Bloody Knives in My Leftovers

Chapter 9: Masked Faces Cause Panic Attacks (And Hot Men Cause Confusion)

Holy shit! Jen posts her longest chapter in a while! **NOT CLICKBAIT** **EMOTIONAL!!!** But seriously this one issss 4710 words and a chapter hasn't been close to that long since Chapter 5. This killed me but I'm actually happy with how it turned out. The next few ones will probably be one-on-one time with each of the boys, gotta add that bonding! Anyway enjoy! Heed warnings!! And no translations for this chapter because I got lazy.

- Love, Genevieve

Warning: description of a panic attack and just the normal stuff, but if you've made it this far it's probably fine.

Frozen. And not just because the cabin door was wide open and the winter air nipped your face.

You were being stared down by a black hood, red smile taunting you. Your mouth hung open, feeling fear trickle down your back like a runny egg, goosebumps raising on your neck and arms. You didn't even have a chance to move as one strong calloused hand reached out and gripped your bicep.

His large fingers were scarred and they buried themselves into your covered flesh, your heart quickened and suddenly it was hard to breathe. You could hear someone talking in the distance, a second voice laughing along at some cruel joke.

The scent of copper filled your lungs as your eyes remained locked on the masked giant in front of you, you had grown way too accustomed to that smell.

Before you could contemplate where the strong scent could be coming from you were tugged forward into the man's chest, bumping into it without bracing yourself.

"Really?" Tim's voice, it was back. Now it dripped with disbelief and annoyance.

"She's shaking. It's a panic attack." The robotic voice flooded your ears and you almost didn't believe it came out of his mouth. He was holding you tightly. Did he really give a shit about your panic attack, was this a manipulation tactic? What in the world was going on?

With ease the hooded man lifted you into his arms, as if he was cradling a small child. You instantly felt warmer, the fabric of his hoodie soft on your face. It was a trick to your senses, suddenly feeling safer. Your breathing quickened at just the thought.

"Fucking whatever." You could hear the eye roll that accompanied those words. But it didn't matter much as you were being carried away.

As he turned to enter the hallway once more something caught your eye.

Goggles. Standing on the porch with snow falling in his curly hair. He was waving, hand limply falling back and forth– no not him. In his gloved fist a disembodied arm, severed at the elbow, bone jutting out in gory fashion.

His brown jacket was stained with crimson patches and you could hear a faint giggle, arm still waving about.

A hand settled over your eyes, blocking your vision as you turned the corner.

"Don't pay attention to him." The robotic voice changer made it hard to tell what emotion he was trying to portray but it almost sounded like.. He was trying to protect you? You inhaled sharply, trying to banish any thoughts of this murderer caring for you.

His hand remained over your eyes until a door creaked open and suddenly you could see again.

The two of you were standing in a small bedroom, a neat queen sized bed was pushed against the furthest wall. Well, the whole room was neat really.

The nightstand was well organized, the dresser had no clothes sticking out, a pair of slippers was sitting by the side of the bed, and the single desk looked clean and orderly.

The hooded man approached the bed and gently sat you down on the mattress. You sat, hunched over slightly as your chest rose and fell in silent panic.

He settled himself in front of your legs, crouching and placing his hands on your arms.

He stayed there, rubbing your arms and looking at you through his hood. Your eyes were shut tight, trying to picture it was Bailey or Riley instead, and you settled into that thought, allowing yourself to calm down.

"(Y/N.)"

Instantly the illusion was shattered and your eyes flew open, head snapping up to meet the terrifying stitched red eyes staring you down. You tried to yank yourself away from him, his grip holding you still. Yet you tried as hard as you could, salty tears making your vision blurry.

"Let me go! Let me go! Don't touch me– Don't!" Your voice was shrill, panic and fear clashing as you kept tugging. Sobs racked your body now as you lost strength, begging someone, anyone to come help you. You turned your head, eyes darting around.

One of his hands flew away from your arm, as if it caught fire. But instead of backing away his other hand pulled you towards him and your forehead landed a little harshly on warm skin.

Skin that was dotted with freckles, skin that smelled like vanilla and sandalwood, skin that held warm honey eyes. The same eyes that met yours with such intense sincerity you stalled.

You recognized the calming feeling that filled your mind, the lips you had memorized downturned as a look of worry crossed his face. And when he spoke, you forgot the danger that surrounded you for a moment.

"( Y/N)."

There it was again, your name. Except this time it wasn't shrouded by an unfamiliar voice, no this time it sounded like heaven.

