded a bit better, but you still knew it would make no difference in the end. Whether they were FBI officers or police officers, no one could stop them. "I don't think so, how'd you find me?"
"I called the police," the motel owner said, now looking a little nervous. "Your picture has been on the news for a while."
You took that in for a moment before turning to the officer.
"I'm not going anywhere with you, if you really wanna help you'll give me some cash and clothes."
Danvers gave you a glare, her mouth forming a frown as she turned to the owner, whispering something before he left. On that note she stepped into the room, closing the door.
"Listen here, I get it, okay? I know I messed up." She was practically growling. "You think I don't know that? My partner's been missing for days and you're the first hint I've gotten. They let you go, maybe you can lead us back to them."
They had her partner? You didn't recall seeing anyone else. Wait, no, you did. Your stomach began to sink as you recalled the man strapped to the table in that medical room. It was when Jack, the other Jack, the eyeless one, was bandaging you up. You had seen a man then, her partner. He was dead by now, wasn't he? Or maybe Jack was keeping him there, a little plaything for his sick, sick, um, well, to be honest you weren't sure what Jack did to them. Oh, wait, you remembered now. He'd eat them.
"I..." you weren't sure what to say.
"Shut up," she didn't seem to care. "You're coming with me, the F.B.I knows about them. They know what those killers can do. They didn't think to tell us though, those fucking bastards." She grabbed your naked wrist, giving you a sharper tug, and it was next to impossible to resist her strength. She seemed as emotional as you felt. Clearly, she too had been busy during your whole kidnapped-and-held-for-ransom ordeal. Danvers never made it to the door though, instead, it opened on its own accord, the motel owner standing there.
Danvers furrowed her eyebrows, "What is it?"
He never answered, his eyes glazing over as he simply fell to his knees, blood pooling around him. It was then that you noticed a familiar masked man standing behind him. It wasn't Toby, instead, it was the more aggressive masked one. What was he called, Tim? Yeah, Tim sounded about right. Was it better that he had come to kill you instead of Toby?
Danvers let you go, reaching for her gun instead before she turned to aim it at the man.
"Take one fucking step you scumbag," she hissed, all of her animosity pouring into her words.
That was exactly what Tim did though, taking not only one step forward, but several. Danvers didn't shoot though, her gun trembled in her hands as she glared daggers at him. They both knew. Everybody in the room knew. A gun was useless. Nothing could stop them, and as if to emphasize the point, Tim grabbed the muzzle of the gun, holding it firmly against his chest, as if daring the woman to shoot. She glared at him for a second, suddenly gritting her teeth before firing into his chest, emptying every bullet into him.
He didn't even flinch.
He pulled the gun away when she was done, but even that didn't stop her as she growled, lunging right at him. That seemed to do the trick as he stumbled onto the ground, Danvers on top of him as she clawed and punched. Man, they must have put that woman through hell.
Now, as crazy as it sounded, you decided to take that moment to slip out. Something about barely surviving kept you smart, and though you felt guilty, you knew this was your opportunity to run. It didn't matter though, the moment you stepped out the doorway was the moment you saw a familiar hooded man near the reception desk, examining something. Staying absolutely silent, you took a few steps backward, turning around and deciding to tiptoe deeper into the hall.
Maybe you could hide.
Maybe they'd think you had escaped, they'd leave then, they would never know. The hallway only went so far, and there were at least several room in it. You tried every doorknob, and many of them opened. Still, you decided to pick the furthest one, something about putting distance between yourself and the scuffle that was clearly taking place in the room you had left Danvers and Tim in.
You slipped into the dark room, still holding that goddamn towel around your chest. After closing it gently, you turned to look around. You could barely make out the silhouettes of furniture as you quietly stumbled around, holding onto this and that for balance and security. Finally, you found the edge of the bed, and being as stereotypical as ever, you got on your knees, crawling under. Dust and debris stuck to your wet skin, but you could care less as you pressed yourself to the floor, closing your eyes and relaxing.
You'd be okay. They wouldn't even think to search in the motel.
You counted the seconds.
1... 2... 3... 4...
They built up into minutes, and you finally lost count around the twentieth minute. The motel had become awfully silent, the noise from Danvers room had drowned out a while ago. You weren't sure if she was dead, no, you actually were quite sure. Just another misfortune to add to your list of things-to-feel-guilty-about. First that man, the one with the car, the kids-chair in the back seat, the one that had picked you up. Then that security guard, the one that thought you were a crazy bitch. Then there was that lady in the store, the one Toby had stolen clothes from. Can't forget Claire either, she came back for you. What about that poor motel owner too? Ah, and of course Danvers and her partner, they were your fault too.
