Villain and Photographer Part 5
Thank y'all for being so patient with me! As it's been a while I decided to continue an oldie, but a goodie! Plus I made it extra long.
Hope you guys enjoy! You can find parts 1, 2, 3, 4 here!
*Just a reminder that these snippets are not prompts, but original writings. Please do not duplicate or copy. If you want to do anything with the stories I have on the blog, feel free to message me about it! I promise I’m super chill.*
Warnings: Mentions of beatings and gaslighting. Violence, suffocation, and some swearing.
Please be safe my dears!
Photographer was in the bathtub again.
Technically, they knew they could sit and wait anywhere in the room, but the bathtub was their area of choice. There was something comforting about the small, oval space, it made them feel protected on almost all sides and the warm light over the sink dowsed the room in potential coziness. It felt like, in that space, no time existed. For a brief moment, it was just them with no threats, no obligations…just pure isolated safety.
Perhaps this is why the bathtub is most people’s area of choice to cry in.
Photographer sure had done their share.
As it was, the bathroom was Hero’s area of choice to place Photographer whenever they had to go out. Logically it made sense. There were no windows, the doorknob was easily manipulated to lock from the outside, and depending on how long Hero was gone, they didn’t have to worry about Photographer making a mess in their absence.
Like a fucking dog.
In this instance, Photographer was looking at hour four in the bathroom. At least, they thought so. There was no sense of time available to them.
They knew Hero could take a few minutes to an entire day with Photographer locked in the bathroom, so they did what three weeks of habit had taught them, and placed a few towels on the floor of the tub to curl up and nurse their never ending injuries.
God, Photographer couldn’t do this much longer.
They could feel their body giving up, withering away. There’s only so many beatings one could take before the healing process just couldn’t keep up anymore.
They couldn’t even walk without assistance. Well, not without Hero dragging them about the apartment.
It was terrifying. Knowing, feeling, their body shut down bit by bit…Hero hurting just enough for Photographer to experience the fear of a long unavoidable death.
‘I can still save you, you know, if you tell me’, Hero whispered to them this morning as they lay prone on their bedroom floor. ‘This is all still reversible…but not for much longer. You’ve got no powers my friend, we both know you won’t bounce back soon.’
When Photographer said nothing, Hero dragged them into the bathroom with a ‘Let’s see what one more day with no food does, eh?’ And left to presumably do their classic hero-ing.
Photographer shifted and whimpered. With no one else in the apartment, they didn’t feel the need to hide just how awful they felt. And awful was an understatement.
Hero fed them, but only just enough. After all, a dead Photographer couldn’t reveal where the film was, nor become a puppet for Hero to use later. But Photographer could still feel the sharpness of their bones against skin every time they moved in the porcelain bowl. The bruises were now so extensive that Photographer couldn’t make out what their skin color used to be on their torso. And every day Hero would shift between the tyrannical murderer Photographer caught in the warehouse, and just plain Hero, Photographer’s friend who had saved them on countless occasions.
Photographer knew what Hero was doing to them… gaslighting, manipulating…but their exhaustion was getting to the point that they might just believe Hero was still their friend one of these days.
But what would happen once Hero got the film? Finally acquiring the one thing that seemed to put a hold on whatever plan Hero put in place?
Photographer had a feeling that many people would die. One in particular for sure.
They couldn’t let that happen.
Shifting again, Photographer pulled a towel to cover their already clothed body. Even with sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt the chill never left their body. It upset them that they hadn’t escaped before this, Hero constantly with them at first…now their body was too weak to do so.
Hurry Villain! They thought desperately. Just as they had since Villain showed up on their door step two days ago. Please!
They wondered what plan Villain was concocting to rescue them…if they were going to at all. No, of course Villain would. Photographer remembered Villain’s face at the warehouse when (after having lots of time to think about it, Photographer figured it out), Villain thought the dead body on the warehouse ground was theirs.
It was a look of pure devastation. Pure fury.
The same way Photographer would feel if their places were switched.
No, Villain was coming for them. They just needed to hold on a little longer.
And what about Assistant Director? Did he open the package Photographer left on his desk? Had he developed the film? A security guard at Investigation Agency owed Photographer a favor and they cashed it in to get the package placed on the desk of the man Hero seemed to hate the most.
Photographer chuckled through their slow tears. It was ironic, Hero holding them hostage so they would reveal where the film was, before it got into Assistant Director’s hands. And Assistant Director was where Photographer hid it in the first place.
Then again, the note included would have dissuaded the young bureaucrat from looking at the film too soon.
Hero holding them hostage in their own home was unexpected. Not at all a part of the plan.
Then again, neither was Villain coming to look for them.
The slam of the front door pulled Photographer from their musings. The sound of fast, heavy foot steps towards the bathroom made them push up against the side of the tub. They curled up. Try to be small, try to be small, the mantra echoed in their head.
“PHOTOGRAPHER!” Hero screamed. The door flew open. It hit the side wall with enough force to leave a glaring dent.
Photographer’s eyes widened in the face of Hero’s fury. They couldn’t stop the uncontrollable shaking nor the sound of fear that escaped them.
This was not the Hero Photographer had known the past few weeks. This was not the methodical, torturous captor. Photographer felt ice claw up their spine as their gaze met Hero’s…Hero was angry. No, Hero was furious. This was the same face Hero had when they lost control with Agent.
Something happened today.
Dear god…did Hero find the film? Was Assistant Director dead? Did Villain try something?
Was Photographer about to be murdered in their own bathroom?
“What happened?!” Hero roared, crowding into Photographer’s space and looming over them.
