i write mainly short oc whump snippets right now, for several different stories. all pieces i’ve written are linked on the masterlist below, but please bear in mind that they may be missing long chunks of timeline. i do not write chronologically so they are ordered as chronologically as possible within the masterlist. hopefully, as i write more, the plots will fill out and begin to make more sense. for now, most pieces can be read as standalones.
requests are open + can be sent on or off anon to my askbox
“Talk to me, Kay” London spoke softly. “You need to talk to me. Anything you want.”
“Because now’s really the time for small talk,” Kay snapped, tugging against the rope tangled against the radiator pipes. “He’s going to kill me, you know?”
Tone flattening with exhaustion.
“He’s done with me.”
“Kay, that’s not —”
“I know. You’re still holding out hope,” Kay forced a weak smile. “I’m trying to as well.”
“I know.”
The tightness in Kay’s chest was unbearable.
“Don’t die here,” he swallowed hard. “You get a chance, I — I want you to take it. Please?”
OCs: Asta/Damien Ravenelle, Katarina Laurier-Bancroft, Zero
Content: Pet Whump, Food Mention, Muzzling
Zero kept his head down as he knelt on the kitchen tiles, bruised knees burning in an all too familiar way. Off to his side, Asta — that’s what Katarina had called him — was getting some sleep.
But Zero knew it wasn’t voluntary. Being unconscious wasn’t the same as being asleep.
She cooked, humming to herself as she put together breakfast, dancing across the kitchen to the radio — knee length skirt flaring out with every movement.
Zero just looked down. Traced the blurry tiles with his gaze. Only able to distinguish between the most contrasted of the patterns. The true delicacy was lost on him.
Two bowls clattered to the floor. Zero’s own ceramic one, carefully engraved with his name, and Asta’s. Stainless steel. Scratched and dented.
Both were filled with oatmeal. Boring. But safe. Edible.
Katarina must have passed him — Zero hadn’t seen — and shaken Asta awake. The initial quiet protest. The immediate flurry of motion. Asta crashing backwards into the wall as he stumbled away. Sobbing from behind a muzzle as he conceded.
They always conceded. And he was right to. Katarina peeled the muzzle away from his face, leaving it on the couch.
Zero was rigid as Asta came past him. As Katarina instructed him to eat, told him he’d be hungry if he didn’t. Softly spoken coercion veiled as concern.
Zero too.
It was all the encouragement Zero needed to crawl across, pressing grazed palms against cold tile. Beside him, he felt Asta’s form. Frozen in fear, a jerking flinch at every movement made.
And Zero wished, more than anything, he could be of comfort. He could help Asta adjust. But with Katarina looming over them to ensure Asta’s behaviour, it was too much of a risk.
Asta knelt beside him, shaking with violent, uncontrollable tears. Deep rooted panic as Katarina went about her day behind them.
“Eat,” Zero’s voice was beyond hoarse when he finally spoke.
No recognition from Asta. Only a gentle flinch. If Zero could see him clearly, he would understand.
“Eat,” he repeated, putting out a hand to rest on Asta’s shoulder.
Even the gentlest of contact elicited a violent flinch, before Asta sat still. Before he allowed Zero to touch him. Before he gave in.
There was so much that Zero wanted to explain. To save Asta from the same learning curve he himself had endured. Ease the fear. Give him a chance.
Zero broke the contact when Asta finally leant forward. Moments later, Zero heard him eat.
It was only when Zero truly focused did he realise Asta’s hands were forced behind his back. Zip tied, Zero thought. But he wasn’t sure.
He was told to eat again. Told he’d go hungry if he didn’t. The threats were strikingly familiar. Came around like clockwork at every meal.
He took a bite of his own food, if only to appease Katarina. Oatmeal sprinkled with sugar and finely chopped banana. No more. Despite the hunger — how he was painfully aware of it in the pit of his stomach — he didn’t eat.
Zero waited agonising minutes while Asta ate beside him. Awkward, jerky movements as he tried to keep his balance. Tried not to choke.
Asta sat back, and Zero made a quick, clumsy movement. He pushed his own bowl across. Scraping it against the floor, lying it to rest vaguely in front of Asta.
“I’m not asking for special treatment,” Kay snapped, “If you’ve got a problem, then say it.”
“A problem? Of course I have a fucking problem, Kay. Have you heard yourself recently? You need help!”
“I’ve got you.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. You need real help. Not from me.”
Kay bit his tongue, keeping his gaze steadily on Rory. “How long have you felt like that? This hasn’t come from nowhere.”
“You really want honesty?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“It’s been a while,” Rory admitted. “But I’m sure that you can see why. This isn’t healthy and nothing is going to change.”
“I’m trying my best,” a half-hearted rebuttal. “I swear, Rory, I’m trying.”
Rory sighed and shook his head. Pity. “I get that, Kay, but there comes a point where trying isn’t good enough. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You want me to — I don’t know? Move out? Get a therapist?”
Rory nodded. “I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
Kay nodded, glancing between Rory and the floor. This was the part he was dreading. Having to finally be honest.
“I did a couple of sessions,” Kay sighed. “But — but she asked a lot of questions. I — I wanted to talk to you before I went back again.”
Rory knew where this was going — where Kay was going with this, but somehow, it still came as a surprise.
“She asked a lot of questions. Mostly about me. And — and I can answer those. I don’t mind. But she wanted to know about you. And I told her a bit, but I just —”
“You wanted to make sure that it was okay?” Rory interrupted, and Kay gave a quick nod.
“I swear, I didn’t say anything bad. I promise I would never do…” Kay cut himself off. “I — I just need to know what I can tell her. If — if there are things I need to hide. You know? You — you don’t deserve to get into trouble over this.”
Rory did deserve to get into trouble. But Kay didn’t want to hear that — it would only end in argument. About how Rory didn’t hurt him, morphing into how Rory didn’t mean to hurt him. Into how Kay didn’t mind. A spiral of toxicity they never seemed to leave.
“It isn’t your responsibility to protect me, you know?” Rory spoke softly. “You know that.”
“But —”
“No, Kay. Shut up. You need to start looking out for yourself. Cut the bullshit.”
“Rory —”
“Don’t even start. You’ve had time to process this, and you’re just pretending all over again. And how’s that working out for you?”
“I get your point.”
“I don’t think you do. If you’re asking me if it’s okay, then you don’t get my point.”
There was a moment of silence, and Kay showed no sign of breaking it.
“Make the appointment. Tell her everything and worry about me later, got it?”
“And that’s an order?”