How many more people would die until this was finally over? Would it ever be over?
The door creaked open and you now felt that fear sink in. Your hands silently came to your mouth, wrapping over your lips as you silenced your breathing. The door closed, and the floorboards began to creak. You barely made out the silhouette of shoes against the floor, your heartbeat beginning to reach a dangerous level. Not knowing what else to do, you closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself it was all a bad dream.
He'll be gone soon.
He won't notice.
Just a little while longer.
You began counting the seconds again.
1... 2... 3...
Your concentration was interrupted as you felt someone grab your ankles, yanking you out. A horrified scream ripped through your throat as you clawed at the floor, your nails fumbling as you found yourself pulled up and held against the bed. You instinctively squirmed and thrashed for a good minute, your captor simply holding you in place until you tired yourself out. Still, you put up a fight, throwing punches and kicks that found little to no purchase. Finally, you could do nothing but give up, fighting the tears that threatened to spill as you stared up at the figure.
Even in the dark, you were able to recognize him, his goggles were pulled up, sitting on his head while his mask laid neatly over his face. He still smelt the same too, sandalwood and smoke. There was something else too, his usually cold eyes looked a little different, a little hotter, fiery, angry.
His arms were on either side of you, holding you in between his body and the bed. What made it worse was probably the fact that you had lost your towel under the bed. So, here you were. Naked, wet, and in the dark, with a most likely pissed-off psychopath in your immediate vicinity. God must really hate you.
Nothing happened for another good minute, he simply stared at you, and you simply stared back. How angry was he? He hadn't done anything yet. Maybe he was just thinking, thinking of all the ways he intended on killing you. On that note, you recognized the reflective glint of his axes hanging off his belt. He was definitely ready to kill you. He'd probably make it slow and painful, you had provoked that much out of him for sure. Still, what choice did you have? It was either run or die, and you simply couldn't bring yourself to dying. Something had just kicked in, adrenaline, fight-or-flight, either way, you simply couldn't let yourself die.
So here you were, your goddamn need to survive had probably worsened everything.
"Toby..." you whispered his name, as if checking to see if the man you knew was home. He wasn't though, instead the same fiery-eyed Toby continued to stare. However, he did make a move, one hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed you up onto the bed. He pulled his mask down, his body leaning in to kiss you. It had caught you by surprise, the savagery behind that kiss as he choked you harder, forcing you to squirm and gasp. You felt his teeth tearing at your lower-lip, the metallic taste of blood making its way onto your tongue.
Alright, you could play off this. Sure, he was very, very, and if you hadn't noticed, very angry. But there was something else there too. Maybe it was the convenient nudity, or maybe it was something else, but he was giving in a little. So perhaps it was due to instincts or a sense of hope, but either way, you found yourself gently holding onto the fabric of his jacket, weakly returning his aggressive kiss. He seemed to soften up a little then, his grip on your neck loosening until he had removed his hand. He actually removed everything, letting you go in every sense of the word as he took a few steps back.
"Y-you ran," he decided to say.
"You..." damn, your throat hurt, "you tried to kill me!"
"W-what did you e-expect?" he sounded as if he was rolling his eyes.
"This," you grumbled, "I expected more of... this" you looked down at yourself, then at him, your fingers coming to wipe the blood from your lips.
His eyes seemed to light up at that, taking your words as an invitation to step closer until he was once again pressed up against you.
"I don't understand," he said the words firmly, seriously. "You know I c-can't, I mean, I'm not..." he frowned.
"You mean something to me," you said, and yes, he did mean something to you. You hated him. "I think I... I might have feelings..." feelings that revolved around choking the bastard. "And I didn't think you'd kill me, I thought you had feelings too." Alright, that part was actually true.
You weren't sure what you were hoping to accomplish but right now, it was the only thing you could think to do. Goddamn survival instincts.
"Show me."
You blinked at him, your eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness at this point and you could very clearly see him unbuttoning his jacket.
Oh, okay, you knew where this was going...
"What?" you asked just in case your hunch was wrong.
"You have f-feelings for me, hmm?" he sounded a little sarcastic, as if he knew how you truly felt. "Prove it t-then."
The jacket had come off now, dropping to the floor as he returned his attention to your lips. You weren't even capable of returning the kiss, your mind running a marathon as you realized what was about to happen next. He placed one hand on your waist, his fingers cool against your naked skin as he pulled you firmly against him. He took your hand in his, pressing it against the buttons of his shirt, daring you to take it off.
"Show me you love me."