Hungry Man
Chapter 3- I Know The End 6.7k
Chapter Summary- Close my eyes, fantasize Three clicks and I'm home When I get back I'll lay around Then I'll get up and lay back down Romanticize a quiet life There's no place like my room
warnings/tags: dark&sneaky!Joel/crazy&unhinged!reader, DDDNE (this chapter may be hard to read for some- please be mindful of the content you consume), dubious ethics, Joel being protective, slightly mean!Joel if you squint but mostly gentle!Joel, reader goes through it again in this chapter (get used to it, sorry) brief mentions of blood.
a/n: hi. I hope you like this chapter :)
The house is so quiet compared to the mall. There was always something making sound– animals or insects, the structure itself shifting and settling after years of decomposing. There wasn’t a completely silent night in the last eight months and now Joel doesn’t know how to fall asleep anymore.
Even with you fast asleep beside him, he can’t seem to calm his racing mind.
How’re you gonna keep her safe?
Joel looks down at you, watching your eyes move behind the lids while you sleep. Your breathing is slow and steady. He wonders if instead of your usual nightmares that maybe tonight you’re dreaming good things.
While he’s lost in thought, you make a soft, sleepy sighing sound and wiggle your body closer to him, snuggling against him as tightly as you can. Joel wipes a stray eyelash off your cheek carefully, and then ghosts his index finger across your forehead.
You sigh again, but don’t wake up.
Why doesn’t he hate you? You took from him– took his time. Took the precious, unpromised time he had with Ellie and JJ, with Tommy and his nephew Ben.
He should hate you for that. Should hate you for the way you treated him– kept him tied up and chained like a dog. He mindlessly rubs at his neck while the thoughts race– while his feelings swirl around like a tornado inside him.
You don’t hate her though– you understand her.
He does. He understands you more than he would like to admit. He’s had so much time to think about the things he’s done, and the kind of man he is– and he understands why you did what you did.
Joel has done things he wouldn’t have normally done for the sake of caring about someone. The hospital plays in his head over, and over again. The night he lost Sarah.
He thinks about the person he helped shape Ellie into– and he wonders if it’s a good thing. Joel thinks about the things Ellie did with Tommy after the attack. Joel wonders where she would have ended up without him around. What kind of person she might have turned out to be if he hadn’t ever agreed to take her to Salt Lake.
She’d be dead– no doubt about that.
Ellie had been a kid– she is just barely not a kid anymore in his eyes.
You’re grown– set in your ways and clearly traumatized. Joel wonders if he’s doing the right thing by bringing you here.
He wrinkles his nose at the scent of you– he hadn’t noticed it much before with everything going on, all the emotions. Now that everything is settled, and he has a little time to think, let things register, the smell of his brother and his brother's house and the soap his family uses wafts through his nostrils and it makes him angry.
Joel wants you to smell like you.
No, you want her to smell like you.
Something wicked grows inside Joel because that voice inside him is right; he does want you to smell like him. He wants everyone who comes close to you to recognize you as his because you are– he meant what he said and he hopes you know that.
There is too much thinking happening. Too much noise inside his head and too much silence around him for his body and mind to relax. He wants to get up and go look for something to drink, something to settle the storm and ease him into rest.
He knows that if he leaves and you wake up to an empty bed, all hell is going to break loose, so he stays next to you and lets you sleep. Lets you get your much needed rest because he knows that you’re capable of going an ungodly amount of time without sleep. It used to scare him how long you would be awake before crashing out for eighteen to twenty hours at a time.
This next week is for you– getting you used to being in a house and a schedule. Getting you used to being around people. Then he’s going to get you working– he’s already thought about how you’ll like working in the barn. You like animals, seem to be good with them and know more about them than he does– and there is a whole building full of them.
Silently, he boasts about how smart he is for thinking about it. He isn’t going to stick you in the kitchen where he knows you’ll be miserable. And he isn’t going to get you on patrol duty until he knows you won’t run away.
