You Belong To Me

Chapter sixteen:

I'm not eating anything." Scott said after a moment of pause. As if he could even eat after the pain he just went through. He couldn't fully remember the situation yet, but he knew the hurt and he recalled the fear and that ruined his appetite well enough.

"I'm afraid I'm not offering you the option of eating. Consider it more of a force." The man smiled softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What would you like to eat?" The man asked, looking at Scott. For a moment, Scott imagined throwing himself at the man and at least try to fight him, but he could barely move. Scott didn't want to eat, what part of that did the man not understand?

"Nothing. I want to lay here and starve and then maybe you'll let me go." Scott grumbled, pushing himself back into the pillows. 

"Goodness, well dash that dream." The man scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Anyways, if anything I'd turn you into mincemeat." The smile that curled the man's lips made Scott sick. His throat clenched and his eyes watered. "And that way, I can savor you for as long as I want." He reached a hand out and caressed Scott's face with gentle, calloused fingers.

"No." Scott cried, jerking his head away, shuffling back across the bed, dragging his leg behind him, the heavy comforter seemed to crush it. 

"Yes, Scotty. Yes. So don't go running away on me again or I will not be so kind, understand me? Oh, how I care for you. But I don't have to." 

"So let me go!" Scott sobbed, growing desperate and angry. How was this idiot of a man not understanding him. Did he not know how illegal this was?

"Give it up, Scott." The man responded, blandly. "Just give it up, Scotty." He crawled across the bed and put himself in Scott's face. Scott flustered at the proximity, but only because of that. He put a hand back on the mattress behind him to lean further out of the way. The man didn't look like a psycho murderer or cannibal, but his eyes were so lifeless. 

"No..." Scott whispered, his arm was growing weak and he fell back on the bed. The man climbed on top of him. Putting a hand on the bed on either side of Scott's head.

"Why won't you? 'No' seems to be the word of the day, huh?" He smiled, maneuvering one of his hands to brush Scott's hair back out of his face.

"Stop!" Scott cried, pushing at the man's chest. Relief flooded Scott when the man got off of him, standing beside the bed. 

"And 'stop', I forgot about that one." The man seemed unfazed, but similarly, he had no intention of sexually exploiting Scott. It always sat just at the edge of Scott's fear. It was always what would the man do to him if he was at his weakest? But he never did. He would test his limits, sure, but the man had never touched Scott in any sexual manor besides bathing him the few times, but what sexual fantasy he had, Scott didn't have to know. "I'm bringing food up." The man smiled, politely. He left the room and shut the door behind him.

Scott lay on the bed, panting softly, the pain in his leg had turned to a dull throb as long as he paid no attention to it. And if he kept it perfectly still, as well. He stared at the ceiling fan, it was off and he could see the dust that collected on the blades in the lamp light. The chill from the snow outside the window pressed inwards and Scott involuntarily shivered, causing pain to his leg. 

"Ugh..." He moaned, closing his eyes. How had things gone so horribly wrong in his life. As a child, your mother always tells you not to talk to strangers, not to get in a stranger's car, to avoid strangers completely. They don't really tell you how to react when a stranger starts chasing you into some random lot on the side of the road. When that stranger chases you all the way to the cliff's edge. When that stranger injects you with something, knocks you out, and carries you to their stolen house full of cannibalistic horrors. Now what? He wasn't going to be killed, not intentionally, anyways. 

He had his life together for once, he had his job and almost a girlfriend. Maybe, unless, that was, she was a lesbian, which was something Scott had begun to fear. But now he had no time to worry about silly things like that. Now, it was just constant terror about what his life had become. He could lay there forever and if he stared at the ceiling long enough, he could pretend he was back home, and this was his bed and that was his ceiling. Scott sniffled; it was awful, just truly awful what his life had become. 

The house had fallen quiet, the suffocation of the snow fall outside seemed to dampen everything. Scott strained to listen, maybe he could hear the man doing something in the kitchen or walking around downstairs, but there was nothing. Scott slowed his breathing to an almost lethargic intake before sitting. He felt like he rose without even being conscious of it. He shimmied clumsily to the edge of the bed and went to step onto the floor, but his bandaged leg didn't bed and his other ached badly. He wouldn't be able to stand, not even if he tried. Much less walk. He slowly edged back onto the bed, laying himself back down. How hopeless. 

