Bloody Knives in My Leftovers

Chapter 8: Troubling Revelations Regarding the Babysitter

You were vaguely convinced things couldn't get much worse.

And man were you good at jinxing yourself.

You awoke to the faint smell of nicotine smoke curling under your nose, your vision blackened by a smooth piece of fabric. Your head pounded as you tried to focus on the muffled laughter coming from people nearby, hearing a faint conversation that seemed to be happening behind a door.

Arguing it seemed, as one man's voice was gruffly cursing. Another chimed in, low so you couldn't hear the words but something about it struck you, something almost comfortable.

That's when it all came flooding back. The fight in your apartment with a giant hooded man, falling off the fire escape into your kidnappers' arms, watching your roommate and best friend be shoved around by a happy-go-lucky murderer, then being forced into a minivan where you were promptly knocked out.

Which must explain the persistent throbbing in your cheek and head.
You gingerly raised your hand up to your face, feeling something wet and cold slathered on your cheek. Next, you reached to the blindfold and tugged it down, blinking as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings.

You were surprised they didn't feel the need to bind you, sort of offended they didn't think very much of your smarts or strength.
The black fabric hung around your neck, and you glanced around the room, finding that it was a small dingy bathroom. You put your hands to the cold stained tile and adjusted your slumped position on the wall. You were positioned across from the toilet, sitting beside the door.
Shifting your eyes to the space between the door and the floor you watched the small slimmer of yellow light become smaller as someone's heavy boots approached.

The smell of smoke increased, and your heart raced, shakily tugging the blindfold back up over your eyes and going limp as the door creaked open.

You tried to slow your breathing, creating an illusion you were still knocked unconscious. It felt like you were thirteen again, hiding your 3DS from your mother on a school night.

"Jesus Christ, how hard did you hit her?" A gruff voice was approaching, the tips of his shoes making slight contact with your slumped leg. In response to his question a laugh could be heard.

"Are ya gonna be ok with her if we go?" There it was, that comforting voice, seeming all so familiar like warm honey. It made your heartbeat quicken, which you chalked up to nerves.

"I'm capable of handling you two, I think I can handle an unconscious girl." He sounded slightly offended that the other man was asking, no, doubting his ability.

"Alright, if you say so. We'll be back later." He got a grunt in response, and then his presence disappeared.

There was some conversation and then a door opened and closed, leaving you alone with the single presence by your feet.

"Fuckin' Christ this is so annoying." He turned on his heel and stomped out, closing the door to the bathroom behind him.

As soon as you were sure you were alone again you pushed yourself up, yanking down the blindfold again. Your whole body protested as you slowly grappled with the toilet to stand up. Like a newborn fawn your legs shook, making you grab onto the sink counter for stability.

You could hear the man in the other room, a TV switching on and playing something you couldn't hear.

You straighten your posture, stretching out your sore legs. You brought your head up, instantly catching your reflection in the sink mirror.

Your hair was a mess, sticking up in some places and damp from the snow. The cold wetness you felt on your cheek before took shape of a wonky footprint, dirt and water clinging to your face. You scowled, wiping it off with your shirt. You could see bags under your eyes and dried blood was caked across your chin and had dribbled down your neck.

You looked like a walking nightmare.

'Kind of badass...'

Even in your state of slight shock you could appreciate a blood-soaked heroine. Well, heroine was a generous word.

You diverted your eyes from your reflection, looking around the bathroom for some kind of weapon. If you had any hope of escaping, you would need something threatening. You were quick to realize that the mirror did not open to a medicine cabinet, which wasn't ideal.

The loose drawers on the sink basin pulled out with a rough tug, making a noise that made you still. After a minute of waiting in utter silence and realizing the man outside was not going to come in and chop your head off you focused on the contents in the drawer.

The inside paint was peeling, revealing dark wood. There sat a pair of nail clippers and a small metal nail file. Instantly you snatched up the file, staring at the slightly sharp point. You pressed the point into your palm, wincing but not in much pain. You decided you needed something better.

You tugged open the second drawer, pausing again but shifting quicker this time. Inside there was a dirty electric razor, a boxed soap, and a pack of Band-Aids. Nothing of any use to you. With a slightly annoyed sigh you closed the drawer and opened back up the other one, picking the file up and gripping it tightly. It would have to do.

You took another glance over the small room, making sure you didn't miss anything before turning towards the door. The handle was painted gold and you could see your matted reflection staring back at you, warped. You shivered; it reminded you too greatly of that freak's goggles. You could almost smell the bloody slushy snow. God, you wanted to puke.

You managed to steel your nerves, reaching out and grabbing the handle. You twisted gently, pulling the door toward you, head peeking out as your eyes surveyed the room before you.