“Just make the fucking appointment,” Rory gritted his teeth. “I’m not playing games tonight.”
Spoken in as harsh a tone as Kay had ever heard from Rory. An ultimatum disguised as suggestion.
“I’ll call tomorrow… I swear,” Kay whispered, voice catching in his throat. “Thank you. I — I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”
“You can apologise after you follow through. Right now, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay — yeah — alright,” Kay fumbled. Harshness like this from Rory was reassuring. “I will.”
Proof that he could do something other than treat Kay as though he were made of glass — threatening to shatter at any sign of conflict.
Proof that he thought Kay could recover.
Proof that he thought their relationship could go somewhere.
OCs: Kay Edwards, Rory Cooper (belongs to @whumpymirages)
Content: Questionable Relationship, Manipulation
Kay turned his key in the lock, slipping into Rory’s apartment as quietly as possible. With any luck, Rory wouldn’t be here — he would be at work. Taking on last-minute overtime. Delayed.
Just not here.
Kay had only moments to gather his own thoughts before there were footsteps behind him. Arms loosely around his waist — a new boundary they were slowly testing the waters for. Carefully.
“Hey,” Kay turned slightly to smile at Rory. “How was work?”
“Oh, yeah, I had a great time,” Rory grinned back. “Are we just hanging out in the doorway? Or maybe going inside?”
He gave Kay a gentle push forward — over the threshold. Kay stepped in, turning around to face Rory. Standing close. Maybe too close.
“I need you to trust me,” he blurted out. “Do you trust me?”
Rory’s expression darkened to one of deep concern — panicked concern — urgent.
“Why? What did you do, Kay?”
“Yet? Nothing — I swear, I didn’t do anything, I’m sorry,” he took a couple of steps backwards. One hand brushing his neck before he could process it — yank it away.
“I’m sorry,” Rory took Kay’s hand firmly, “You’re safe.”
Reassurance that Kay shouldn’t need.
“I need you to come to New York with me.”
It was better to get the favour out in the open — before any more miscommunication.
“New York?” Rory’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you — that’s why you have to trust me.”
“Maya ask you to do this?”
Kay nodded. “But I’m not in trouble — I just have to find out a few things. That’s all. I just want you there. For support.”
Rory was silent, so Kay kept talking.
“We — I didn’t leave on good terms, and now I need a favour from them and — and I figured, maybe, if I showed up with my boyfriend and showed them that — that I’m not as immature and that I’m with someone who has his life together…” Kay trailed off, just in time to catch a stunned glance from Rory.
“You want me to meet your family?”
“Yeah — is that weird? Is it too soon? If it’s too soon we can —”
“No, it’s not exactly too soon,” Rory interrupted him. “I’m just surprised that you want me to go with you.”
“I do want you there,” Kay assured him, “It might be nice to have someone there who’s on my side.”
This meant exposing Rory to the wreck of his family life, but what choice did Kay have? Maya wouldn’t stand for anything less than perfection. If Kay didn’t deliver, she wouldn’t take that lightly.
She wouldn’t tolerate it.
And Kay needed an excuse to go home. That’s all Rory was — an excuse.
“We — uh — there’s a hotel room. It’s paid for,” Kay spoke as if it might be… comforting for Rory to know that. “I — um — already called home.”
“You assumed I would come?”
Kay nodded.
“But you are, right?”
“I am,” Rory confirmed, “But you can’t just spring that kind of thing on me, you know?”
“I know, I just —”
“You figured I’d say yes.”
“Yeah. But we — it’ll be more like a vacation. You know? We could — I don’t know… Do tourist things? Maybe go to The Met? It’s only a twenty minute walk from —”
“It’ll be great, Kay,” Rory interrupted. “You’re rambling.”
One of the many remnant’s of Andrew’s work. Kay had to justify everything. Prove to Rory that he was behaving. All it did was make Rory wonder.
Wonder if Kay did want to be with him. If he was only staying through fear. Staying only to keep himself safe from a punishment Rory would never give.
“You don’t have to ramble, you don’t have to prove anything, alright?”
Jack stood over him, silent disapproval written across her features as she counted his breaths. She hesitated before making her decision to wake him. Waiting around all day for his convenience wasn’t an option. She circled him, a pathetic figure on the floor. Battered and bruised. He would recover.
Her foot collided with the small of his back, jerking him into a hazy state of awakened consciousness. For several seconds, Jack allowed him to get his bearings. She pocketed her hands, listening to his subtle complaints as his eyes opened and he struggled to sit upright.
By now, she was standing in front of him, once more looking down in disapproval.
“Do you plan to introduce yourself?” Jack asked.
“Katz…” He croaked out, head pounding too much for him to think past the instruction. “Huh?...”
“Good,” she crouched in front of him, briefly admiring the way he squinted at her through the dim light. “Are you much of a gambler, Katz?”
“I don’t understand,” he shook his head, “Why? Who are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter. It’s a fifty-fifty shot, you know? You fancy taking it?”
“Taking what? What are you talking about?” Katz furrowed his eyebrows and adjusted his posture. “Tell me what you’re talking about!”
“You need to agree first.”
“Alright, yeah, now please? Tell me what you’re talking about? Please?”
“Coin toss. Heads or tails?”
Katz didn’t understand. A coin toss? She spoke as if it somehow held significance to her. He blinked away a blur as he glanced around. He couldn’t see, well, anything. Four walls and her, the room lit only by a torch set to the side.
“Um, heads?” Katz tried, and she smiled at him with a small nod.
“Alright sweet, heads I let you walk out of the door behind me. No questions asked. Tails, you stay here until you’ve repaid every penny you owe me.”
“Owe you? I don’t owe anyone anything,” Katz protested weakly, flattening his palms on the floor and getting to his knees. “You’ve got me mixed up.”
“Katz Walton-Cassidy. Nineteen. Born in New Orleans, January fourth. Moved to Nevada in the Spring of last year. Am I getting close?”
Katz swallowed hard. “No.”
“You do janitorial work at a high school. Play tennis with that broken green racket. Bedsheets are blue. Had them since you were a kid and couldn’t let go. Is it a stegosaurus pattern on them?”
“Stop.” Katz had held his tongue as long as he could. “Stop screwing with me.”
“Had your appendix out when you were fourteen. Blood type is AB negative.”
“Please? Stop?”
“Fine. Heads, you win. Tails, I win. Are we agreed?”
“Yeah.”
Jack returned to her feet, eyes remaining on Katz as she chose between two quarters in her pocket. Her fingertips brushed against one. Heads. Both sides. She took the other from her pocket, all the while smiling softly at Katz.