She’s gonna try.
Yeah, you will try. You’re scared now– won’t admit it– but you’re scared. The second you get an ounce of courage– which you will– you’ll try and take off. Joel will come look for you, and he will find you– and you will not like how he makes sure you don’t run off again.
He might never let you leave. He hasn’t really decided yet, but he’s thinking about it.
Joel settles down beside you again, and this time you stir, sleep clinging to your panicked voice as you ask where he’s going. He nuzzles his nose into the side of your face and splays one of his hands across your stomach, resting it there innocently. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he reassures with his lips pressing softly against the corner of your mouth.
You hum quietly with your eyes still closed and place your hand on top of Joel’s and hold him there– lightly encourage him to keep touching you. “Good,” you yawn quietly and melt back into the bed.
With his eyes closed, he thinks maybe getting you acclimated won’t be as hard as he thought it was going to be. You’re here in his bed, sleeping like you have no worries in the world while he sits up awake, fearful and anxious of the future.
----
“Mister!”
Joel’s eyes shoot open, heart already racing because he can hear the fear in your voice. He doesn’t have time to ask you what’s wrong when a loud, heavy pounding on the front door makes you flinch.
Joel sighs loudly. He shouldn’t be annoyed at people coming to visit, but it feels like it’s too early in the morning for company. The thudding doesn’t cease, and Joel looks at you regretfully, “Gotta go see who–”
Your hand darts to his, gripping it tightly. “Please don’t let’em take me,” you plead with him, eyes wet with tears before he has time to ease your worry. “I’ll be good! I promise! I’ll be g-good, just don’t make me go with’em.”
The bangning on the front door wont stop– that paired with the sound of your begging and the fact that Joel only three, maybe fours of sleep is making his head spin.
Joel shakes your hand off of his and climbs out of the bed, waving your worries away with a flick of his wrist as he heads to his dresser. “No one's gonna take you,” he has much less patience for all of this today than he did yesterday.
You’re out of bed, following close behind to the dresser with your fingers worrying at the hem of his t-shirt. “Like I ain’t heard that before,” you tug desperately at the fabric as he pulls on a pair of jeans.
Joel swats your hand away, the annoyance seeping in while the front door nearly gets knocked off its hinges downstairs. “Would you cut it out,” Joel swats at your hand once again and tucks his shirt into his jeans.
“Who is knockin’ like that this early!?” You exclaim, holding your right hand towards the bedroom door. “Someone who sounds like they want somethin’!”
Joel shakes his head at you and combs his fingers through his hair to look somewhat presentable. “You comin’ down like that or do you wanna get dressed?” He looks you up and down, still wearing all of his boxers and t-shirt from last night.
Your eyes go wider than Joel thought possible and now he has to hold back a smirk. “Comin’ down!?”
“Could stay here…’n wait for me–” Joel reaches out to run his index finger between your slit, to tease you for a moment through his boxers, but you’re pushing his hand away, closing the distance between you and grasping at his shirt again in desperation.
“Joel!” The muffled, female voice coming from out front sounds angry. “I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door!”
Your head whips around and you look at the door that leads out into the hallway. “Who is that?” You ask, the fear replaced with new piqued curiosity. “That don’t sound like Maria– who is that lady?” You turn to look at him again, brows pinched together tight.
Joel can’t hide the smirk, he can barely hold back the chuckle you force out of him. “‘Cause it ain’t Maria,” he gently grabs you by the scruff of your neck and places a chaste kiss to your forehead.
“Who is that woman tryin’ to barge in here so early in the–”
Joel grips the back of your neck a little tighter and you scowl up at him but go silent. “Sounds like y’might be a little jealous–”
With your right hand, you ball your fist into Joel’s shirt and pull yourself closer to him. “Don’t like other ladies knockin’ on your door like that,” you growl at him, the fear from your voice and plastered all over your face is gone.
There she is.