The soft southern drawl and the way his lips parted to show gapped teeth. His hand rubbed at your arm again, bringing you slowly to reality and a sense of serenity.

"Brian..?" His name was superglued to your brain, ever since that day he introduced himself to that wily teenager. The stupid silly man name that made you smile dreamily.

Brian smiled, that's when you realized he was holding his mask in one hand. The same mask that had been terrorizing you and your friends for weeks. You inhaled sharply and moved away slowly, allowing your arms to stay in his hold.

Your brain was going a million miles per hour, confused at this outcome. Here before you was a killer, a stalker, a fucking kidnapper....but oh. Oh he was so darn attractive...and sweet...You couldn't make your eyes leave his face.

He chuckled darkly, letting go of you. The soft caring demeanor dropping into something more intimidating. "Surprised, darlin'?"

The nickname made you cheeks flush against your will and you watched as he brought himself to his full height, looking down at you with a satisfied smirk. You weren't proud to admit you gaped a little.

"Uhm...Hi...?" You were sure your brain was melting, because what the fuck?

He just laughed again, stepping back and trying to flatten his sandy hair with one hand. His eyes left you and he turned to the door, making it in two long strides. He looked over his shoulder to address you.

"I'll be right back." And then he disappeared, shutting the door firmly behind him.

As soon as his footsteps could no longer be heard you collapsed backwards on the bed, hands covering your face in shame and humiliation.

Your brain seemed to be battling between feeling embarrassed you had a panic attack in front of him and the fact you were attracted to your literal fucking stalker.

"Get a hold of yourself!" You muttered angrily. You couldn't fucking believe the weird Stockholm syndrome was setting in this quickly.

Your hands left your face and you stared up at the ceiling, trying to re categorize your thoughts.

First, you had to ask about Bailey and Riley....then maybe a shower. You caught a whiff of your jacket sleeve and coughed in disgust. Yeah, a shower.

It was maybe two minutes before the door opened again, revealing Brian once more. He slid into the room and shut the door, balancing a tray on his hand.

"I thought you might like to eat something before you lose your appetite." He smiled darkly and set the tray down on the night table. His words held obvious double meaning, one side empathetic and the other vaguely threatening.

You glanced over at the gray breakfast tray, a messily made PB&J sat on a napkin and a plastic cup of water had a bendy straw spinning around in it lazily.

You slowly sat up, hands steadying you on the bed, sinking into the dark blue comforter.

Back in business, maybe he was in a giving mood. You zeroed in on him, taking a breath to prepare your words.

"Bailey...the other girl you guys took. Where is she?" You tried your best to sound stern, as if you were in any position to demand answers.

The blonde settled his weight on one foot and crossed his arms, raising one brow. He studied you for a moment before answering.

"Not here. In case you were wondering." He showed no hint of humor, just letting his words die with a shrug.

"Then...where?"

Brian looked at the nightstand, before gesturing to it.

"Eat."

He then turned on his heel and left the room.

Your hands balled into fists, crinkling the blanket beneath you. Anger, frustration, all the erratic emotions flooded your veins. Yet, you couldn't move an inch.

In truth, you were still scared. No matter how attractive these psychopaths were, it wasn't going to stop your legs from shaking, your vision from blurring. You swallowed harshly, your mouth noticeably dry.

Too desperate to care you prayed to whatever god existed they didn't drug the water and chugged it down. Water dribbled out the side of your mouth and onto your shirt, but you could care less. Once the last drop was either in your mouth or on your chin you set the cup down with a plastic ' crunch ' on the wood.

'Maybe some litter would piss this neat freak prick off.' It wasn't much, but you'd take a win, however small it was. You then pulled your knees up to your chest and backed up against the wall, burying your face into your knees.

You went through the events in your head. You were chased out of your apartment, kidnapped along with your roommate, woke up in a cabin bathroom, tried to escape and found out Tim was a part of your terror, then ran into the hot bus man who was ALSO a lunatic.

All it left was the third one, the guy with his jittery laugh and twitchy hands. The dude who seemed to love waving single body parts at you. You cringed as you remembered the arm from before.

This guy with his curly brown hair and his very interesting inflection...the way his mood seemed to darken in a split second– you gasped, head shooting up.

"TOBY!" You instantly slapped a hand over your mouth, not having meant to scream his name with such enthusiasm. Excitement from your amazing detective skills getting the better of you.

There was a noisy clatter behind the door, running feet making a beeline down the hallway, all as you stared with your mouth covered.

The door slammed open and a grinning Toby was practically jumping up and down.