For a split second, they locked eyes. Jack tossed the coin, watching it as it rose in the air and flipped almost gracefully. All too quickly, it was over. The coin landed on the back of her left hand and she covered it with her right.
“Are you still willing to bet your life on heads?” Jack’s tone was measured. Unwavering.
“Just put me out of my misery already,” Katz snapped. “Yeah, I still want heads.”
With one gentle movement, she took her hand away and crouched in front of Katz again, angling the coin so he was able to see. Able to come to his own conclusion.
The horror took only moments to dawn on Katz.
“I don’t understand,” he choked back tears at the utter confusion and despair. “Please explain? I’ll help you if I can, I promise.”
“Not good enough,” Jack responded lightly. “We’ll talk tonight. I’ll be back at ten.”
And Katz sank back onto his heels, unable to find the words to beg. She had her mind set on this and nothing he could say would change her mind.
“And you’re just… leaving me here?”
“Yes. I’ll be back at ten,” Jack stated, getting to her feet for the final time. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I… I won’t?”
It was only partially a question from Katz as he watched her leave him without another word.
Content: Injury Description, Past Trauma, Police Mention, Death Mention
He dried himself roughly, the towel rubbing his skin red. He dressed quickly in clothes borrowed from London, simply glad to be out of his blood-soaked garments.
Soaked with his blood. It had to be. At least it didn’t seem to be recent. Kay’s skin was void of open wounds, for what seemed like the first time in months.
Bruises, though — they dotted his skin like spilled watercolours. Over his side. Splotched under his right eye. Deeply-coloured — unforgiving.
Even after a shower, he looked a state. The short sleeves of the t-shirt bringing the uneven lettering on his arm into full view. The writing, with all of its uneven edges and wonky letters.
Even with the harsh visibility, nothing would convince Kay to change back into his own clothes.
Kay was silent, heading down the stairs and sitting on London’s couch. Finally showered, hair dripping cold water onto the borrowed shirt.
He could hear London in the kitchen. Doing — something. Kay wasn’t sure what. And he daren’t be ungrateful and ask.
Minutes later, London reappeared in the doorway. After Kay had spent almost an hour in the shower, he hadn’t expected for London to do this for him.
Even if it was just grilled cheese.
“Thank you — I needed that,” Kay smiled faintly, “A lot. I — uh — wasn’t sure where to put these,” he held up the dirty clothes, wrapped in the bath towel.
“The clothes? I don’t think you can salvage them.”
“Probably not…”
“You can put those in the trash, and the towel can go into the washer under the stairs.”
Kay nodded quickly, getting to his feet and slipping past London into the kitchen. He returned, moments later, empty handed and with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach
“You probably need something to eat — and to talk. Otherwise I’m not going to be able to be much help,” London said, with a soft bluntness, as he handed Kay the plate of grilled cheese.
“Talk? I — I’ve told you everything I know,” Kay evaded the question tactlessly.
“You said you were engaged — had a fiancée. What was her name?” London started, clinging to the one thing he already knew about Kay. It was a start.
“He — uh — he was called Halden.” Kay responded with his mouth full. “… Sorry.”
“So, Halden? Tell me about him?”
“I mean, he was great. We’d been dating a while and things were going well — last time I saw him was... uh... right before...” Kay trailed off vaguely.
“Where were you?”
“We were at a concert — Anarbor I think?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” London nodded. Common ground. This is what they needed.
“We had plans to go away together. We had a deposit on a place in Salem,” Kay offered London a faint smile. “It would’ve been nice.”
“You were running away with him?” London’s brow furrowed. “Was that a good idea?”
“Obviously not!” Kay snapped. “Because something went wrong,” he smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Because I’m here, not —.”
He dragged his left hand through still-wet, still-tangled hair and let it fall limply at his side.
“Are we done? I — I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Sore topic, I get it,” London smiled faintly. And then he spotted the burns pressed unevenly into Kay’s arm. His understanding was stopped in its tracks.
And he wanted to continue the conversation — pretend he hadn’t seen the block letters. Pretend he wasn’t concerned. Pretending wasn’t something London did well.
“Kay? What the hell aren’t you telling me?” He snapped out his words before he had even a chance of restraint. “Who did that to you?”
“What? I — oh...” Kay trailed off once more. “It doesn’t matter. I — I’m not hiding anything. He — he let me go.”
“He? Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I — I’m not dragging you into this too! It’s over. I’m sure it’s over.”
“Irrelevant,” London responded, reaching forward and picking up his cell from the table. “You need to start talking. Right now.”
“Halden — he got involved in some sketchy deals. But that’s it. I swear, I never did anything.”
“The guy that did this, who is he?”
“I don’t know! He — he only ever gave his first name!”
“What is it?”
“You have to promise that you’re not going to do anything.”
“What am I going to do with a first name?”
“Then why do you want it?”
London hissed out a sharp breath. “Just give me a name, Kay,” he sighed, “What’s his name?”
“Isaac.”
“Thank you. He did that?”
Kay nodded.
“Why?”
“Fun.”
“Fun?”
“He was just... like that,” Kay responded. “I don’t know why. He just — had something to prove, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kay nodded at the apology, though struggled to work out why. What was London apologising for?
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kay fumbled. “I think... I just — He wanted to get at Halden and I was an easy target. But he never made sense.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes he wanted me to tell him where Halden was, and sometimes he wanted money. Sometimes he said that it was nothing to do with Halden. That it was my fault, or to do with my family. Or — I don’t know. It was different every time we talked.”
“Do you know anything else about him? Anything at all?”
Kay shook his head.
“Kay, please don’t lie to me.”
“He was a cop — but that’s it! That’s all I know.”
“You’re sure?”
Kay gritted his teeth and nodded. No more questions, please. He dared to hope that London was done asking. Done prying and pulling apart all of Kay’s secrets.
His hands shook as he put the empty plate down on the coffee table. Tears bit at his eyes as he waited for London’s next barrage of questions. They didn’t come. Just one singular question Kay didn’t have a coherent answer for.
“Why didn’t you go to the poli—”
London cut himself off as he answered his own question. Of course Kay didn’t want that.
“You still deserve justice.”
“I don’t want it. I just — maybe a couple of weeks to track down Halden, you know? Get on with my life. I don’t want to let Isaac win.”
“Win?”
“If — if I don’t — I — If he knows, he wins.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Kay just shook his head.
“No, Kay, I want to understand. What do you mean? Sit down and explain what you’re thinking.”
Kay slowly sat down on the couch, silent as London sat beside him. Silent until London prompted him again.
