There really was no way to win.
You try to cooperate, you get hurt. You try to fight back, you get hurt. You try to lay low and mind your own business, you inevitably get hurt. The pattern was far too clear and now the only question was how hurt you'd be getting this time? Would this be a tumble-down-the-stairs kind of incident, or more of a well-there-goes-my-pinky-finger-guess-I-didn't-need-it-anyways. Maybe it would be more sexual in nature, but then against this was Tim and not Jeff. That's a good thing, right? You were now weighing the pros and cons of sexual assault versus long-winded torture.
What you knew for sure though, was that you were on your own. No one was coming to save you, well not for a couple of hours. Could you survive a couple of hours with Tim? It wasn't looking too good so far, especially considering the man had a knife to your throat. You had to get him talking, keep him occupied and distracted. But could you manage that for hours? No, probably not. But at least it would buy you some time.
"Why are you doing this?" you asked the first, basic question that came to mind. "What did I ever do to you?" Honestly though, what had you done him? You had smacked Jeff around with a lamp one too many times, hence his hatred was justifiable. You had chucked an axe at Toby, so even he was somehow entitled to his bursts of vengeance. But Tim? You hadn't done anything to the guy. Why did he hate you so much?
"I hate your kind," was his sharp response, bitter and sharp as he drew the knife down your throat, blood pooling beneath it. "Fucking garbage, weak and selfish." He was speaking in rather general terms, but the way he said it, the way the very words seemed to shake- this man was very adamant about his feelings towards humanity.
You tried to think of a smart reply, but the only word that came out was, "Hypocrite."
"What was that?" he hissed, the blade of the knife suddenly twisting, pressing into your jugular but not quite breaking the skin just yet.
"Your preying on those that can't defend themselves," you half-heartedly growled the words out, honestly tired of his bullshit. If you were going to die, then you weren't going to do it groveling. "There's nothing weaker than that."
"I'm going to kill you." Was his grim response.
"I'm not afraid of you," was your snarky reply, though in truth you were terrified. He probably knew it too, the way he scoffed, the way his angry eyes seemed to see right into your soul.
"You shouldn't lie," it was his turn to growl an irritated, malicious growl. He sounded evil.
"Go to hell," but you were too proud and angry to care right now, thrashing and squirming underneath him, trying to gain some form of leverage. He didn't even give you a chance, backhanding you hard enough to make your jaw snap into the floor below, a few teeth definitely loosening. You felt a sudden ringing in your ears, your vision blurring for a second as you gasped at the almost familiar sensation of another concussion.
"Feisty little thing," he grumbled, "This is pathetic, I feel like I'm all talk, here I am acting all monstrous, but what have I done to you? A few papercuts? A little smack? Someone like you deserves better." He moved away now, the weight of him suddenly disappearing from your stomach, allowing your lungs to finally refill with air. You were too dizzy to fight back as he dug a hand into your scalp, his fingers tightening around the hair as he dragged you onto your feet. "You deserve the worst," he added in a lower, more ominous tone, pushing you forward.
You barely managed to catch your footing, the dizziness in your head subsiding as adrenaline began to take over. It didn't matter though, you immediately felt the blade of the knife nipping at the small of your back, ebbing you on as you took a step forward, then another. He led you into the kitchen. You felt another sharp push and found yourself grabbing the dining table for balance, sucking in a quick breath before quickly turning to face him.
Why did he hate you so much?
Your hands tightened around the table, your knuckles whitening in anxiety. This was probably going to be the worst way to die. You tried to come up with a plan, watching dreadfully as Tim glanced left then right, as if assessing the room, as if making sure this was where he wanted to kill you. Finally, he turned back to you, the only light in the house was that of the living rooms, and the way it fed into the kitchen and illuminated the killers figure only made him more intimidating. He took a slow step forward and you froze, your instincts on their edge. Should you fight? Should you give up and pray for a quick death? Should you try to talk? Yes, that sounded like a good idea.
"I don't und-
"Must've been good," he cut you off quickly, his tall, rather threatening frame trapped you against the table. His eyes however were raking down your body in an uncomforting manner, the dress you wore suddenly felt too tight. The knife was suddenly at your thigh, and you mumbled a helpless "don't" as it trailed up your leg, stopping at your most private part. All sense of fight and scheming died the moment you felt the coldness of the blade so close to such a sensitive area. The image of him tearing right into you right there was traumatizing and what made it worse was that he would actually do it. "The sex I mean," he continued, and you remained deadly still as he pushed the blade up a bit further, the fabric of the dress too sheer to protect you. You could now feel the blade against your underwear. "Why else would he keep you?"