"You remembered my name!!!" It was strange to hear his voice changer while his mouth was uncovered, the bandage over his cheek stretching uncomfortably as he yelled.

His jacket was gone and he was left in a gray long-sleeve, un-stained. Unfortunately his pants and winter boots were streaked with dried brown and crimson of a fresh kill. His sunny disposition contradicting the implication harshly.

He took a full sprint at the bed, bouncing on the impact and getting so close to your face you could smell his weird spruce scent. His mouth was pulled in a smile, a truly optimistic one where his stained teeth and pointy canines were on full display. It made your stomach churn.

He reached up to a small black box stuck to his neck and yanked it off, throwing it to the side with reckless abandon. His voice now came out clear, the same voice that had comforted you through the telling of your dead sister and mother.

"My name! M-ma-My name!! Es ist ein wunder! " What you assumed was German made his voice sound harsher, but it sounded natural on his tongue. And it wasn't nearly as unsettling without the blood and goggles.

You remained silent, staring at him, your hand trembling over your mouth. He was jittery, his shoulder jerking up to touch his ear, but the smile never left.

He waved one gloved hand in front of your face, "Hellllooooo, (Y/N)!! Y-ya-you there?" He titled his head, in the same way that made you think of him as a puppy before.

Your eyes snapped to his, a shudder rolling down your back. You pressed your bent spine into the cool wall and spoke through gritted teeth, your lip curling in distaste at his lack of care.

"Back. the. Fuck. up." You left a pause in between each word, fighting back more profanities.

Instantly Toby's smile dropped, his eyes darkening and narrowing. His body stopped moving and his breathing became slow, as if he were stalking prey. His two-toned irises' never left yours as he spoke, almost a growl falling from his lips.

"I could snap your neck, du erbärmliche ratte. " His sneer was obvious, but before another word could leave his mouth a hand settled firmly on his shoulder.

You didn't even see him approach. Tim was now at the younger man's back, still barefoot and with such a lax expression it unease you. He didn't even spare a glance your way as he addressed Toby.

"C'mon, Brian's panties are going to knot if he comes back and finds you in here. Much less threatening his little pet. " On the name he briefly looked up at you, scoffing at your pathetic form.

Toby rolled his shoulder back, either a tic or trying to get Tim off. Unmoving he sneered at you, his hands gripping the blanket beneath him. As if it was taking everything in him not to pounce on you.

The two of you studied each other's faces for a moment so long it felt like forever. But another tug from his accomplice had him turning his back on you and getting off the bed.

You watched closely as he stretched out his long limbs, briefly turning to you to poke out his tongue. Now playfully upset rather than murderous, man this dudes mood swings were making your head spin.

Tim rolled his eyes and led Toby out by his shoulder, muttering something you couldn't hear.

The door shut tightly behind them, leaving you alone in the sterile room, utterly alone.

That familiar feeling of dread settled on your shoulders once more and you decided to snoop to take your mind off it.

You waited a couple of minutes before scooching yourself off the mattress, damp socks hitting the wooden floor with a light 'slap'. You nervously cracked your sore knuckles as you made a decision on where to look first.

Your eyes settled on the dustless bookshelf that was pushed against the furthest wall. You strode up to it and placed your finger against the various spines that faced outward. You dragged the same finger over them, scanning titles such as 'Body Language for Dummies' and 'Inside Their Minds: An Analysis on Serial Killers'. You lightly scoffed to yourself at the last one.

Your finger stalled on the only book faced backwards, your curiosity peaking. You slowly pulled it from its spot, causing the other books to tilt sideways.

It was a leather bound journal, obviously being through some trauma from the long scuff marks and cuts in the leather. It smelled faintly of iron and kerosine, which was strange. Your fingers nervously played with the edges of the book, a strong tie keeping it closed with a simple knot.

You looked up at the door and then back down, biting your inner cheek as you made a decision. Deciding your curiosity wasn't strong enough to read it right there in the open you hastily stuffed it into the back of your waistband. Surely the giant man wouldn't notice something so trivial missing?

You heard voices from the living room, bleeding through the walls the closer you got to the door. They weren't quite arguing but you heard the familiar stutter rapid fire German out loud. You briefly wondered what he could be talking about, but stopped eavesdropping when a wave of exhaustion hit you, followed closely by a spell of dizziness. Instantly you remembered the crushed solo cup, sitting in a heap on the bedside table.

Before you could ponder on what mixture of drugs you just ingested, your limbs felt heavy as lead. And with a thump you were sure was going to leave you in a bloody heap your vision went dark.