Joel snorts softly to himself, shaking his head from side to side. “You’re somethin’ else,” he massages the side of your neck with his index finger and thumb gently. You soften slightly against him and he kisses your forehead again and lingers. “Go shower– you smell like my brother's house,” he grumbles against your skin.
“Who is–”
“It’s just Ellie,” Joel lets his hand slide down your spine and over the curve of your ass. “No one you need t’be jealous of,” he teases as he palms and squeezes your ass playfully.
You look him up and down suspiciously, eyebrows still furrowed, lips in a tight line, “You sayin’ there are ones I should be jealous of?”
Joel laughs and gives your ass a good smack, pushing past you gently. “Take a shower ‘n you can come down after. There is stuff for you in the dresser,” he points to his dresser and then leaves the room to attend to the constant knocking downstairs.
----
“The fuck have you been?” Ellie pushes the door open before Joel can even greet her. “Been knocking for almost ten minutes.”
“I’m fully aware how long you been makin’ that racket,” Joel shuts the door behind her as she barges into the house like she still lives here. “S’nice to see you too, I guess.” Joel scoffs softly and shakes his head.
He hadn’t expected a welcome back party, Joel hadn’t even received one smile since he’s been back. Not from Tommy– he never expected one from Maria– and now Ellie.
“What the fuck do you expect me to say, Joel?” Ellie’s headed into the kitchen and Joel follows close behind. “Been gone for eight months and then you come back and don’t even bother coming to see me?”
Joel grabs the glass jar of coffee beans he put in the cupboard after Tommy left last night. “Got in pretty late– didn’t wanna wake you and Dina and J.J.”
Joel goes about making coffee while Ellie softens, changing her tone quickly. “You okay? Look like you been through some shit.”
Joel nods his head, staying quiet. He’s listening for the shower upstairs but he doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t hear any noise and he wonders what you’re doing.
“Thought you were done gettin’ yourself into shit,” Ellie chuckles but Joel doesn’t really hear her. He’s too busy thinking about how there is a pistol tucked into the pocket of a jacket he has hanging up in his closet. He wonders if you’re looking for something like that to use on him. Come down here blasting– taking everyone in the room out so you and Puddin’ can make your great escape.
“Joel?”
His train of thought is derailed, and so he turns to look at Ellie, “Sorry kiddo.” He’s greeted with a look of worry- like something bad could happen to him at any minute. Like he’s fragile and could break. He doesn’t like that. “I’m fine,” he sighs. “Just did a lot of walkin’ yesterday and didn’t get a lot of sleep.”
Ellie sighs loudly and leans back in the chair she had taken a seat in. “Shit, and I come over banging your door down first thing in the morning,” she’s shaking her head. “I’m sorry– Tommy came over this morning and told me that you were back–”
“What else did Tommy tell you?”
Joel’s bathroom is different from Maria’s. Less welcoming– more plain and sterile looking– but your soaps are here. The little bottles and bars of the things that make you clean and smell good. Some of them make you feel soft after you use them.
You’re warm from the inside and the tips of fingers tingle as you run them along the worn and water damaged label of one of the bottles. You notice that he brought his soap from the mall- the one you found for him shortly after he came to stay with you.
You don’t shower. You choose to stay in his clothes instead and inspect what he has for you in his dresser. You start at the bottom drawer, but it’s only his things. The next drawer is the same– only Mister’s clothes.
The next drawer, the one second from the top has significantly less clothes in it– but they’re yours. The ones you had at the mall, folded and tucked away neatly under the cash register in the mattress store– they’re here in Mister-man’s dresser, in a drawer just for you.
The tingles creep up your hands and wrists and into your forearms as you shut the drawer and turn around, taking in the bedroom that you slept in last night.
Felt good to sleep– it’s been a while.
Miss out on things when you sleep and you’re at risk– it’s dangerous.
It did feel good though. It felt good to sleep with a door between you and the outside world, and to have a roof over your head that didn’t have holes in it. There was something nice about being in a house again– but it still made you feel so uneasy, and your stomach was tied so tightly into a knot that it made you feel like you could be sick.
