The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 11: Unwell

Summary: You're unwell.
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Days turned into weeks. You were certain of it. You tried to keep track by carving little stripes into the wall. You'd seen at least one of the boys had already done it, and you had placed yours a little away from his. A nice comparison. You had outlasted his stripes already. An appalling thought.

The phone on the wall remained silent to you. You had picked it up several times, but no tune came from it. No voices of murdered boys, despite you asking for them to answer, pleading even as you became more and more desperate in the hands of your captor.

You tried all their names. Billy, Griffin, Vance, you even tried the names of those you hoped were still alive. Bruce, Robin, Finney. But no one responded to your call.

It had become clear that Albert spent less time with you during the days, but visited you more so during the nights. Whatever was going on meant that he had less time to spend with you, and if he did, it was apparently something he had to do secretly.

If he ever sat waiting with the door unlocked, you hadn't bothered to try and get past him. You felt weaker than you had ever done before, often lying slumped on the bed, fantasizing about an alternate universe in which you had managed to rescue the boy and be the heroine you had wanted to be.

You felt no need to challenge your fate for a glimpse of his naked chest and that horrid belt. He had shown them both already to you. You knew how it felt to be beaten by him, even if it had only been once. He had used that darn thing for strangulation during your copulation a few times, apparently a kink that set him off. But it was vastly different from being hit with the blunt end of it.

You were grateful he called you his good girl still. That he was happy you hadn't turned naughty yet. Not that you felt you had the energy left for it.

You were tired now all of the time and hardly showed Albert a fight. Like now, when he slipped from your core and grunted at the sight of you lying weakly on the mattress underneath him. His palm came flat upon your thigh, earning a groan from you but not much else. Another slap, "Wakey wakey," he said, but you were awake already.

"Now, where's my enigmatic little sweetheart gone to?" he asked, voice sultry and teasing. As if he knew damn well that your state was his doing.

"Not slipping away into dreamland, are you?" the threat was audible as he spoke. He wanted you to be present when he did these things to you. As if he still held a certain regret for having taken you while you were drugged the very first time. Or times, you thought wryly.

You lolled your head to look up at him. You wanted to say that you were still awake, when that awful itch returned to your stomach and you doubled over. You could not help it. It was that nasty stench that clung to this basement and that didn't seem to want to leave.

Vomit fell freshly upon his shoes, which stood parked next to the bed. Albert looked down at them in distaste and clicked his tongue. His hand patted you on the back, whether as a warning or as a sign of comfort, you couldn't quite tell. "Not again," he sighed.

"Get up," you felt how his hands gripped your arms before he forcefully moved you towards the dingy toilet in the corner of the room. "Before you spill over more of my clothes."

You could not be mad at him for implying that you would. The past few days he had to bring you a change of shirt several times in a row, and it had started to annoy both of you. But you just couldn't keep it in. There was something foul down here, and bringing you to the toilet only seemed to worsen it.

You tried to claw at his hands to undo his grip on you and struggled weakly against his hold. "No," you gasped in between swallowing new surfacing bile. "No," it would only make it worse. But he pushed you to your knees in front of the toilet despite your struggles. His hand grasped your hair and he pushed your head forward roughly, until your face was hanging above the bowl.

The nasty scents intermingled, the pain in your tummy became tenfold times worse. And then you were heaving again. Splashes of vomit made way for dry heaving when nothing was there to be pushed out.

"Hmm," you heard Albert behind you, voice dry and displeased. "Is this what I am feeding you for." It wasn't even a question, just a statement.

You were thankful for a momentary respite in which you could lean back on your heels. His grip on your hair had loosened. You found the strength and the ability to reply to him. "Not enough," you murmured, hair covered in sweat sticking to your forehead and pricking your eyes. "Not enough food. 'M weak."

"Damn right you are weak," Albert agreed gruffly from behind you. "My weak little girl. Can't escape me now, can you?"

"Don't, don't want to," you lied, not sure where it came from. Perhaps it was delirium. At this rate, you were going to die of a lack of fluids. You wondered if he truly did not see how dire your situation had become. Did he not care?

Obviously, you thought you knew the answer to that. His little declaration of love must have been entirely between your own ears. And even if he had said it, which you sincerely doubted, then this masked man had proven himself to be most unstable of character in the last few days. Even if he would believe it himself, who was to say his version of love came near to the definition known by so many? Of a loving, caring husband? A boyfriend? A lover who wanted to make you smile?

He wasn't capable of any of that, you feared. And you were growing delusional that you even were wondering if he was capable of such a love. What did it matter if he could or could not? When had you started to rely on his feelings towards you? When had you started to rely on him at all?

A gentle touch, his hands carefully brushing the hair away from your face. "Are you done?" he asked, not even hiding that he was impatient.

You faintly nodded, had to force yourself to do so. Because it felt like you weren't done at all. Afraid to be near the stinking toilet for much longer, afraid that you would continue vomiting until your body gave out, you were grateful to feel Albert's strong arm around you, pulling you up to your feet again. He tried to make you look more presentable, wiping his sleeve past your lips to wipe away traces of bile, then carefully ushered you back to the bed again.

He made you lay down, then discarded the cardigan which he had donned in a haste. His chest was bare underneath, something you noticed he seemed to like for he often displayed his chest to you. You also discovered that he liked it when your hands wandered over his skin, kneaded his chest, touched his belly. It would have him gasping and over the edge sooner than any other trick.

You had found out so many new things about him. But nothing that could help you get out. Not yet.

You lamented the fact that you were still stuck with him.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," Albert growled near your ear, ready to go for another round again. Like you hadn't just disgracefully vomited all over his shoes. His hands wandered up your frame, uncaring that you'd been sick only moments before.

"What do I do to you?" you gently asked, eyes upon him. He cocked his head and you could almost hear the smirk he had behind that mask of his.

"You're driving me crazy."

As calmly as he said it, as feverishly he descended upon you. A dry kiss of the mask against your lips, and he pushed himself back on his own feet. You watched in confusion as he put his cardigan back on again, looked around, then picked up the bile-covered shoes.

"Will have to go up barefoot again," he mused, then let out another laugh. "You're really starting to worry me. You should not be ill, okay?" Like you could command your own health at will. You sighed softly but otherwise remained silent.

"I'll fetch you something to eat." He headed towards the door, bare feet grinding on dirt.

"What happened," your voice halted him in his tracks and he stopped to turn and look at you curiously. "What happened to my cookies? Are they all gone?" you asked.

Albert took a moment to ponder his answer, then shook his head. "We're still enjoying them, sweetheart." Then he turned around and reached for the door. "I'll be back."

He left with that promise. And you closed your eyes, wondering who else was up there with him.