- - - —- - - — — — -

You awoke blearily to a persistent nudging of your leg. Your voice was the first to respond, a dissatisfied grumble leaving your lips, as if it was your mother trying to rouse you for school.

Of course, it was nothing akin to that. The next sensation that attacked your body was a loud throbbing coming from your skull. You felt too warm, as if your heart was pushing too much blood into your system. The chilly wooden floor you seemed to be sprawled on did little to help.

The nudging returned, and you were idly aware of the soft sock that was pushing into you. You groaned again, trying to move your leg away from whatever was bothering you, now fully coming too.

Your eyes blinked open wearily, taking in your dim surroundings. It all came back gradually and now you could hear the low voice muttering at you.

The same voice that was attached to the bothering foot.

"You know you fuckin' reek, right?" There was no sympathy, and you could faintly see the wrinkle in his nose, keeping a good distance from your corpse-like state.

"Fusck.....you..." Your words were slurred and held no threat to the looming man, and he snorted in response, but stopped poking you.

"You want a shower or not?" He crossed his large arms and took a step back, the door to the room wide open behind him.

'You're the one who drugged me,' you thought bitterly to yourself. He shouldn't be complaining about your lack of movement when it was partially his fault you couldn't function.

Audibly though, you moaned, squirming a little on the slats.

He let out the loudest groan yet and knelt down, his elbows resting on his plaid pajama pants as he deadpanned at you. Slowly he reached one arm out and hooked it onto your wrist, heaving you up enough so he could put said arm under and around you. He supported most of your weight as you quietly protested, trying with zero luck to distance yourself.

Tim wrinkled his nose again in distaste. "Stop fuckin' squirming, I'm helpin' ya." He grunted the words out with irony that was not lost on you. He was basically dragging you in the direction of the bathroom you first woke up in.

With one foot he pushed the door open and almost shoved you into taking a slouched seat on the toilet. You muttered a half-hearted complaint as he blatantly ignored you.

He leaned across you and you smelt the heavy scent of nicotine and booze, lingering with the scent of wood and sage candles. You dismissed this as you heard the shower turn on, then quickly the loud rushing of water. He drew back, hand wet. He was preparing a bath for you.

"I don't think standin' is good right now, so try not to drown in the tub, yeah?" He eyed you skeptically before drawing to his full height once more.

"You'll be fine enough to turn the water off yourself in a minute, but if you flood this fuckin' house I will personally feed you to little rat." He glared down at you and then left quickly, closing the door behind him with force.

You were almost positive he meant Toby, your mind flickering through the images of him tearing through raw meat. You managed a weak shudder.

Sure enough though, Tim was correct. After a minute or two you could move, with some obvious soreness....but that was expected. You flexed your fingers and then slowly shifted your weight forward onto your bent legs.

Once you were sure you could support yourself you stood, legs wobbling beneath you slightly but your own willpower kept you standing. You swallowed roughly and then began removing your layers of clothing.

The worn jacket came off first, then followed by your thick and stained sweater. You huffed with exertion pulling off your tight pants, that peeled your damp socks off with it.

You jumped as an unfamiliar thump landed on the tiled floor. You glanced backward, your eyes catching the leather bound journal. Apparently no one had noticed it was missing yet. You carefully nudged that under your pile of clothes, hiding it and saving its contents for later.

With everything finally removed you could stand straighter, the weight of wet and gross clothing no longer making it harder. With that you caught your disheveled reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Your (h/c) hair was a tangled and knotted mess, dried blood plastered it onto your forehead and neck. Your face was bruised and had a few miscellaneous cuts, not to mention your red and bloodshot eyes from crying and being drugged. Your throat felt coarse as a new feeling welled up and lodged itself there. You wanted to scream, cry, everything and anything.

You refrained, becoming distracted as the water in the tub reached a dangerous level. You almost slipped jumping across the bathroom floor to shut it off with a solid push. You held your breath, waiting for Tim to return and make another threat about your annoying noise. Nothing came and you inhaled sharply in relief.

Without much else you gently tipped your fingers into the water, finding the temperature scalding, but after the last couple of days it was exactly what you needed.

You slipped in quickly, letting the hot liquid boil the dirt and shame off your skin.

Almost instantly the water ran dirty, brown and deep red mixing unpleasantly together, nevertheless you scrubbed.

You ran your nails over your skin, raking the dirt off and the dried blood. The flesh underneath turned pink at your roughness, but you paid it no mind.

You glanced around for some form of shampoo and almost groaned out loud when you saw the only available option was a three-in-one. You couldn't resist a puff of frustration as you reached out for it. You squeezed a small pile into your hand and winced at the metallic green and the 'Irish Spring' fragrance.