“So? Tell me, why will he win?”
“He’ll know he got to me. He — he’ll know he hurt me and — and that means — it — it means he got what he wanted,” Kay’s voice caught in his throat. “I — he can’t win like that. I — He took months from me and — and I can’t let him win too.”
“Okay, thank you for telling me. I mean that, thank you. Do you want to stay here tonight? I only have the couch but —”
“You’re sure?” Kay fumbled, interrupting London. “If you’re sure — I — I’d be really grateful,” he wiped tears from his cheeks. “If you’re absolutely sure.”
“I am. I’m completely sure. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you — for this, and the shower, and food — I don’t know what I would have done if — if you hadn’t...”
“Don’t worry about it — really. I’ve got the house to myself for a while. Vilde is away at the convention, and Ferris is tied up with classes for several weeks.”
“Vilde? Your girlfriend, I met her at the airport,” Kay nodded. “And Ferris? He’s your roommate?”
“Boyfriend. But he’s studying in North Carolina at the moment so we don’t see each other all that often.”
“You’re... with both of them?”
“Yeah, they know about each other. Vilde has a fiancé in Norway and he knows about me. It’s — It’s not underhanded.”
“No — I didn’t mean that, I just — didn’t know,” Kay shook his head. “That sounds kind of nice...”
“It is. You know, no pressure for them to fill each other’s every need. It’s unrealistic most of the time.”
“Most of the time,” Kay agreed softly.
London could tell their conversation had hit a dead end — Kay was beginning to look like he was struggling to stay awake. Eyelids flickering closed, suppressing yawns and he just — just looked exhausted.
“Do you want to get some sleep? It might make you feel a bit better,” London offered. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah, sleeping sounds... Nice.”
London gathered up their plates, slipping through into the kitchen. Leaving Kay alone. He took his time washing up, doing his best to process the information thrown at him. It felt impossible to make sense of all this. A lot of what Kay said made very little sense — all of his inconsistencies were difficult to ignore.
When London returned to the living room, Kay was already asleep. It was unsurprising. London grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over Kay. His attention was caught by track marks scattered up the kid’s arms.
It wasn’t something that would warrant waking Kay. Instead of making a big deal out of it, he just gave him the blanket and headed upstairs with his laptop. He left a very brief note on the coffee table, reading: 'Didn't want to wake you, I’m just upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.’
Once upstairs, London pushed aside a pile of textbooks and loose papers, before slumping down in the chair. He woke his computer, pulling up a blank internet browser. His fingers hovered over the keyboard until he typed in his first search term: ‘Kay Missing Persons’. It brought up pages and pages of information — information London didn’t have the patience to sift through.
London tried various combinations of words, an article finally came up in his search results. One that looked relevant, at least. It fit the timing, at least. The attached image sealed the deal. London stared at it, just to be sure. But it was Kay.
He looked younger — brighter — in the photo, but it was him. He was with someone else, too. The image was captioned with Halden’s name also.
London skimmed through the article, throat tightening as he read more — more about where Kay disappeared from, what people had seen, how he’d left with someone. A public video — as close to a hostage tape as you could get.
Morbid curiosity — London pressed play. It was only a clip, not even a minute long. But he couldn’t make it to the end. He closed the video and scrolled past, unnerved by the proof of Kay’s story.
When — before, there was doubt. Doubt that anything had happened. That Kay was telling the entire truth — or even that Kay remembered it correctly. But the video proved everything. The beginning of the next paragraph only worsened the deal.
“The body found was identified via dental records and DNA. The funeral will be a private event for close family only. The details have remained private.”
London read the last paragraph over and over. It didn't make sense. Whoever Kay had gotten tangled up with, they had pull. They were more dangerous than Kay had made them out to be. Or more dangerous than Kay realised.
Did Kay know about this? That, legally, he had died months prior? London wasn't about to be the one to break the news to him.
With Kay’s full name — Aeon Kaine Edwards — London pulled up a new search window. It took only moments to find a private Instagram account and public — very public — Facebook account. Seemingly endless photos of Kay and his fiancé. At events; promotions for a pharmaceutical company. And he looked happy.
Anything recent were posts from friends and family. Wishing him well. Rest in peace. Condolences to his family. The posts made for a chilling read.
He’d gotten sucked up into this. Too sucked up. All he’d wanted to do was verify that Kay was who he said he was. That seemed fair, right? That in itself hadn't been a problem, but one glance at the time told London that he was bordering on obsessive territory. He’d been trawling through articles and social media for hours.
He hadn't heard anything from Kay, so he guessed that he was still asleep. It wasn't like he didn't need it. London decided that he better get some sleep too. Tomorrow would be… difficult. How was he supposed to tell Kay any of this?
Anyone who had been in his life before would have moved on.
That scenario when a character is badly hurt or sick, either way they're extremely out of it and whoever is taking care of them isn't someone they would expect to take care of them, and when they blearily look up at their caretaker they mumble something along the lines of "am I dying? You're never this nice to me"
Content: Injury Description, Past Trauma, Police Mention, Death Mention
He dried himself roughly, the towel rubbing his skin red. He dressed quickly in clothes borrowed from London, simply glad to be out of his blood-soaked garments.
Soaked with his blood. It had to be. At least it didn’t seem to be recent. Kay’s skin was void of open wounds, for what seemed like the first time in months.
Bruises, though — they dotted his skin like spilled watercolours. Over his side. Splotched under his right eye. Deeply-coloured — unforgiving.
Even after a shower, he looked a state. The short sleeves of the t-shirt bringing the uneven lettering on his arm into full view. The writing, with all of its uneven edges and wonky letters.
Even with the harsh visibility, nothing would convince Kay to change back into his own clothes.
Kay was silent, heading down the stairs and sitting on London’s couch. Finally showered, hair dripping cold water onto the borrowed shirt.
He could hear London in the kitchen. Doing — something. Kay wasn’t sure what. And he daren’t be ungrateful and ask.
Minutes later, London reappeared in the doorway. After Kay had spent almost an hour in the shower, he hadn’t expected for London to do this for him.
Even if it was just grilled cheese.
“Thank you — I needed that,” Kay smiled faintly, “A lot. I — uh — wasn’t sure where to put these,” he held up the dirty clothes, wrapped in the bath towel.
“The clothes? I don’t think you can salvage them.”
“Probably not…”
“You can put those in the trash, and the towel can go into the washer under the stairs.”
Kay nodded quickly, getting to his feet and slipping past London into the kitchen. He returned, moments later, empty handed and with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach
“You probably need something to eat — and to talk. Otherwise I’m not going to be able to be much help,” London said, with a soft bluntness, as he handed Kay the plate of grilled cheese.