Outside the bathroom was a dark hallway, doors opposite to you, but closed. Down the hall there was a light, which you quickly assumed was the living room, as it was accompanied by flashing TV light. You heard the chatter of whatever show your kidnapper was watching, covering your slight footsteps, damp socks padding on the wooden floors.

It was quite drafty, and the walls were wooden, which made you think you were in a cottage, which was reinforced by the forest you saw outside the bathroom window.

You left the door open behind you, holding the nail file out in front of you as if it was even slightly intimidating.

You kept close to the wall, inching forward. Once you got to the end of the hallway your heart quickened, you leaned forward and peered around the corner.

The man was spread out on an old couch, arm thrown under his head as the other flipped through channels. You caught a glimpse of warm flannel covering his arms and tan boots propped up on the coffee table in front of him, laces undone.

Instantly your heart dropped, those boots seemed way too familiar. You watched, in complete shock and silence as the man shifted, kicking off his boots and grunting as he swigged from a half-empty beer bottle.

His dark hair, the outline of his long eyelashes, a glimpse of woeful hazelnut eyes, scruffy sideburns which he scratched at...a lingering scent of black coffee and cigarette smoke.

'No fucking way.'

You suddenly felt light-headed, stumbling back a little as he continued flipping through the channels. You knuckles went white on the file, your eyes flicking around the man's features.

It all hit you like a truck full of fucking bricks.

The name echoed and bounced around in your head, and you felt like you were going to throw up.

'Tim.'

Of course, it was just your absolute rotten luck that the emo hottie you had seen on the bus, WHO YOU ASKED FOR HIS NUMBER, was the man who FUCKING KIDNAPPED YOU. You were just about to scream when you sucked in a breath, hands shaking as you tried to collect yourself.

'It's just a man, (Y/N), you can take a single stupid tipsy man.'

Biting your lower lip, you crouched as low as possible and exited the hallway. You were practically holding your breath as you tip-toed around the back of the couch, a kitchen island in sight.

The living room and kitchen were connected, only a marble island in between the two, which made it easy for you to slip behind it as soon as you could. You felt confident that finding a weapon in the kitchen would be a lot easier.

You let yourself relax a little as you were hidden from sight, looking around the room for something easily accessible. Finding hope in a silver dishwasher door.

You lunged forward on your toes, gently pulling down the door and peeking inside. Slowly you moved the bottom rack out, making sure not to rattle the plates that were neatly slotted in the sides.

Jackpot.

A single blade sat pointed down in a strainer, glinting up at you in the moonlight.

Without hesitation you took it, replacing it with the nail file and hugging the appropriate weapon to your chest. You didn't bother closing the door as you creeped forward once more.

You didn't feel like trying your luck for anything else and besides, now you had something actually intimidating. You smiled a little to yourself, it was the small victories.

Making your way to the other end of the island you took a cautioned look, glaring at the relaxed man a few feet in front of you. Determination flooded your veins and you stood to full height, approaching from behind as quietly as possible.

You were two steps away from his neck when a low grumbly voice spoke.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." A heavy sigh followed his words, he reached for the remote once more and turned down the TV, all while you watched in complete shock, any bravery disappearing.

Tim turned toward you, a straight expression on his face. His eyes gave him away, slightly narrowed and obviously annoyed. He eyed the knife in your bruised hand and huffed another sigh.

"You really want to do this right now?" He spoke in a clear deadpan, looking up at you, an eyebrow raised. You sucked in a breath through your clenched teeth.

"You. are. Going. to. let me out." You tried to act bigger than you were, already feeling weak in his gaze. You pointed the knife down his nose, glaring at him with everything in you.

It was silent for a good long minute.

Tim dropped his gaze, looking you up and down before turning back around to the TV, turning up the volume.

"Do whatever the fuck you want, I'm tired of being a babysitter."

He then leaned back once more, not giving you a second thought.

Your mouth was open without you realizing, catching flies with your dumbfounded expression.

The fucking audacity of this creep.

But fine, if he didn't give a shit then it made your mission easier. You kept your hold on the knife, keeping your eyes on him as you slid around the couch, still pointing the blade at him. Once you were sure he wasn't going to spare you another glance you dropped the stare and sprinted full speed for what you figured out was the front door.

You reached the gold door handle and twisted harshly, finding it unlocked. You smiled widely as you threw it open, embracing the cold winter air.

Wait no, there was no air rustling in your hair.

You made eye contact with none other than the giant freak. A red smile taunting you once more.

//Lol I've returned. Ya'll should get used to me disappearing for three months, this shit exaustinggggg. Anyway love ya'll, hope you like my shitty fan work. //