ONESHOTS - Markicest, Darkstache, & More

Kidnapped - Darkstache

Dark awoke with a sharp groan, rubbing his head as he sat up. Sheets rustled over his body—oddly smooth—and as he shifted, the bed creaked loudly under him.

    His eyes widened, and he gazed down at himself, finding his chest bare—stained white sheets draped over him and the disgusting bed. His heart began to speed up as he began to glance around at his surroundings.

    This was not home.

    He thickly swallowed, running a hand over his chest, then peeking under the covers. He gave a sigh of relief; his pants were still on.

    Carefully, he swung his legs over the bed, cringing at the despaired creak from its rusty frame. Dark stood, bare feet grounding against the musty carpet. Everything about this place was disgusting.

    The room was very small—perhaps seven feet in length and width. The bed took up most of the grimy space, and Dark circled around it, blinking as he took account of another small room. There was no door—merely an opening—and stark, white light bled from its even-smaller interior.

    Dark peered through, nose curling at the rank smell. On the left stood a grimy sink, its drain rusted and practically crawling with bugs. The only accessory was a glass cup and a single, yellowed toothbrush.

    Dark glanced up and jumped, finding his reflection in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, stepping onto the slimy tiled floor to get a better look at himself.

    Dried blood caked at the corner of his lip, and he tilted his head, finding bruises along his neck—as if he were choked. Dark ran his fingers along the bruises and swallowed, desperately racking through his memory in hopes of finding an answer as to why he was here.

    His brows furrowed, and he shut his eyes tight.

    There was Wilford... standing just feet away...

    Two men, merely black figures, approaching him swiftly...

    The rest was a blur. When his hand grazed over his mouth, he caught the faint whiff of chloroform. His stomach sank with utter dread.

    I've been kidnapped, he thought. He gazed around the small bathroom, barely taking in the sight of the toilet and the rancid bathtub, and fled back into the bedroom, his heart pounding. The only light came from that bathroom, and it was sickening—stark white, bleeding with nausea.

    Dark gazed around, his body shuddering with disgust at his current conditions. The carpet practically squelched with a damp wetness under his feet, smelling of mildew.

    Dark's eyes landed on a door—opposite the bathroom and near the bed. He swallowed, then glanced around again—as if searching for some semblance of reassurance.

    God, he couldn't fight... not really anyway. He thickly swallowed, running a hand through his hair, before glancing back at the door, the handle jeering up at him.

    Oh, how he wished Jack were with him right now... He needed his bodyguard more now than ever.

    With a careful breath, Dark tried at the door, yanking at the handle rather roughly. The door gave a violent rattle upon the disturbance, creaking with age. Dark's heart rocketed in his throat.

    Maybe I can kick it down, he thought.

    He swallowed, about to go through with his plan, when the door swung open with ease.

    Wilford stood at the doorway.

    Dark suppressed a shout and stumbled back, staring at Will with wild eyes. He only received a snarky smile, and the door closed to a defiant shut.