“Talk? I — I’ve told you everything I know,” Kay evaded the question tactlessly.
“You said you were engaged — had a fiancée. What was her name?” London started, clinging to the one thing he already knew about Kay. It was a start.
“He — uh — he was called Halden.” Kay responded with his mouth full. “… Sorry.”
“So, Halden? Tell me about him?”
“I mean, he was great. We’d been dating a while and things were going well — last time I saw him was... uh... right before...” Kay trailed off vaguely.
“Where were you?”
“We were at a concert — Anarbor I think?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” London nodded. Common ground. This is what they needed.
“We had plans to go away together. We had a deposit on a place in Salem,” Kay offered London a faint smile. “It would’ve been nice.”
“You were running away with him?” London’s brow furrowed. “Was that a good idea?”
“Obviously not!” Kay snapped. “Because something went wrong,” he smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Because I’m here, not —.”
He dragged his left hand through still-wet, still-tangled hair and let it fall limply at his side.
“Are we done? I — I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Sore topic, I get it,” London smiled faintly. And then he spotted the burns pressed unevenly into Kay’s arm. His understanding was stopped in its tracks.
And he wanted to continue the conversation — pretend he hadn’t seen the block letters. Pretend he wasn’t concerned. Pretending wasn’t something London did well.
“Kay? What the hell aren’t you telling me?” He snapped out his words before he had even a chance of restraint. “Who did that to you?”
“What? I — oh...” Kay trailed off once more. “It doesn’t matter. I — I’m not hiding anything. He — he let me go.”
“He? Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I — I’m not dragging you into this too! It’s over. I’m sure it’s over.”
“Irrelevant,” London responded, reaching forward and picking up his cell from the table. “You need to start talking. Right now.”
“Halden — he got involved in some sketchy deals. But that’s it. I swear, I never did anything.”
“The guy that did this, who is he?”
“I don’t know! He — he only ever gave his first name!”
“What is it?”
“You have to promise that you’re not going to do anything.”
“What am I going to do with a first name?”
“Then why do you want it?”
London hissed out a sharp breath. “Just give me a name, Kay,” he sighed, “What’s his name?”
“Isaac.”
“Thank you. He did that?”
Kay nodded.
“Why?”
“Fun.”
“Fun?”
“He was just... like that,” Kay responded. “I don’t know why. He just — had something to prove, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kay nodded at the apology, though struggled to work out why. What was London apologising for?
“It wasn’t your fault,” Kay fumbled. “I think... I just — He wanted to get at Halden and I was an easy target. But he never made sense.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes he wanted me to tell him where Halden was, and sometimes he wanted money. Sometimes he said that it was nothing to do with Halden. That it was my fault, or to do with my family. Or — I don’t know. It was different every time we talked.”
“Do you know anything else about him? Anything at all?”
Kay shook his head.
“Kay, please don’t lie to me.”
“He was a cop — but that’s it! That’s all I know.”
“You’re sure?”
Kay gritted his teeth and nodded. No more questions, please. He dared to hope that London was done asking. Done prying and pulling apart all of Kay’s secrets.
His hands shook as he put the empty plate down on the coffee table. Tears bit at his eyes as he waited for London’s next barrage of questions. They didn’t come. Just one singular question Kay didn’t have a coherent answer for.
“Why didn’t you go to the poli—”
London cut himself off as he answered his own question. Of course Kay didn’t want that.
“You still deserve justice.”
“I don’t want it. I just — maybe a couple of weeks to track down Halden, you know? Get on with my life. I don’t want to let Isaac win.”
“Win?”
“If — if I don’t — I — If he knows, he wins.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Kay just shook his head.
“No, Kay, I want to understand. What do you mean? Sit down and explain what you’re thinking.”
Kay slowly sat down on the couch, silent as London sat beside him. Silent until London prompted him again.
“So? Tell me, why will he win?”
“He’ll know he got to me. He — he’ll know he hurt me and — and that means — it — it means he got what he wanted,” Kay’s voice caught in his throat. “I — he can’t win like that. I — He took months from me and — and I can’t let him win too.”
“Okay, thank you for telling me. I mean that, thank you. Do you want to stay here tonight? I only have the couch but —”
“You’re sure?” Kay fumbled, interrupting London. “If you’re sure — I — I’d be really grateful,” he wiped tears from his cheeks. “If you’re absolutely sure.”
“I am. I’m completely sure. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you — for this, and the shower, and food — I don’t know what I would have done if — if you hadn’t...”
“Don’t worry about it — really. I’ve got the house to myself for a while. Vilde is away at the convention, and Ferris is tied up with classes for several weeks.”
“Vilde? Your girlfriend, I met her at the airport,” Kay nodded. “And Ferris? He’s your roommate?”
“Boyfriend. But he’s studying in North Carolina at the moment so we don’t see each other all that often.”
“You’re... with both of them?”
“Yeah, they know about each other. Vilde has a fiancé in Norway and he knows about me. It’s — It’s not underhanded.”
“No — I didn’t mean that, I just — didn’t know,” Kay shook his head. “That sounds kind of nice...”
“It is. You know, no pressure for them to fill each other’s every need. It’s unrealistic most of the time.”
“Most of the time,” Kay agreed softly.
London could tell their conversation had hit a dead end — Kay was beginning to look like he was struggling to stay awake. Eyelids flickering closed, suppressing yawns and he just — just looked exhausted.
“Do you want to get some sleep? It might make you feel a bit better,” London offered. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah, sleeping sounds... Nice.”
London gathered up their plates, slipping through into the kitchen. Leaving Kay alone. He took his time washing up, doing his best to process the information thrown at him. It felt impossible to make sense of all this. A lot of what Kay said made very little sense — all of his inconsistencies were difficult to ignore.
When London returned to the living room, Kay was already asleep. It was unsurprising. London grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over Kay. His attention was caught by track marks scattered up the kid’s arms.
It wasn’t something that would warrant waking Kay. Instead of making a big deal out of it, he just gave him the blanket and headed upstairs with his laptop. He left a very brief note on the coffee table, reading: 'Didn't want to wake you, I’m just upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.’
Once upstairs, London pushed aside a pile of textbooks and loose papers, before slumping down in the chair. He woke his computer, pulling up a blank internet browser. His fingers hovered over the keyboard until he typed in his first search term: ‘Kay Missing Persons’. It brought up pages and pages of information — information London didn’t have the patience to sift through.