Hero gripped the porcelain sides, the space going from protected to prison in a matter of seconds.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Photographer stammered, sliding down as far as they could go. Their feet and knees bunched near the faucet as their back lay flat.
“What did you say?!” Hero growled.
“Noth…Nothing,” Photographer felt their heart would stop with how fast it was going. “I’ve been here all day, I swear, even since you dragged me…”
“I KNOW!” Hero punctuated with their face jutting down closer to the tub. Photographer whimpered and pushed themselves flatter. “I know you’ve been here all day, you pathetic, no power, waste of trash! I mean before!”
“Wha…What before?”
“Before,” Hero lowered their voice, “when Villain was at the door.”
What? But that was two days ago!
“I…I don’t…” Photographer hated how weak they sounded, but sheer panic shot through their veins like lightning. “You were there! You heard! I sent them away!”
Hero reached down and placed their left hand flat against Photographer’s chest.
“Yes, I heard.” Slowly, almost gently, they began to push down. Pressure increased as Photographer became pinned against the bottom of the tub. “So how did you do it? Huh, Photographer? I listened to everything, I know you had no pen or paper, how did you ask for help?”
Hero pushed down further. Photographer’s eyes popped and their breathing hitched when they realized what Hero was doing.
Dear god, Hero was going to crush them!
Slowly, painfully, Hero would make it last…morbidly Photographer’s brain flashed the image of that guy they learned about in the fifth grade, who was crushed during the Salem Witch Trials.
Photographer desperately gripped Hero’s arm with both hands, pushing up in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure.
“I…I didn’t…” They squeaked. Hero pushed down harder, all air forced out of Photographer’s lungs. They gasped rapidly for breaths that never made it past their throat. Their nails clawed at Hero.
“Then why!” Hero ground out, each word accented with an extra push of their hand. “Why was Villain spotted leaving Assistant Director’s house this morning? Huh?! Why would that swine ever go near that man unless…”
“...please…” Photographer wheezed. Their vision was going dark. The pain so severe they were sure to hear the crunching of ribs any second.
“Unless,” Hero continued. Their face now mere inches from the gasping Photographer's. “Unless they were willing to risk it all…and they would only do that for one person.”
Suddenly, the pressure was gone. Photographer violently jerked as their body spasmed against the first deep breath of air.
Every fiber of their being was on fire.
Tears spilled from Photographer’s eyes as they curled onto their side away from Hero. Body shaking and lungs aching.
A hand slid up and down their arm before gripping their bicep holding them still.
“You know, Villain was ready to kill me when they thought it was you who’s heart I held in my hand…I had no idea, not before then anyway, how much you meant to them.”
“...please…” Photographer rasped. Their hand rested against the porcelain side, as if it would magically become a door and let them escape.
“I wonder,” Hero’s voice tickled so close to their ear, “if they mean the same to you.”
Photographer stilled. Not a breath, not a sound escaped them. They felt ice shoot through their heart.
No.
“I’m done playing games, Photographer." Hero straightened up and wiped their hands together. “I didn’t want to do this. I thought all our years of friendship meant something.”
Even though they just wanted to sink into the tub and disappear, Photographer forced themselves to roll over and meet Hero’s gaze.
“It did,” they rasped. “It meant so much…but you threw that away when you became a murderer and took me hostage in my own home.”
Hero glared down at them, “You can’t possibly understand. There are forces at play here that no non-powered little wretch could ever comprehend. And you, my friend, are screwing up the gameboard.”
A moment of silence followed Hero’s words.
Photographer sucked in a breath as realization struck.
“That’s why…” their eyes widened in wonder as they spoke. “That’s why.”
Hero quirked an eye brow,
“Why what?”
“That’s why you hate him,” Photographer all but whispered. “Why you needed Agent. Why you wanted his file.” They painfully pulled themselves up into a sitting position. As each puzzle piece fell into place it gave them the energy to look Hero in the eye. “You hate him, because he has no powers."
Hero grabbed their hair and yanked their head back. They drew their face so close Photographer could feel the spit as Hero growled.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Photographer grit their teeth, “Don’t I?”
As Hero pulled their hair harder, Photographer forced themselves to speak through the pain,
“You hate Assistant Director because he has no powers.”
With an animalistic yell Hero shoved Photographer away, their shoulder blades hit the tub’s edge with a loud thump. They slumped forward.
Hero huffed deep angry breaths from above as they tried and failed to get themselve up.
“He’s bested heroes and villains time and time again,” Photographer almost felt like laughing. They finally pulled themselves up with their knees close to their chest. “And he has no powers.”
They raised their gaze and met Hero straight on.
“I’m done with this,” Hero whispered. In a flash they turned their back and strode towards the door. And a much more conversational tone, they said, “You have no family and no friends of note around here, Photographer.”
Photographer drew their eyebrows together in question. Hero reached over and grabbed the door handle, moving the door back and forth, testing that it was still functional.
“I know how much you value true journalism. With no one to threaten, I figured your freedom was worth more than anything to you.”
Cold dread filled Photographer. They stumbled to untangle themselves and reach over the tub’s edge.
“I want that film, Photographer. I’m not waiting any longer.”
“Wait…” Photographer stammered. Their mind knew where this was going and all previous confidence at figuring out Hero’s motivations left them. “You…”
“Let’s see how tight lipped you are when it’s Villain squirming under my hand.”
“No…”
“See you in a bit Photographer.” Hero threw one last look over their shoulder. A sadistic glint in their eye, “We’ll soon have a guest.”
“NO!” Photographer screamed as the door closed, locking them in once more.
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