Nonetheless you aggressively rubbed it into your scalp and over the planes of your body. It quickly foamed and began working itself through your matted hair, your head throbbing with the pressure you were applying.

Once you had successfully gotten it all out you were left with soapy, gross, bath water. The kind that not even the weirdest of internet creeps would buy.

You reached forward and pulled the plug to let it drain, before slowly standing and wringing your now slightly dry hair out.

Spotting a deep brown towel sitting on the towel rack you reached for it and patted down your body and face, flinching as it hit sensitive parts. Lastly, you wrapped it securely around you and stepped out of the now empty bathtub.

You weren't completely sure what you should do, but you gathered your clothes close to your chest, making sure to keep the journal hidden beneath the bundle. Then you cautiously approached the door knob and twisted.

Steam emerged from the tiny room as your bare feet made contact with the chilly wooden floors. Damn, did they even have a heater? You shivered, glad you took a hot bath but now yearning for the scalding water.

Your eyes glanced around the deep hallway, all the doors off to the side closed securely, the only noise or light coming from the end of the walkway. You knew it opened into the living room, and you knew that the murderer known as Tim would surely still be up and about.

With nowhere else to go, and in fear of being caught and punished, you traveled the hall and tentatively took a step out into the room.

The TV flickered some night commercial about cars and you briefly wondered what time it was. Wondering if your favorite adult cartoons would be playing. You half-smiled at the nostalgia.

There was something different about this scene though, sure his boots were still strewn about the coffee table, but Tim was nowhere to be seen. This revelation made you nervous, that was until a low sound of someone clearing their throat alarmed you.

You turned on your heel, and there he was, sitting idly on a bar stool, a mug of something steaming grasped in one large hand.

He was avoiding your gaze, eyes darting to anywhere but your wet figure. As if the mere thought of a woman unclothed disturbed him. A smug thought curled slowly in your mind as you contemplated this.

He was embarrassed that you were in a towel! You could laugh if his mere existence wasn't so terrifying. The expression of bashful avoidance did make a quirk in your lips though, feeling like you won some weird power play.

"Uh...what are ya doin'?" He spoke gruffly, frowning as he focused on his mug.

You shrugged and held your bundle closer. "I don't know where to go." 'You kidnapped me, remember?' You held your tongue.

Tim made a sound of exasperation, as if he forgot that people need a place to put their shit, much less a change of clothes.

He stood, grunting a little as he abandoned his beverage. "Wait here." With that simple command he walked the opposite direction and disappeared into another door you hadn't seen before.

You shifted your weight nervously beneath you as minutes passed by, you felt like your body would give into genuine fatigue soon.

After you were sure you couldn't stand it any longer he returned, carrying a small pile of different clothing. Without bothering to look at you he got close enough to send them flying, the shirt and shorts landing unceremoniously on your damp frame, obscuring your vision.

Your thanks was insincere and muffled.

"You can use Brian's room, we're taking shifts watching yer dumbass," he paused before adding another threat, "If I catch you rooting around in any other shit I will not hesitate to put yer head on the fence." He said it darkly and you just nodded.

You removed the clothing from your head and practically darted out of the room as quickly as your tired limbs permitted.

You felt relief flood your body as you entered the correct room on the first try, instantly shuffling in and closing the door as hurriedly as possible without making too much noise.

Dropping your clothing in a pile by the door you held onto the journal and the fresh smelling sleepwear Tim had thrown at you.

You made a very brief check for cameras, still not feeling the welcomeness of privacy as you dropped your towel and changed.

The shirt Tim had given you was actually an oversized green hoodie, the deep color somewhat comforting and the fabric was soft and cradled your body comfortably. You didn't really need the shorts with how long it was but seeing as he didn't supply you with underwear you felt it was the safer option.

Though you didn't feel great about going commando.

With some haste you slipped on the baggy gym shorts that were light gray in color.

You thought lightly who the clothing belonged to. Another victim? One of the killers housing you? Or someone else entirely? You shook the thought as quickly as it came.

The exhaustion slowly seeped back into your weary senses as you eyed the bed. There was still no sign of the giant Brian or the hyper Toby, so you figured a nap couldn't completely hurt. Plus you were so sore...and sooo tired. Your eyes drooped as you sluggishly approached the bed.

You climbed onto it and without even bothering to cover yourself in the warm blankets you sighed and shut your eyes, sleep coming swiftly, taking you away from the situation that you had hoped so desperately was a horrible nightmare.

And you were out like a light.