London tried various combinations of words, an article finally came up in his search results. One that looked relevant, at least. It fit the timing, at least. The attached image sealed the deal. London stared at it, just to be sure. But it was Kay.
He looked younger — brighter — in the photo, but it was him. He was with someone else, too. The image was captioned with Halden’s name also.
London skimmed through the article, throat tightening as he read more — more about where Kay disappeared from, what people had seen, how he’d left with someone. A public video — as close to a hostage tape as you could get.
Morbid curiosity — London pressed play. It was only a clip, not even a minute long. But he couldn’t make it to the end. He closed the video and scrolled past, unnerved by the proof of Kay’s story.
When — before, there was doubt. Doubt that anything had happened. That Kay was telling the entire truth — or even that Kay remembered it correctly. But the video proved everything. The beginning of the next paragraph only worsened the deal.
“The body found was identified via dental records and DNA. The funeral will be a private event for close family only. The details have remained private.”
London read the last paragraph over and over. It didn't make sense. Whoever Kay had gotten tangled up with, they had pull. They were more dangerous than Kay had made them out to be. Or more dangerous than Kay realised.
Did Kay know about this? That, legally, he had died months prior? London wasn't about to be the one to break the news to him.
With Kay’s full name — Aeon Kaine Edwards — London pulled up a new search window. It took only moments to find a private Instagram account and public — very public — Facebook account. Seemingly endless photos of Kay and his fiancé. At events; promotions for a pharmaceutical company. And he looked happy.
Anything recent were posts from friends and family. Wishing him well. Rest in peace. Condolences to his family. The posts made for a chilling read.
He’d gotten sucked up into this. Too sucked up. All he’d wanted to do was verify that Kay was who he said he was. That seemed fair, right? That in itself hadn't been a problem, but one glance at the time told London that he was bordering on obsessive territory. He’d been trawling through articles and social media for hours.
He hadn't heard anything from Kay, so he guessed that he was still asleep. It wasn't like he didn't need it. London decided that he better get some sleep too. Tomorrow would be… difficult. How was he supposed to tell Kay any of this?
Anyone who had been in his life before would have moved on.
“You’re a liar,” Yves hissed. “A goddamn liar,” he shook his head and looked past Calisi. “Come on, where is he? I know he spoke to you —”
“Talking is overrated,” Calisi spoke as if Yves’ accusations were of no concern to her. “ I already told you that we spoke. I think that you should leave.”
“Leave? You want me to leave?”
“Yes. Zander isn’t here. There’s nothing for you here.”
Yves sucked in a breath through his teeth, forcing his hands into his pockets. Fists clenched.
Nothing for him here.
“I know this is all just — just a game to you, but I’m not playing.”
“Neither am I, Yves. If your boyfriend isn’t picking up his phone, it’s nothing to do with me. Take a look at your own relationship with him.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? My own relationship with him?”
“Consider it for a moment. Is there a reason he’s not picked up his phone? Not told you where he’s going?” Calisi paused, giving Yves time to think. “Tell me when you’ve got an answer.”
“You don’t know anything about our relationship,” Yves tightened his fists inside his pockets. “You said you didn’t talk to him.”
“So you admit it? You were having issues?”
“Just tell me what the fuck he said to you. I’m not interested in your games.”
“As I said, he left the party before I did. I can’t help you any more than that. You’re welcome to stay for a drink, though, if you’d like.”
“I’m driving,” Yves spoke bluntly, giving no thanks for Calisi’s offer.
“I can’t even tempt you with a coffee?”
“No,” he snapped. “Just — just let me know if you hear anything from him?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” her answer stung. Yves hadn’t expected better. “Just don’t expect much. He’s left you for a reason, even I can see that.”
Her smile was venomous as she escorted Yves to his car — stood in the doorway as he reversed. As he put more distance between Zander and himself once again.
Content Warnings: Pet whump, lady whump, captivity, restraints, collars, muzzles, mittens, brief nonsexual nudity/touching, police mention, isolation, gaslighting kinda
Word Count: 1485
Sarah doesn't know how long it's been when the door opens. Hours. Years. All she knows is darkness and fear, her body jerking, going limp against the tape that restricts her.
Andrew comes into the room, lifts her up. He is not gentle, and it makes her tense.
"Ugh, did you pee yourself? Gross," he says, annoyance clear in his voice.
Sarah says nothing. She can't, she's wearing a muzzle.
Andrew puts her in the bathtub and leaves.
It's hard to tell how long it's been when he comes back. Something cuts through the tape, and then her clothes come off, and then, finally, the muzzle and the blindfold. There's something strangely familiar about being too out of it to fight, lying limp in the tub while Andrew cleans her and dries her off and dresses her.
Laid out on the coffee table is a new set of cuffs, collar, muzzle and something she can't place. They turn out to be mittens, like stiff boxing gloves that won't let her move her fingers at all.
Andrew is cold and efficient in putting the new restraints on her. He doesn't smile at her or stroke a hand over her chin, doesn't talk other than to give her short orders. Sarah doesn't cooperate, exactly, but she doesn't fight it either. Fighting means making Andrew angry, means going back in the closet, means hours and hours more spent in the darkness.
"I have a new rule for you," Andrew tells her when he's done, and grips her by the muzzle to make her look at him. "From now on, you're not allowed to look outside."
Sarah instinctively turns to the window, stopped by Andrew's hand.
"No. No more looking out the window, or at the window, or anything like that. You don't need to think about things outside anymore."
~
The new restraints are white. Andrew says they're pretty, that they were made for her, but Sarah doesn't like to think about that. The only thing that's the same as before is the blindfold.
Before, Sarah only had to wear the muzzle when she was locked in the closet. Now she has to wear it all the time, except for when she's eating.
The mittens are nearly permanent now too. Andrew only takes them off when she showers. They're worse than she thought they would be. Innocent looking torture devices. They're not bad until she needs to move her fingers and can't, and then that will build into an extreme need to stretch and flex her fingers, and nothing she can do helps.
And then, of course, there is the blindfold. Andrew takes it off her when he wakes her, but if he catches her looking at a window, it goes on until the next morning. Sarah spends a lot of time in darkness. She wonders if Andrew would have gotten her a white blindfold too, if he'd known how much use it would get.
She's incredibly lonely. Sarah had thought Andrew ignored her a lot before, but that was nothing compared to now. It used to be uncomfortable, the way he would pet her and stroke her hair when she begged for food, the small talk when he dressed her. Now his touch is cold, his eyes are hard, and he barely talks to her at all. He doesn't comfort her anymore when she struggles with being locked up at night.