"We never..." you spoke slowly, whispering, as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, however you were unable to finish the sentence, your mind trailing off. Luckily you were able to breathe a sigh of relief when he moved the knife away, trailing it up your hip before his free hand dug into the flesh there, turning you around forcefully before his knife hand returned to your hair, pushing your head down into the table. You suddenly lost it, beginning to thrash again, screaming terrible things at him, insisting he let you go at once.
It didn't matter though, he didn't care. His hips kept you trapped against the table, pressing into you rather uncomfortably, but this was different, you had a feeling his intentions were not sexual. No, he hated you far too much for that. Instead you felt him grab your wrists, stretching your arms out on the table in front of your head. He forced one hand over the other, growling another obscene insult before you felt the blade of the knife tear through both your hands, going through the table in one swift movement.
You screamed a horrible, agonizing scream, the tears flowing down your eyes as you didn't dare move, too afraid you'd make it worse. It hurt, it hurt so much and you didn't understand why. You didn't understand anything. Why was he doing this? Why did he have to torment you like this? Why couldn't he just get it over with? You were trying to be good, you were trying so hard to be obedient, to survive. Why was this happening?
You sobbed heavily, crying out in pain, making the mistake of squirming too much only to realize your hands were stuck, and the more you moved, the more the blade dug into the sides of your flesh. So, you stayed still, crying, trying to wrap your head around it, trying to keep the pain at bay.
Was he chuckling? Oh God how you hated him. His body suddenly disappeared from behind you, and you heard movement, a drawer opened, utensils shifted, he returned a moment later. He was now behind you again, you could feel the malice in his eyes as he gazed down at you, his finger running along your back.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, aggressive as always, but there was a hint of relief in his tone, a hint of enjoyment.
You didn't respond, trying to muffle your sobs against the table.
"Answer me," he ordered, his hands wrapped around your shoulders, pushing them back and forth in a massage like rhythm. However, with each movement your hands were forced to move, the blade tearing an even larger hole.
"It hurts, st-stop, it hurts so much," you were crying, you sounded pathetic, so much for fighting, so much for being strong.
He was silent for a moment, a short moment, before you heard him exhale heavily.
"I think..." his hand found its way to your face, tightening around your jaw and holding your head up at a sharp angle. You could see him hovering over you as he brought a new knife, one he no-doubt got from the kitchen drawers, to the underside of your face, a bit below your chin. "I'm tired of looking at such a pathetic face," the blade began to dig into the skin there, you instinctively tried to move away but the pain in your hands forced you to stay still and bare it. But you couldn't. You couldn't bare it. You couldn't bare him. This was unlike anything you had dealt with, your mind simply couldn't keep up, the fear was driving you insane. You were never before so scared in your life.
"Why...?" you gasped the word out, your body trembling at this point.
"Why?" he repeated.
"Why do you hate me?" your voice was cracking, your mind was racing, you felt as if you would shut down at any second.
"I told you, I hate all-
"Why do you hate me?" you repeated, not buying his excuses. No, this hate was too specific, too targeted, too personal. He wasn't evening some vendetta he had against humanity, he was evening some vendetta against you, and you wanted to know while you could still ask, while you could still speak.
He was uncomfortably silent.
"Tim...?" you groaned his name, your voice too weak, too scared at the moment.
He exhaled again, a little deeper this time.
"Don't say my name like that," he ordered before you felt him move away, the knife at your throat now gone. It was now your turn to exhale sharply, shakily, trying to regain the ability to breathe. "Just... die," he sighed but didn't make any move to make that idea a reality.
"Tell me," you whispered after a moment, calming down a little, just a little though, he was far too unpredictable for your liking, "I deserve to know why I'm going to die."
"You don't deserve anything," he snapped bitterly, and your calm disappeared, alertness replacing it as you buried your head into the table, too afraid to face him.
"What does it matter..." he sighed again after a moment, moving around the table until he was finally facing you. He looked insane, dark and disheveled in the most unsettling of ways. "You're going to die tonight, we have lots of time, might as well play the game," you weren't sure if he was talking to you or himself. "I hate you because you're his," he concluded, letting the statement simply hang in the air.
You managed the courage to blink at him, trying to understand the cause of all this pain. He was jealous? Jealous that you were taking all of Toby's time? Jealous of your relationship with his friend? Was that it?
"I never meant to take him from you..." you offered it as a sort of apology, not entirely sure what else you could say.
"Fucking idiot," he grumbled before leaning across the table, closing the distance between you once again. You wanted to back away but the knife through your hands kept you at bay as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair for the third time. However, this time he pulled your face towards his own and for a moment you thought he was about to kiss you. He almost did too, stopping a mere inch before pulling away completely. "You're his to play with, to fuck, to kill," Tim explained, "You're off-limits. That makes me want you all the more," he was pacing now, circling around the table like a shark circling its prey. "Why can't I play with his toy? Him and I are like family after all."
