The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 12: This can't continue

Summary: You're being fed.
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The door opened and you blinked at the light that fell down the stairs. "Here, you go," Albert stood at the top of the stairs, his voice came from the muffled mask. His cardigan was open, showing his bare chest. Must be nice weather outside, you thought faintly. Then he came stepping down the stairs.

You noticed the tray instantly. The glass of soda, a drink you had not be able to down for the past few days, was replaced with ordinary juice. The eggs were still there, but there was a variety of fruit next to it and a little bag of potato chips. It wasn't much, but it was different. So completely different than you had expected for it to be, that tears started to gather in your eyes again. Don't cry, you thought, or he'll think you don't want it. Don't ruin his good mood.

Unlike with the boys, he didn't put the tray on the floor for you. Instead, he sat down next to you on the bed and held the tray on his own lap, allowing you the chance to take from it. You forced yourself not to glance at the basement's door which was left open. You could try and run now.

The thought of using the glass drifted to the forefront of your mind. You doubted you'd be strong enough to bang it against the side of his head and have it break. Another possibility, much easier and costing less strength, would be to shatter it to the floor. But Albert would surely punish you for that and it would do him no harm. Unless you could somehow put the shards inside of his shoes, disabling him to walk after you. The thought of him being in pain while trying to chase you had you smile inwardly. But you felt too weak to smile for real. And besides, you were too hungry. Your mouth watered at the sight of the food.

And so you decided to ignore the open door, teasing you with a way out. You did not even think about screaming for help in case someone was up there and able to hear. You ignored it all for the taste of different food.

You ate it all, your stomach aching from the stretch. The wetness of the pears and hardness of the apple felt godlike in your hands. You allowed Albert to hold up some of the wet scrambled eggs between his fingers and ate it hungrily out of his hand. There was no shame here. Just pure primal need. You needed the food, you just knew it. And you needed the strength it would give you.

The plate was empty a little too quickly, and you groaned sadly. Albert put the tray aside and brought the glass to your lips, urging you to drink and watching all the while as you swallowed the juice down.

It felt good. Very good. You could not help but smile up at him once you had finished. It happened involuntarily, and it caused a spark to appear in the Grabber's eye. He was wearing only the bottom half of the mask. The wrinkles on his forehead visible to you. The expression made by his brows betrayed how he felt.

He was surprised, yet at the same time he was delighted.

And you had done that. But by what? By eating out of his hand? By trusting him? By not running away when he offered you a chance? Or had it simply been your smile?

"That's much better, isn't it, sweetie," the pet name for you made you remember where you were and what was going on. He was your captor, and he enjoyed his little game a bit too much. Your face fell. He noticed for a frown appeared on his. He tilted his head to the side again.

"Want to share what you're thinking?" he asked, placing the tray aside. Your instant reaction was to think 'no'. But denying him answers never worked out well for you. "I," you hesitated, licking the last remnants of juice from your lips, "liked it."

"You liked it, huh?" the Grabber said. He tapped his fingertips together, elbows resting on his knees as he sat next to you on the bed. The tray with the empty plates and glass sat on the mattress beside him. "If you promise to be my good girl I think I can give you some more treats. After all, you earned them."

His eyes flashed with something dark, though you weren't fully sure what it was. You simply nodded, not knowing what else to say. The boys had been more spirited, better at fighting back. You felt sullen now for letting him do all these things to you and get away with it. That you had not even tried to break the glass and hurt him. Your eyes darted toward said object. Albert followed your gaze with his.

"Now if you are going to be a naughty girl, there'll be punishment involved," he said, as if he had just read your thoughts. You remembered reading stories in which he liked that – in which he liked to administer these punishments and being naughty was more than just a game to him. It was considered a primal urge. You had felt that must be the case, that this was some sort of truth about him. But so far you hadn't actually played into that. You thought that you might have gotten further if you had. You might be out now, or at least have helped the poor boy who had fallen victim to him escape.

You were doing things all wrong, weren't you?

Your eyes snapped away from the glass, abandoning any plans you had with it. There was nothing you could say to appease this man, apart from promising to be good for him. But realistically, you didn't know if you could even keep that promise.

Instead of answering with words, you let your hands come to rest upon his naked chest. You heard his breath catch in his throat, an indication of what your touch exactly did to him. His blue eyes focused upon you, a slight twinge of mistrust within them. As if he expected that you might hit him. But you caressed his skin instead.

He closed his eyes and started to hum softly, relishing in the feel of your hands. It was his weakness, you knew. One of them, at least. No doubt he had more. But it worked. Touching him there pacified him, made him forget his threats. For now.

The low timbre of his voice made for a pleasant sound as he hummed. You tried to recognize the song. There was something homely about it now. The way the two of you sat next to each other, your hands resting upon his chest and him humming a tune. You felt the vibrations beneath your fingertips. The tension seemed to have left all of his muscles. He was relaxing. And it was weird to see him like this. So peaceful. So human, despite the grotesque mask that covered his lips with a grin.

You gently started to tap your fingertips down, like the little pitter-patter feet of mice, until they tapped against his belly. A sharp inhale of breath that you felt, and then his eyes were open again.

"Must you be this gentle?" he asked, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere. You were sad that he had stopped his pleasant humming, and let your head hang as if somehow, you were at fault for this pleasantness to stop.

"Must you be this gentle with me?" he asked again. You bit your lip but did not answer, and felt how his left hand wrapped around yours, the cold ring pressed into your skin sharply. He gently squeezed your hand as a sign of comfort, not a threat, and you looked up. "I do not deserve it."

You blinked, wondering how he came to a conclusion like that himself. Of course he did not deserve it, child murderer and sadist that he was. But what else could you have done to distract him from his self-induced madness? It was like he had a switch that kept being flicked the wrong way, no matter what you said. You really had to find the manual in order to know how he worked. And each time you thought you found something, he said something like this and made it feel like somehow, this was all your fault.

You almost started to believe him.

Locking eyes with him, you could see how his pupils drifted from side to side. He was trying to find something within yours, a piece of truth perhaps that had been left unspoken. And that's when it happened, when you doubled over again and bile tasted on your tongue.

His hands were swiftly in your hair, expertly drawing it away from the mush that spilled from your lips.

"This can't continue, sweetheart," concern edged his face. He loomed over you, watching you as you hunched in on yourself, eager not to spill on him again. Your stomach heaved painfully, your insides imploding with each new heave.

You savored the feel of his fingertips gently tapping against your scalp as he tried to give you what little comfort he could.

"I know," you muttered sadly, the sweet taste of fruit now sour on your lips. "I know."