It takes time, but Sarah learns to keep her eyes on the floor. It's the safest way to avoid being blindfolded. She memorizes the patterns in the floorboards, makes up stories about them. What used to be a twig is now the eye of a bird, another is the head of a person swimming. The three by her food bowl makes a face, watching her eat. She goes two days without the blindfold, three days, four.
~
Andrew sits on the couch, typing on his computer. It must have been weeks now, since she tried to escape.
Sarah moves slowly, hesitantly towards him. He ignores her, as always. It's not that she wants his attention - she doesn't, really - but she just needs something. Anything. Anything that isn't staring at the floor while she tries not to cry about her inability to move her fingers.
Her head knocks against his knee, and she holds her breath, waiting for a reaction.
Andrew is still, and then he shifts. A hand slides over her head.
He doesn't talk, but this is not the detached way he's been touching her lately. He types with one hand while the other glides through her hair, rubs at the base of her neck, glides lightly over her face. Her breath is shaky with relief. With knowing that Andrew has, if not forgiven her, at least stopped ignoring her completely.
Over the next few days, Andrew becomes warmer. He smiles at her, talks to her, comforts her. Sarah drinks it in, leans into his touch, craves it.
It takes a week before he lets her stop wearing the muzzle during the day, a few more days to let her sleep without the mittens, and eventually he doesn't make her wear the mittens at all.
If she slips up, looks at a window, it all comes back on.
He lets her lie on the couch with her head in his lap and puts on screensavers for her to watch on the tv. It's hypnotic, and so much more interesting than looking at the floor. It makes her feel sleepy. She's tired a lot, now.
She's been watching the screen, showing a burning fireplace, for ages, when Andrew gently moves her off his lap and goes to the bathroom. It's not unusual, and it takes her a moment to figure out what's different.
Andrew's phone is on the table.
Sarah can feel her pulse speed up, her head spinning with the idea.
She can't try to escape again. Andrew would never forgive her.
She takes the phone and hides behind the couch.
When did she last think about escape? Days ago? Weeks?
Her hands are shaking. Andrew is going to kill her if she does this.
The phone is locked with a password, but when she swipes the screen, it allows her to call the emergency number.
The dial tone rings once, twice. Andrew will be back any moment.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"H-hello? Help, please." Her voice is shaky and rough with disuse. "My name is Sarah. I've been kidnapped. Please."
"Sara," the person repeats calmly over the clacking of a keyboard. "Last name?"
"Brown. Please. I don't know where I am."
In the bathroom, water runs in the sink.
"Sara Brown. What's your social security number?"
"My- what? I don't know!"
The bathroom door opens.
"Are you sure you don't know?" More clacking. "What about your birthdate?"
"Sky? What are you doing?"
Sarah hides the phone under the couch. Whatever happens now, it won't be good. All she can hope is that someone will come for her.
She must look very guilty, because Andrew's face darkens when he sees her.
"What did you do?"
The dispatcher says something, not loud enough to make out the words, but enough that Andrew hears it too. He digs the phone out from under the couch.
Sarah pushes herself back against the wall. She can't breathe.
"Please," she whispers, barely able to force her voice out. She doesn't know if the call is still connected, if the dispatcher can hear her. If Andrew is the only one to hear her beg.
Everything happens in flashes. Andrew hauls her up by the collar. She lands hard in the closet. Andrew kneels over her, covering her face with the muzzle, the blindfold, puts her hands in the mittens.
The sound of the door.
The hope and the fear warring to reach through her exhaustion.
~
Seconds and hours and days pass, and nothing happens. No one comes. Nothing changes. Nothing changes.
Andrew lets her out in the morning, and he doesn't punish her. He doesn't make her wear the muzzle or the mittens.
It doesn't make sense.
Does he treat her any rougher than usual? Softer? Has there been a change at all?
Sarah doesn't understand what's going on, and she's scared to ask. Not only because she's not allowed to speak, but also because if she does, it will make this strange peace crumble.
It's not like Andrew to ignore something like this.
Did the police come by that day? Did Andrew say something to make them leave? To make them not come in the first place?
There's a confused paranoia hanging over her, an ominous vagueness she can't escape.
Days pass, and nothing happens.
Sky behaves, and Andrew says nothing.
It's like that day never happened at all.
Did it happen? Sarah can't tell any more. Maybe she made it up.
Content Warnings: Pet whump, lady whump, captivity, shock collars, muzzles, panic attack, isolation
Word count: 1978
"Sky, come here. I need to talk to you."
Sarah goes without arguing. She's lost track of how long she's been trapped in this apartment - has it been three weeks? Four? - and the hours of being tied up in that dark closet has taken their toll. She can handle the shocks, combining into a burn on her neck that feels like it will never be allowed to heal, but the closet is too much. Being unable to move, struggling to breathe, not knowing how long it will last. And then, when Andrew finally lets her out, it feels like he saves her. The gratitude she feels when he undoes the muzzle, when he holds her until she calms down and promises it's over, it's enough to make her sick. She won't give him any more reasons to do that than she has to.
Andrew sits on the couch and Sarah kneels in front of him. He strokes a hand over her cheek, looks at her with dark brown eyes.
"I have to go back to work," he says. "I've taken a lot of time off to stay home with you until you settled in, but I think you're ready for this now."
Sarah didn't know he had a job. Could this be it? Would he have to leave her alone for long enough that she could escape? Hope mixed with something bitter, another option she didn't want to consider.
"Starting tomorrow, I will let you out for breakfast, and then you'll wait in your room until I come home."
"No," she whispers. Andrew's hand tightens on her face at the word. She isn’t allowed to say that. "No, please, no, I, I can't-"
"Sky, calm down," Andrew says and comes to sit on the floor in front of her. "No words. Don't make me use the collar."
"I don't- I don't want to. Please don't make me- please." He already keeps her locked up all night. She can’t deal with it in the daytime too. She just can’t.
"Sky, listen to me. You'll be fine." Andrew puts his arms around her and pulls her against his chest. Even without the muzzle it’s hard to breathe. Her skin is tingling, her breath going too fast, and she can’t get enough air into her lungs.
Sarah can’t stop talking talking, but Andrew doesn't use the collar. He just holds her against him until her begging turns to sobs, until she’s too exhausted to even cry anymore.
~
The biggest difference between being in the closet at night and being there as a punishment is that Andrew doesn't tie her up or blindfold her at night. He doesn't do that when he goes to work either, but he does make her wear the muzzle.
The first night he had left her hands free, Sarah had taken the muzzle off and fallen asleep, and when Andrew found her in the morning, he put padlocks on the muzzle and left her in the closet all day. He would always lock it in place after that.