A pink snout peeks out from under Mister’s bed, and sniffs rapidly. Then a gray and white furry face follows and his beady little eyes stare up at you.
It shouldn’t be as dramatic as it is, but you drop to your knees with a thud and Puddin’ runs out from his hiding place and jumps into your lap.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you press your face into his fur as his little scratchy nails dig into your shoulder and cheek. “Mister took real good care of you?”
The small marsupial doesn’t respond, he just continues trying to burrow into the neck of your shirt so he can curl up and go to sleep. You bring him into Mister-man’s bed and curl up with him under your shirt.
Safe. He’s downstairs with his daughter, probably making his horrible coffee. Nothing bad is going to happen.
He’s tellin’ her what you did– he’s gonna tell everyone what you did. They’re all gonna hate you. Gonna talk ‘bout you ‘n laugh at you. Judge you.
It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about what anyone thought about you. You didn’t worry about doing things the normal way, or being normal, or anything other than what made you happy and feel good.
Last night you had no time to think about anything before sleep overcame you. There were no worries when Mister and his endless, perfect body heat kept you warm and comfortable.
Now you’re alone because he’s downstairs with his daughter. You think about how lucky Ellie is that she gets her dad and didn’t lose him. A different kind of jealousy pangs deep inside you. Another reason being alone was so easy was because you weren’t constantly reminded that everyone you had once known is dead. The one person from your past had turned on you, treated you like a tradeable form of currency that he could pass around to keep the people who fueled his addictions happy.
You miss your dad and your mom. You miss the home you knew and the room you had with your books and things in it. You miss life the way it used to be.
Wouldn’t have Mister-Joel though.
Meeting that liar is the worst thing that ever happened to you.
That’s not true. There had been worse things to happen to you– worse people like Christoper and Theo. The worst of them all had been Elias.
With every ounce of mental strength you have left, you pull yourself out of your head and settle back into Mister-man’s warm, safe bed. You press your face into his pillow and inhale deeply, taking in the intoxicating smell of his sleepy, musky scent.
The image of your clothes in his dresser flashes into your head again. Your face gets warm, and your insides feel like they’re vibrating.
He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to make space for you in his life like this. You wonder what the plan is, or if he even has a plan to begin with.
He just wanted you here. Just wanted you close to him.
He’s going to chew you up until there ain’t nothin’ left.
The voices go back and forth with each other for a while; you stay quiet and listen to them bicker about knowing what Mister wants. How they know best.
You think you might not know anything anymore. You had been so smart and so independent out in the woods because there had been no one else around to tell you that how you did things was wrong, or stupid, or that you could do it better this way or that way. Now– thinking about doing anything without Mister-man around makes you want to cry.
----
“S’just me,” he whispers into your ear as he slips into bed beside you. His voice calms you before you have time to panic. “Y’never showered,” he rubs his hand up and down your upper arm. “Still smell like Tommy and Maria’s house.”
“I found someone,” you yawn, lifting your shift a smidge to expose Puddin’, who makes his own sleepy sound, peers around the room with tired eyes, and then curls himself into a ball, wrapping his paws around his tail.
Joel groans quietly in displeasure, “Not in my bed– critters don’t sleep in my bed.” He doesn’t force Puddin’ out, or make you put him on the floor. He wraps his arm around you, careful of the opossum, and settles in, sighing contently.
You smirk, eyes still closed and sass him playfully. “Ya’ didn’t have a problem with it when it was my bed.”
Mister snorts softly against the side of your face and pulls you closer. “Shut up and go back t’sleep. We ain’t doin’ this again tomorrow.”
“Doin’ what?”
Bein’ free.
“Bein’ lazy,” Mister-man yawns tiredly. “We’re all gettin’ up early ‘n doin’ chores,” he very gently and playfully jostles the sleeping animal under your shirt. “You too.”
