The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 22: Talk

Summary: A Private Conversation.

EXTRA TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: (Short) Talk of Non-con, the use of the R-word
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"He has hurt you, hasn't he?"

You looked up at Finney and took a step away from the tray that you had just set down on the basement floor. Finney wasn't standing this time like he usually was. Instead, he was sitting on the floor. Not even on the mattress, but on the dirt. He was cradling his ankle in his hands and you felt sorry. It was because of you that he was hurt, and you felt extremely guilty about it. This should not have happened, you thought. This did not happen in the movie. Had you put him at a disadvantage? Could he not make his escape now?

Worry made you feel sick. How was it that everything you did only seemed to make things worse? You wanted Finney out. You wanted him to kill Albert, to be the hero he was supposed to be.

But at the same time, you also wanted to spare Finney the trauma that dealing with Albert would bring forth. The irony of it was that despite all your efforts, Finney was probably more traumatized than he had ever been in the movie. He had seen Albert fuck you on the chair. He was confronted by a girl in just a tee, covered in bruises and cum, on a daily basis. How had you thought that this would be any better for him?

You looked up at him, smiling sheepishly as an answer. You knew Albert didn't like it when you replied and so you kept quiet. He seemed to want complete control over you and answering the questions for you was part of that.

Behind you, Albert chuckled. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning in the doorway again. Only the top half of his mask was on, showing the devil's horns but the man's own sharp teeth underneath.

"He is right here," Albert said in his sing-song voice.

Finney looked up from the tray, eggs and soda again – you had not been able to convince Albert to make him a more elaborate breakfast. His eyes on Albert now. "What did you do to her?"

"Oh, I think you know Finney," Albert leered. He had his arms folded in front of his chest. "Clever teenage boy like you? I am not going to spell it out for you."

Finney sat up a little straighter. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you pubescent boys can't usually think of anything else, can you? Yet, you are too young to know," Albert said with a huff. He looked away, distracted by a sound coming from upstairs. Samson was barking, then quieted down.

A door clanked upstairs.

"Heh, well would you look at that." His arms unfolded and came to hang by his sides while he turned towards you. No longer leaning but standing on both of his legs, Albert gave the two of you a warning glare. "Seems I have to leave the two of you to yourselves."

You cocked your head curiously because this had never occurred before. Max already knew you were here, so why did Albert feel he had to hide you down below with Finney? Who was up there?

"Behave, no touching," he warned, eyes glinting red in the dark. He raised a finger, then pointed it at Finney like it was a gun. A silent threat to heed his words. Then he turned his back to you. The thought of running towards him and toppling him over, of crawling over him and screaming to whoever was up there shortly entertained your mind. But then you bit your cheek and looked away. It would not work. You doubted you were strong enough to push him over anyway.

You waited till the basement door had shut.

"How long has this been going on?" Finney asked, wasting not a second now that Albert was away. The boy tried to scoot closer to you, but you didn't want him to extort himself with the injury he now sported. You were glad to see there was no bone sticking out of his leg as you had feared after the snapping sound last night. But you still felt guilty. If you hadn't stepped out of the bed – with a false sense of needing to save Finney – then Albert wouldn't have fucked you and Finney would not have been pushed off the stairs.