At least she can stick her fingers in under the edge and pull the muzzle slightly away from her face, which makes it a little easier to breathe, but nothing can make the muzzle comfortable.
Andrew leaves after breakfast as he had promised, and Sarah is alone with her thoughts.
Is this really what her life is supposed to be from now on? Lying on the floor of an unventilated closet, waiting for Andrew to let her out? He didn't even tell her how long he would be gone! She doesn't know what he works with, or what kind of hours he keeps. Not knowing makes it worse. She's just stuck in the darkness, waiting.
With every exhale, damp heat spreads across her face, adding to the sticky moisture of sweat and drool that covers the inside of the muzzle.
Sometimes it feels like the room is spinning, but it’s not. It doesn’t make sense for it to be. It just feels that way.
There are no comfortable positions to be in. Sarah sits up and lies down, leans against the wall and tries a headstand. She drums her fingers against the wall, makes enough noise that it would annoy Andrew if he was home. Walks two steps across the room and back again. She stomps her feet and pounds her hands into the foam mat that covers the floor, wondering if there’s anyone down there that would hear her if she managed to be loud enough. She’s not tall enough to knock on the ceiling.
The key turns in the entrance door and Sarah immediately kneels by the door of her closet, ready for Andrew to release her. She can hear him move around, the rustle of cloth, the jingle of keys, steps that fill her with anxiety, and then, finally, the door opens.
"Hello, Sky," Andrew grins at her. "Did you miss me?"
It's not him that she missed, it's being out of this closet, but the two always come together. Andrew unbuckles the muzzle and takes her to the bathroom to clean the drool off her face, and Sarah can't help but feel the tiniest bit grateful.
~
It's hard to make sense of Andrew's work schedule. Sometimes he'll leave after breakfast, but other times he'll go out in the evening, and she can't figure out when the weekend is. Andrew mostly ignores her, if she's not breaking a rule or approaching him first.
She mostly goes to him during mealtimes. Andrew always gives her small meals, which is good, because he mixes cat food into her food, and the less of that she has to eat, the better, but it does mean she's always hungry. It didn't take her long after she got here to let go of her pride and beg for food at the table. Andrew gives her little pieces of his food, and Sarah eats them from his hand.
When it's not mealtime, though, she tries to avoid him. She looks out the window and draws with her fingers on the couch. Lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling. Gets bored and tests the rules. Earns herself a shock from the collar. Stares at the window and wonders how much it would hurt to jump. If she'd get away before Andrew caught her.
If she tried to open the window, Andrew would stop her before she could do anything. He would shock her until she couldn't stand and then lock her in the closet for god-knows-how-long. She’s not going to try. It's just a nice thought to play with.
It's hard to be ignored this much. She hates Andrew, she really does, but... he's the only human contact she's had for weeks. Months, maybe. Every day it gets harder to keep herself from going to him, from letting him smile at her and pet her hair. Andrew always smiles at her when she goes to him, and he's never mean about it. He's mean in a lot of ways, but not when she goes to him for comfort.
Weeks pass, and being it the closet never gets any easier. Sarah whines about it, finds ways of expressing her displeasure that Andrew will allow. Fighting it is not okay, but he'll comfort her if she cries, and whining just makes him laugh and ruffle her hair. "Don't argue" turns to "I know you don't like it" turns to "Maybe when I know I can trust you."
When he knows he can trust her. She needs to make Andrew trust her. If that is what it takes to be alone in the apartment, she needs to make it happen.
It takes many more days before it does. Sarah stops avoiding Andrew, goes to sit at his feet when he's on the couch, lets him pet her, leans her head on his knee. She learns what he wants her to be, and she does her best to be that, until finally, one day-
"Do you promise to follow all the rules while I'm gone?"
Sarah nods. Andrew is going out for a quick errand and he's letting her be free in the apartment. She still has to wear the muzzle, but she's not in the closet. It's not dark. If she touches something, or walks around, or breaks any rules at all, she won't get shocked.
The plan is to behave, to prove to Andrew that he could trust he so he’ll let her be free when he goes to work, but what if this is her only chance? Sarah would never forgive herself if this was the only chance and she didn't take it.
She doesn't know how long Andrew will be gone, so once she makes her choice, she goes for it. First she goes to the kitchen and grabs a big knife. It slices through the straps of the muzzle easily, and then the cuffs on her wrists and ankles. It's harder to get the collar without a mirror, and every moment she spends on this is a moment closer to when Andrew gets back. She'll get rid of the collar later.
The window opens easily, and she's on the second floor, but she'll survive the fall. There is a moment when she's hanging on to the windowsill with her hands, and she’s not strong enough to pull herself up, that she regrets this choice, and then she lets go. The landing barely hurts. She collapses in a pile and rolls onto her back and can't help but laugh. She's out!
"Oh my god!" A window opens on the first floor and a woman leans out, looking Sarah up and down with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"
This is it. She's getting out!
"No, I'm, my name is Sarah," Sarah stammers. She just needs this woman to help her and then everything will be fine. "I was kidnapped. I, Andrew kept me up there, and I, I need to call my parents. Please."
"Stay there, I'll be right out." Sarah stands up, and a pain shoots through her right ankle when she does. It's a small price to pay for her freedom.
The woman comes out and helps her into the first floor apartment, lets her sit on the couch.
"Don't worry," she says. "I’ll take care of it."
She hands Sarah a glass of water and goes to find the first aid kit.
"Can I use your phone, please?"
"Just a moment."
The woman sets down a box of bandages on the table, rummages around for something, and there is a knock on the door. She hesitates, looks Sarah in the eyes, and says, "I'm sorry."
Andrew is not happy.
He stomps into the apartment and slaps Sarah when he reaches her. It's the first time he's hit her.
"No, no, no, please," she begs, looking from Andrew to the woman. "Please! You have to help me! Please!" But the woman only looks away.
No amount of good behavior will help her now. Sarah twists and fights and screams the whole way back to Andrew's apartment, where he finds the cut-open muzzle. That doesn't stop him, though. He covers her face with it and holds it in place, pulling her along, until there's a ripping noise and he starts wrapping duct tape around her head and the mask.
"You can wear that until I get you a new muzzle," he sneers.
He's not gentle. Sarah is tossed to the floor, and then he's kneeling over her, taping her arms and legs together, until she can't move at all.
"You're lucky I don't beat the shit out of you for this. Anyone would." He hauls her into the closet. "You will never do this again. Ever."
He slips the blindfold over her eyes and locks the door.