Puddin’ lets out a squeak, and shifts away from Mister to continue snoozing under the dark fabric.
The next time you wake up you’re cold, and alone. Even Puddin’ is gone.
The room looks different. It’s the same room but everything looks… gray and dull.
Maybe it isn’t the same room.
How terrible would it be if it had all been a dream? All of it– the mall, the Mister-man, Puddin’! What if none of it was real, and you’re back in the bad house, with the bad men who hurt you.
Hide.
The door in the corner of the room looks like it leads to a bathroom– it feels familiar. There is a lock on the door you can see from here, and there might be a small window that you should be able to squeeze out of if you try hard enough.
Smart girl.
Joel will be right back! He’s coming back! Don’t panic!
The dark voice is too late– the anxiety has set in and now you need to move, need to be somewhere where no one can get you, because Joel isn’t here. He’s probably not even real!
Your brain and body aren’t in sync yet, and your legs move swiftly, but nowhere near gracefully. You fall out of bed and land on your chest. Pain shoots through your shoulder and up your neck, down your spine. You whimper, and start to crawl towards the door only a few feet away.
There is a sound downstairs, a clattering, and then footsteps. Fast, heavy footsteps that you can follow by their thudding through the house until they’re racing up the stairs, possibly taking them two at a time.
Comin’ to get you. Gonna take everything from you.
It's as if you get to the bathroom at the same time the footsteps enter the bedroom. You slam the door shut, and turn the lock.
The door begins rattling violently in its frame. The voice on the other side sounds angry, but you can’t even make out what it’s saying over your own hysterics.
“Go away, go away, go away,” you sob softly, covering your ears with your hands despite the searing pain in your shoulder. “Please go away.”
The banging on the door doesn’t stop, it doesn’t soften or slow. It gets louder, and faster. More demanding. The door handle turns from left to right uselessly.
You close your eyes, and press your palms against your ears as hard as you can, trying to drown out the overwhelming loudness. This room is going to close in on you, the walls get closer and the space itself gets smaller and smaller.
Whoever is on the other side of the door is mad at you. The tone of their voice tells you that they’re angry but you still aren’t listening to what they’re saying.
“I’m sorry!” You wail loudly, hoping the person trying to get you can hear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but you must have done something wrong for the person to be so upset.
The door stops rattling, and for a moment you think your apologies worked, the angry entity on the other side of the door must have gone away. For a moment, you think you can breathe.
Then there is one, loud thud against the door. The frame shifts slightly.
“No! No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You scream and shuffle backwards on the floor, jumping when your back touches the outside of the tub.
The person either kicks, or slams their shoulder into the door once again, and you can see the wooden door bow inwards towards you ever-so slightly.
This time the frame around the door splinters.
Wonder what they’re gonna do to you when they get in here.
You’re whimpering, praying, hoping that something will intervene, that something will save you. As you climb into the tub, trying to hide, wondering if the drain would open you up and swallow you whole if you wished hard enough– the wooden frame that keeps the door shut finally gives out as the person forces themselves into the bathroom, and pieces of wood go flying through the air.
You scream in terror, the debris landing in your hair, and on your back. You grip the shower curtain in your right hand and tear it down off the bar above you accidentally as you pull yourself further away from whoever is behind you.
The curtain falls down on top of you, cloaking you in darkness. This makes everything worse. The dark makes it all too familiar.
You try to rip the fabric off of you, try and get yourself free but now there is another set of hands on you, groping at you– touching you. Getting ready to take things from you and hurt you.
Gonna take all you got to offer, Sug.
You shriek loudly and kick out with your feet at your attacker. “Get off me!”
A strong, calloused hand wraps around the entirety of your ankle and squeezes. Skin on skin, you can feel how hot and alive the other person is, and it makes you want to implode on yourself.
“Pl-Plea–Please don’t,” you sob, already feeling defeated, already knowing what’s about to happen to you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
The hand slides up your shin and thigh, under the shower curtain, closer to your core– but it bypasses it completely and continues traveling up your torso. Fingertips graze your chin, then your lips and before you can stop yourself, you open your mouth. The thick digits slide between your lips, and then across your tongue.