This was all becoming far too twisted for you to understand.
It was a game to him, he wanted what he couldn't have and Toby just happened to make you the shiny new trophy. Tim didn't like the restrictions, he was jealous of the new toy, he wanted to play with it too, he wanted to break it.
"The way he treats you though, like you're something special." Tim's hand suddenly wrapped around the knife that was holding your own hands down. You were afraid he was going to twist it, afraid he was going to make it worse. "Are you something special?" he suddenly tightened his hand around the handle, pulling the knife out. You didn't dare move your hands, the blood that was beginning to spread over the table was now dripping down the sides. "Why does he get the pretty fuck doll? Why am I the one that has to keep away? Fucking bullshit. You're keeper isn't here, he isn't going to rescue you. Toys all mine tonight."
His hands were at your waist and in a quick, rough motion you found your battered body pushed entirely onto the table. He was hovering over you like a predator about to make the killing blow. The knife was back in his hand, the blade thick with your blood.
"Tim please..." you did it again, whispering his name in a weak, needy fashion. He seemed unfazed but there was that brief flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You used your hands to prop yourself up, fighting through the immense pain if only for a second. You leaned towards him, looking defeated, opening your mouth as if you wanted to say something. He didn't stop you, giving you the chance to subtly line up your leg, gathering all your anger and frustration as you suddenly kicked him in the groin. He made an awful sound, stumbling back if only for a moment. But a moment was all you needed to desperately crawl off the table, running with the last doses of energy you could muster.
You spared one glance at him as you quickly unlocked the cabins door. He was still reeling in pain, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, murder written all over them.
"You fucking bitch!" he roared the words, "I'm going to-
You slammed the door closed as you exited into the snowy expanse beyond the cabin. The cold was the first thing to hit you, your awareness suddenly realizing the pain you were in. Still, you couldn't stay here, you had to fight just a little longer. You began running, grateful he hadn't hurt your legs. Unfortunately, you were leaving a trail of blood and footprints in the snow. That didn't stop you from bolting into the woods, your speed surprising you as you pushed past foliage, barely avoiding trees as you dashed through the snowbanks. Something about life and death could really motivate a person.
The sky above you was darkening, a storm was brewing by the sound of it. You wouldn't survive out here on your own, it was already cold enough as is. But you'd have to worry about that later because you suddenly became aware of the monster behind you. He was screaming all types of threats, and they were only getting closer. This was hopeless, you couldn't run forever.
Just a little further though, you couldn't give up yet. You just couldn't.
So, you pushed on, your muscles screaming, your body losing blood every second. It was becoming too hopeless, you were beginning to slow down, you were beginning to stumble, you could hear his trudging closing in behind you. You were going to die.
It was at that moment that you slammed into a tree, the force knocking the wind out of you as you fell back into the snow, wheezing for air. It was all over. You laid there, panting, waiting for the attack to come. It never did though, the trudging had become silent. When you glanced up from the ground, you could see Tim in view, standing mere meters away. However, he wasn't looking at you, his glare was instead fixed on something above you. You followed his eyes, now realizing the tree you crashed into wasn't a tree at all. Instead you recognized the gray-tinted skin of a reserved doctor that had once treated you. You remembered his eyeless sockets, you remembered his jacket, you remembered him.
His head tilted down, his sockets resting on you before he took a step forward. Trapped between two monsters, what a way to go.
"You're hurt," he stated.
He wasn't wrong.
"Why're you here?" Tim suddenly intervened, beyond annoyed, also a little jumpy.
"Was coming to see Toby," Jack was still looking down at you while he addressed Tim. "I intend on taking his cabin once he's done working here. Needed new hunting grounds. What did you do to his human Tim? She's on the verge of dying."
"Let me finish and you can have her organs," Tim grumbled, but judging by the tone of his voice it seemed he knew that plan was no longer a possibility.
"I thought you were smarter than this," Jack sounded very disapproving. "I thought Jeff was the only one stupid enough to try something like this."
"Don't fucking lecture me Jack."
"Oh, shut up and start running," Jacks monotone had become more of a growl now, a hint of animalistic impatience mixing into his voice. "He won't be happy when he sees what you've done."
"Fuck if I care," Tim grumbled, and you distinctly heard him turn away, beginning to trudge through the snow. "If you want her that bad, then go ahead, she'll be dead soon enough." You heard the trudging again, its intensity slowly fading as the sound lightened and lightened before disappearing completely.
It was as if your body suddenly realized it was safe, your alertness, your adrenaline, your very consciousness slipping and fading. The tiredness took over, the dull ache of pain intensifying, threatening to knock you out. The last thing you saw was Jacks eyeless face peering down at you, his large, gray hands reaching towards you before everything went black.