Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Sixteen- Oh, You Precious Liar.

Jack lay in a puddle of his own blood, cold, and shaking. His body hurt when he breathed, and his mind felt slow from the lack of blood. He could feel his body starting to shut down, but he couldn't die. He wouldn't. Not until he knew Mark was back in control. A loud noise echoed from somewhere inside the house, making Jack flinch. He curled his fingers around a screwdriver that had been driven into his thigh, which Dark had forgotten to put back in the cabinet before leaving. 

Dark stormed back into the house, throwing a bag of groceries, and new tools onto the counter, along with a pair of black tinted sunglasses, and rushed to the cupboard below the sink. He rummaged around a few cleaning supplies, and grabbed the bright red first aid kit from the back. While Dark was at the store, he couldn't stop worrying about Jack. He had beaten him pretty good... maybe, too good. He couldn't concentrate on shopping, fearing Jack was at home bleeding out. 

He rushed down to the cellar, not bothering to lock the doors behind him, carrying the first aid kit at his side. How precious his little Jack looked, cowering in the middle of the room. He flicked on the lights, making Jack wince, gripping the screwdriver tight in his bloody, beaten hands. Dark crouched down beside Jack, brushing his bare, cut, and bloodied back, with the back of his cold hand. Jack tensed, palms sweating. 

"Jack, I'm going to patch up some of your wounds," Dark said, in a calm, even tone.

"It's too late to help me," Jack said through dry, cut lips. It honestly felt as though he were dying, his vision fading darker and darker.

"Shh. Don't say that. You'll be okay, my love," Dark whispered, popping open the first aid kit.

Jack thought about driving the screwdriver into Dark's chest, but that would injure Mark as well. He couldn't do that. Instead, he shoved the screwdriver deep into his pocket, and let Dark clean up his cuts. Some of them desperately needed to be stitched up. Dark realized this, and let out a shaky sigh. He pulled out a packet of surgical suture, hands slightly trembling. He sat Jack up, and shifted so he could look into his swollen eyes. Even hooded by puffed, bruised skin, and blood, the brilliant blue color stood out incredibly against the dim cellar lights. Jack eyed the package, and looked back into Dark's evil eyes. At the moment, they didn't scare him. They looked sad. Pained.

"I have to stitch up some of the cuts. It will hurt. A lot. But you will feel better after. I promise."

"I doubt I will ever feel better," Jack whispered, wheezing. 

"Jack, you know I didn't want to hurt you. I had to!" 

"You didn't have to. You don't have to do any of this. Just let me go... Let Mark go."

"I can't let you go. You have no idea how amazing you are... Close your eyes, and this will be over as quickly as I can," Dark sighed, opening up the packaging. 

Jack did, afraid seeing the thread and needle would put him into shock. Dark brought the needle to a deep cut on his arm, and pushed it slowly through his skin, cringing at Jack's screams. 

After about five packets of surgical sutures, and a half hour of Jack's blood-churning screams, Dark sat back, admiring his work. Jack was a sweaty mess, the pain enough to make him black out, but he fought against the taunting darkness. Instead, he opened his eyes to face another darkness. A more pleasing one. 

"Beautiful," Jack whispered, eyes widening when he realized he actually said the word aloud.

"What? Beautiful?" Dark asked, tilting his head in question.

"N... Nothing."

"Oh, you precious liar."

"I... I-"

"Shh. It's okay. I understand... You know, you are beautiful, too. And I love you," Dark said, kissing Jack gently on the lips.

Jack's hand instinctively moved to his pocket, immediately regretting it. Dark jerked back, looking down at Jack's pocket. 

"I don't think you're that happy to see me," he said darkly, reaching into Jack's pocket.

Jack tried to shove him away, but Dark already had his hands on the screwdriver. He pulled out the tool, a snarl masking his cold lips, and drove it right into Jack's thigh. He screamed out in pain, grabbing Dark's arm so hard, he left bruises where his fingers gripped. Dark twisted the screwdriver, blood sputtering around the wound. 

"You are a wicked little liar, aren't you?" Dark hissed, pulling the screwdriver out, only to point it at his throat. "You will love me."

"I will never love you," Jack whispered through the pain. 

"A beautiful, precious liar," Dark whispered, and stalked out of the cellar, gripping the screwdriver tightly in his hand.