They start to pull away, but you bite down hard before they leave your mouth completely.
Good fuckin’ girl, Sug!
The person howls in pain and you try to push yourself backwards, away from the sound but there isn’t anywhere to go. You’re in the tub, in a giant bowl and your back is pressed against the side of it.
“Go away, go away, go away, go away,” You plug your ears with your index fingers, close your eyes.
Honey, it’s okay. It’s alright. You just forgot where you were. You’re safe.
It doesn’t matter. You’re nowhere, now.
It’s just light. It’s just white, and bright light surrounds you. It feels warm, it feels comfortable and safe, and it feels like home. It also feels entirely like nothing at all. There is a voice repeating the same phrase over and over. It’s a soft, sweet voice that reminds you of good and love. It reminds you of hugs, and sweet things, and the feeling of your chest being full.
You can’t make out the words, they’re all jumbled together, or sound like they’re being said backwards. It doesn’t matter, the voice is what feels good. The consolation of the voice alone is enough for some reason.
In your heart, the one that’s beating so fast in your chest it feels like it could explode or give out at any second, longs to tell the voice you miss it. You wish you could hear it more.
Then real light, not bright, warm, white light, but the soft yellow glow of the lightbulbs encompasses you, and someone tall and broad is standing above you.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You shake your head, and hold your hands up to protect your face and neck. “I’m sorry!”
You need to breathe, honey.
Don’t. Pass out. It’ll make it easier.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you can’t stop. You want to, you want to stop and take a breath, gather your thoughts– but why think when bad things are about to happen?
There is a sputtering, wet sound from above you and then you are being soaked with ice cold water.
You gasp loudly– a long, deep breath in– and your lungs expand and your head stops spinning. Water gets in your mouth and you spit it out. It’s washing over your face and down your neck and chest. It’s already seeping into your clothes.
A large mass is in front of you, and then kneeling– pinning your legs between theirs. A hand, calloused and strong, grabs your face, pinching your cheeks together.
“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, look’it me!” It’s Mister-man’s voice, it’s his hand on your face, it’s his knees on either side of yours.
You open your eyes, and he’s glaring at you, his brows stitched together angrily. All you can do is whimper.
“What th’fuck is wrong with you!?” He releases your face, but mashes his fingers against your lips and then holds them up for you to see. “Fuckin’ bit me!”
They’re red, stained with blood. His middle and ring finger are bleeding. Now you can taste the metallic tang of it still lingering on your tongue.
“I- I d-didn’t mean to,” your eyes flash between his bloody fingers, and angry eyes. “I didn’t mean t’bite you. I really didn’t,” you can feel your sinuses starting to tingle, and your eyes burn. “I jus’ woke up all alone and– and it looked different,” you try to explain, but the words don’t make sense, not even to you. “I got scared.”
Mister’s face softens and his shoulders slump forward slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. This time, when he reaches for your lips, he wipes them gently, cleaning off any blood that still remains. “Didn’t think you’d wake up ‘fore I got back,” he murmurs softly.
The water cascades through his hair, soaking it and matting it to his forehead. There is a steady stream dripping off the tip of his nose, and his clothes are completely wet now, too. You pulse at the sight of him, wet and hovering over you this way. You feel guilty for hurting him, for biting him so hard he bled.
“Where did ya’ go?” You ask mindlessly, not even really thinking before the words come out. Your brain feels like mush, like it’s been chewed up and spit out and then stepped on.
Joel turns at the waist, and adjusts the knob for the water, and then turns back to face you. “Was gonna go get us somethin’ to eat,” he explains cooly.
Now the water is warm and getting hotter, and feels good on your skin. “You was gonna leave me here all alone?” You whisper in disbelief, mouthing hanging open slightly.
