Psychopathic ✔️

Chapter Four

"Did you have any pets before you were brought here? I think it's good to have some sort of animal to comfort you. I had one when I was younger, it died, though." Mitch said, leaving out the little fact that his pet had died because he had killed it.

"No." Frankie answered hesitantly, not sure if he should answer the man. He had yet to see Mitch's face, which he thought was unsettling. The man across the room nodded, staring at Frankie as he moved uncomfortably on his bed under the older man's piercing gaze. He wasn't sure about why the man wanted to know all of these random things, but he didn't dare question Mitch.

"My mum got me a hamster when I was seven. She told me to take care of it, that if it didn't get fed and cared for it would die. Yet she never did those things for me and here I am - alive." Frankie wasn't sure on how to respond to Mitch's constant storytelling, but then again, he wasn't too sure about anything that involved his kidnapping. So he just nodded, like he understood what Mitch had gone through, and stayed put on his bed.

But he didn't.

Frankie had always lived a sheltered life. He never had to fight his fights, others had always done that for him. He wasn't spoiled, no, he appreciated everything anyone had ever done to him. He just didn't know how to defend himself very well. Frankie was sensitive, he let things get to him. It's only one of the reasons he wasn't liked by his peers as a kid. He would always tattletale on others when they had done things that they shouldn't have. He was an outgoing little kid when something like that popped up, but he didn't really talk all that much.

And this made him a perfect person to kidnap. Whether he realized it or not, the boy wouldn't have defended himself, even if he could. He simply wouldn't want to hurt his capturer's feelings. It would make them sad knowing that they couldn't catch a teenage boy, and Frankie didn't want anybody to be sad. He was too good-hearted to wish anything bad upon anything.

"So how old are you, Frankie?" Mitch suddenly asked, cutting his own train of thought off. Frankie wasn't surprised at Mitch's sudden question, he had grown used to his sudden questioning.

"Se-seventeen." The boy answered timidly.

"I was eighteen when I was taken here. I'm not sure about how long I've been here, but I can tell you about when I was kidnapped." Frankie nodded, laying down on his back. He stared at the white wall in front of him, although his face felt funny with him laying down.

He let out a frightened squeak when Mitch popped into his view. The brunette feared Mitch greatly, for the older man had hit the younger boy several times. Frankie, no matter what he did, had never been hit like that in his life. Not by his dad, not be his mum, not by his family, and not by his classmates. So it truly did frighten him - like most things did.

"You should look at people when they speak to you, I've been told it's a sign of respect." Frankie nodded his head vigorously, not wanting to be hit.

But he did anyways.

Mitch landed a punch to Frankie's ribcage, making the boy put a hand over where he had landed the punch. He pleaded out for Mitch to stop, that he would always look at a person when they were speaking, but it was no use. The man in black grabbed Frankie's upper arm, pulling him off of the bed and onto the cushioned floor. He then began to kick at the frightened boy's sides without mercy.

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