After the time passed even farther and the darkness outside had grown to a horrifying pitch, different thoughts seemed to cross Scott's mind. What if the man left him here in this house and ran away, the guilt of eating people of kidnapping him had gotten to him so he fled? Or what if his body was dangling from the exposed beam in his basement? What if he had abandoned Scott? Scott pushed himself up again, ignoring the pain in his head that seemed to grip his brain. It had been hours, he needed to walk. Another thought: what if the police had come and he was asleep and didn't hear and the man didn't tell them that Scott was up here?

"Walk you bitch..." Scott grumbled to himself, swinging his throbbing legs back over the side of the bed. "Walk, walk, walk..." he was getting angrier with himself, even though this wasn't his fault. He forced his right leg, his good leg, onto the floor and then, holding the tall wooden bedpost, he forced his other leg to follow. Tears prickled in his eyes, but he managed to stand well enough. One hop. Two hops. Just as he was nearing the door it opened. Scott yelped, lost his balance and fell onto the ground. "Fuck!" He cried and the man stood there, without food or anything at all. He just stood there and stared at Scott who was trying to stand without much success.

Scott had managed to wiggle himself all the way against the trunk that sat at the foot of the bed where he sat and stared, panting softly. All of the work for absolutely fucking nothing. The man walked into the room and shut the door behind him and kept staring down at Scott, not an ounce of emotion was displayed on his face. Fear drenched Scott, maybe he would be better off if he had stayed in the bed, he would at least have a height advantage and, if he fell off just right, maybe he could snap his neck before the man could do anything. But now here he was, feeling very much like a field mouse in the grips of a wolf. His thought that the man wouldn't rape him had been premature. 

"Fuck off." Scott whispered, glaring through tear-stained eyes. "Oh my god, fuck off! Get out!" Scott screamed now, grabbing onto the bedpost. This was it. The end to this nightmare or maybe it wasn't. Oh god, he had never wanted to die more than he did now.

The man blinked, finally, and then sat on the floor in front of Scott, crossing his legs under him. "Oh, Scotty. I would never hurt you." He whispered. His voice was so thick and gentle that Scott almost choked on his tears, it was so genuine. "I would never do anything to hurt you, my darling." He purred, reaching out with a hand. Scott had nowhere to go so he let the man touch his cheek. He actually believed his reassurance. The man could touch him if it meant he wouldn't get hurt. 

"Please, I just want..." 

"I know what you want, Scott, but I can't give that to you, please understand." The man whispered, wiping a tear from Scott's cheek with his thumb, smearing it across his face. Scott whimpered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, sobbing. "Oh stop that, already, you're a grown man. Unless there's something I'm missing?" The man said, pinching Scott's jaw sharply, staring with a sudden intensity that demanded all attention. "Maybe I got your age wrong." He murmured.

"If I said I was seventeen, would that change anything?" Scott asked. The man laughed sharply, letting go of Scott's face.

"Did you just make a joke?" The man asked, sitting back down. Scott stared, his face was red and blotchy and he made no move to explain whether he did or didn't, but it was obvious sarcasm as he was much older than seventeen. "Come now, Scotty, you can't keep being this cold." The man sighed. "Can I help you back into the bed?" He offered, holding out a hand. Scott didn't take it. "Let me help you, Scott." Scott could read the impatience that was leaking on his face. 

"I don't want you touching me ever." Scott growled, finding some sense of gruff masculinity to hide the fact that he had been whimpering and crying for hours now. "Leave me on this floor to freeze to death and never think about me again." He demanded.

"Ooo that is... something I can't simply do, Scotty. The winter season is here and you will surely freeze and I can't have that. So up we get, hm?" 

"Fuck off." Scott grumbled, but hands seized his biceps and pulled at him, forcing him to either stand of risk snapping his leg in half again. "Ah! Oh shit!" He cried, leaning heavily against the man to prevent falling. 

"There we go." The man huffed, reaching up and cupping the back of Scott's neck, holding him against him. Scott felt something buzz within him, something unfamiliar as he clung to the man's shoulders. "Alright, and..." The man gave Scott a little shove which sent him falling to the bed. Grabbing his legs and twisting him so that Scott was laying back down on the bed, still warm. The man pressed a hand to Scott's forehead and gasped softly. "My god, you're on fire!" He exclaimed. Scott groaned, his eyes hurt when he moved them. "You poor thing." Scott didn't dare ask what happened to the food, as he would rather starve than eat whatever the man had for him. 