Mister-man helps you undress silently, and discards all your wet clothes outside of the tub; then follows suit. He stands behind you, pressing himself against you so you can feel the slight swell of his belly against your back. His hands snake around your midsection, and pull you close to him.
“Ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of here, babydoll.” He whispers into your ear. “S’only scary up here,” he punctuates the last word with a gentle kiss to your temple. “Gotta stay outta there.”
He’s right.
You lean back against him, try and relax your tense body. “I dunno how,” you sigh, and with that confession it feels like weight has been taken off of you. Like Mister-man is lifting you off of your feet, but he isn’t. He’s still just holding you, swaying you discreetly; it’s so soothing. You are small in his arms, he makes you feel tiny and fragile even though that isn’t always the case– you love it.
Mister lets out a low hum from deep in his chest, “Have ya’ ever tried?”
The honest answer is no, you’ve never really tried. These things don’t normally happen, you don’t normally get stuck in your head like this. That’s not what you tell Mister though. “It’s hard. Just get caught up in it all– sometimes so fast I don’t even know it’s happenin’.”
Mister nods like he understands, and sighs. “S’long as I’m around, you’re safe. Remember what we talked ‘bout in the woods?”
“But you weren’t around,” you snap at him, frustrated with his useless words. “You weren’t here.”
“I was just downstairs,” he explains gently as he starts to work his fingers into your hair. The faint smell of your soap wafts through the air, and it makes things seem less scary. Just a little. He scratches at your scalp with his nails and doesn’t miss a spot.
“Feels good,” you moan softly, leaning against him again for support while he massages all your fears and worries away.
He turns you around slowly so you’re facing him. “I ain’t always gonna be right by your side,” he whispers, and keeps his index finger under your chin, shielding your eyes with his other hand while the water washes the shampoo away. “But if I’m breathin’...” he pauses to make sure you’re listening. “You’re safe. Promise you that.”
You wrinkle your nose at his words. “How’re you gon’ keep me safe if you aren’t right here?” You hold your right hand out at your side.
Joel raises one eyebrow as he continues to rinse the soap out of your hair. “Same way you did,” he shrugs his shoulders. He’s satisfied that all the shampoo is gone, and he reaches for the bar of his soap sitting on the side of the tub.
You watch, expecting him to start washing himself, but instead he drags the soap across your skin, washing away all the sweat and sleep from the last several hours. It smells unmistakably like Mister. You’re perplexed, studying the lines in his face as he concentrates on making sure he doesn’t miss an inch of you.
“I have my own,” you motion to your other bottles and containers of soaps and shampoos.
Joel glances in their direction and shrugs, sliding the bar of soap along your lower stomach, and then down between your legs. He’s thorough, but gentle. His touch is innocent, moving from your core, down your thighs. He kneels in front of you, washing your shins and calves, then finally your feet. He holds your ankle, lifting each one a couple of inches, cleaning the soles and between your toes.
When he goes to stand, he’s slow, and winces, sucking air between his teeth harshly.
“You hurtin’?” You reach for him with your right arm, and let him use you to stand up fully.
Joel grimaces the entire way to his feet, and begins to wash himself with the same bar of soap, ignoring your question completely. “I know gettin’ used to this place ain’t gonna be easy for you,” he starts to explain again.
For some reason, what says embarasses you. You want to crawl inside your own skin and hide from the rest of his words.
Mister-man doesn’t seem to notice as you pull your chin into your chest, and stare at the bottom of the tub, watching the suds and water race down the drain. “M’ gonna help ya’ as much as I can, but we can’t be together every second of every day– we weren’t together like that at the mall.”
You roll your eyes, thankful that he can’t see. “Wasn’t no one else ‘round at the mall,” you grumble quietly.
Joel snatches your chin in his hand and tilts your head to look up at him. “What’d you say?” He growls, eyes narrowed directly onto yours.
The muscles in your jaw tense, and you tear your chin from between his fingers. “I said there wasn’t no one else around at the mall.”
Mister snorts, and shakes his head from side to side. He smirks as he goes back to washing under his arms, and then his shoulders and chest. “Think I’d let someone do something to you?”
“How are you gonna stop’em if you ain’t around, huh?”
Joel leans in so his face is only an inch from yours. “Ain’t nobody even gonna try,” he’s still smirking. “Wanna know how I know?”
You don’t respond, you just continue to stare at him.
“‘Cause everyone here knows that I’d hunt’em down and fucking kill them if they did,” he continues, just barely a whisper. “You forget what I did for you in the mall?” He adds, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he stands upright.
Part of you had forgotten in the tangled mess that was coming to Jackson. You don’t really remember what he had said– not exactly.
Little scenes from the trip to Jackson play over and over again in your head, being shocked to the point of tears, Mister-man having to put the choke collar back on you when you wouldn’t stop trying to run.
Finally, once you had exhausted yourself to the point of falling over, Joel told you the truth. Told you that it was a larger settlement, and that you would be expected to work, and have to talk to people.
You do remember him whispering in your ear when he slipped his cock into you out in the woods, “Nobody’s gonna hurt my crazy lil puppy. Ain’t that right, baby?”
You sobbed into his neck, “I ain’t crazy.” Clinging to him like you could be sucked into the center of the earth. You remember your clothes and hair being soaked, and clinging to your skin with a fresh layer of still wet mud; Mister’s hands were dirty with it when he tried to wipe your tears away.
You remember that it suddenly sounded like thunder, and the ground was vibrating under your back. You remember the snorting of horses, and the authoritarian voice that shouted at Mister-man to get off of you.
You remember that he didn’t get off of you, he actually thrust a couple more times until someone pulled and cocked a gun. Only then did he leave you with a sickeningly wet squelch, keeping you pinned underneath him while he situated himself back into his jeans.
You don't remember much else after that, really, not until you got to Maria's house.
Mister-man rinses his body and then reaches around you to shut the water off, and then he carefully dries you. He tuts quietly when he reaches your shoulder, bruised and swollen, but doesn’t say anything.
Mister wraps the towel around you, and then wraps one around his waist and guides you into his bedroom. He goes into your one drawer, barely half-filled with your things, and picks out a shirt. He pulls it over your head, and is smirking down at you when you reemerge.
“You up for a walk to the mess hall?” He asks, wiping a stray drop of water that is running down the side of your face.
You blink up at him, wrinkling your nose slightly.
He cups your face and rubs his thumb across your cheek, “S’where we can get somethin’ to eat.”
As if on cue, your stomach lets out a deep, loud rumbling sound. You are hungry– possibly starving. You can’t remember the last time you had anything besides a handful of raspberries and crackers. It’s been a while since you sat down and ate with Mister.
He helps you into a pair of jeans, and then puts a clean pair of socks on for you, and helps you into one of his long-sleeve flannels. He rolls up the sleeves so they don’t overhang your hands.
“Are there gonna be other people there?” You try to sound nonchalant, like you don’t care if other people were there. Inside, your heart feels like it isn’t moving at all, and your mouth is fuzzy and dry.
Mister-man is tucking his shirt into his jeans when he looks at you, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Does it matter?” He sees right through you, and shakes his head as he zips and buttons his jeans.
You shrug and sit down on the edge of his bed. “I was just askin’,” you mumble under your breath.
He doesn’t hear, or chooses to ignore you as he finishes getting dressed. He walks back into the bathroom, and when he returns, his hair is combed back, away from his face. Mister-man’s face looks endlessly tired, like it’s been etched into his being.
He stands in front of you with his hands on his hips, furrowing his brow at you. “What’s the matter? Y’still worried ‘bout them?” He tips head towards the door.
You shrug again, looking everywhere but his eyes as he takes a step closer. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to avoid it, he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and makes you look up at him. You force a closed lip smile at him, and shake your head from side to side. “Nah…” You blink up at him, the small, strained grin still on your face. “I know you’ll take care of me.”
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