"You can leave, now." Scott said, but he was shivering badly, his body went from burning to frigid to burning again. The cold of the flood had helped him forget for a while, but sometime while the man was gone, Scott must have developed a bad fever and he didn't even realize. 

"I'm going to get you water and you will drink it, and you will stop being a selfish little bitch, okay, Scott?" The man ordered. Scott could barely register what he had said, still in disbelief at how bad his health had dropped. Maybe that bear trap had given him septicemia and he would die that way. He would welcome it with open arms. The man wouldn't eat contaminated meat. 

The man came back sooner than Scott expected him to with a little cup with water in it. He handed it to Scott who just held it in his hand as he lie there. He wanted to drink it, really, he did, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The man swallowed and then took the cup from Scott, setting it on the nightstand. He reached under Scott's head and pulled him into sitting position, taking the cup again and held it to Scott's lips. With one arm cradling Scott's head, and the other forcing the water down his throat, Scott found he didn't really have to do anything. He found himself slowly laying back, trusting the man to hold his head and do everything for him. There was something relaxing in it.

No escaping, no getting out, no running away. All there was, was the man and his demented meal plan. Scott felt so weak. "I'm sorry about not bringing you any food, my dear, I figured you felt too sick to eat anything." Despite that totally not being the reason Scott wouldn't eat it, he appreciated some sort of understanding. Just something to show that this man had critical thinking skills. Scott put a hand on the man's arm, signaling him to pull the cup away and allow him to breathe. He did it so gently, though, that he felt the shiver course down the man's spine. 

"You'd be right." Scott murmured, pressing himself into the pillows. Why was the bed getting colder rather than warmer? He felt the water rise back up his throat in an acidic wave and he swallowed hard. "Oh god..." he whispered. 

"Are you alright?" The man asked, petting Scott's head. Scott nodded, a slight movement. The world spun left, then right, and then his head felt too heavy, and he collapsed back into the man's arm. "Woah, there..." Scott couldn't deny, he heard the concern in the man's voice, it was impossible to ignore, it was so odd compared to how he was spoken to the first night he woke up here. There was true worry. Maybe he was truly dying, and this would be it and there would be no more worry about if he'd ever see his family again, or his coworkers at the coffee shop. "You aren't warming up..." The man observed, nudging Scott, gently.

"I am..." He huffed, growing lightheaded. 

"You aren't, don't bullshit me." The man said and lifted the covers. He reached a hand under and Scott cried out, much like a wounded bird and tried to scoot away, but the man didn't touch him, never laid a hand on him. "It's like an oven in here." The man said, frowning. "Are you sure you're not warming up?" 

"I am warm." Scott insisted and the man shook his head again.

"You liar." The man murmured, putting a knee up on the bed. Scott tried to push him away, but the bile rose in his throat again, so he laid still as the man climbed into the bed, slipping lithely beneath the covers. He lay a little higher than Scott in the bed and pulled Scott's head against his chest. Scott was as rigid as a board as the man encircled his hips with his arms, holding him tightly. There was a moment of fear and discomfort before the fever seemed to crowd out Scott's thoughts. He closed his eyes, he needed to accept his fate eventually. He let his muscles relax, his body going limp and he tilted his head to press firmly against the man's chest. He began feeling warmth. 




Oh god to say I wasn't in heaven would be a lie. I must have died, or something. He was letting me hold him. It felt like getting a frightened street dog to finally let you touch them. Giddy excitement burned in my chest just about as hot as the bed was. He was so fragile feeling, so gentle and soft, how could I have ever hurt him? I caressed his hair, and it was softer than anything. I wanted to moan, to kiss him, to take him right here but I won't. Not until he's really ready. I want him to want this as badly as I do. 

What wouldn't I give to hear your sweet sounds as I gave you everything you deserve, I can't explain how desperately I need you in this moment, it's everything I have in me to keep calm and merely hold you. I bet you're loud and needy, desperate for it just like you're desperate for everything else in your life. Oh to just touch you, it's unbelievable. But I won't. I know better than to spook you. But eventually, I will have you. I promise you'll want me worse than anything you've ever wanted anything before.