Five Ticks 'Til I'm Yours (Dark Ticci Toby x Reader)

12

Is this what a pillow felt like? Hard and lumpy? Where was that softness you remembered? Where was that cloud-like bliss you had fantasized about? Spending so much time sleeping on a floor could lead to idolizing something as simple as a pillow.

Grumbling to yourself, you sat up on the bed, punching your tried fists into the pillow. It didn't look any more comfortable, and you simply found yourself staring down at it. You wanted to cry. Then again you had spent the past two hours crying in the car. The moment you had hit the road was the moment you had begun crying. There was no phone nearby, no GPS, no memory that could tell you how to get home. So, you followed the road wherever it would lead you. It's not like you could go home anyways, you knew that would be the first place they'd look. You vaguely thought of your family now, they had never come to mind before, you were probably too caught up in your terror to think of them.

A small thought occurred, would they go after your family to get to you? You began crying harder.

The first motel you discovered was one you passed by. Same goes for the second motel. You didn't actually stop until the fifth motel. You didn't stop until you were a thousand percent certain they wouldn't be able to track you. There was no money on you or in the car, but luckily the motel manager didn't ask for any. He probably expected you to pay after you were done with the room. Were you a criminal now? It's not like you had any other option. You couldn't go to the police, you had already tried that, it had already failed.

God, there was no way out. Maybe you were better off dying, you surely felt dead. You couldn't even sleep, Jack would torture you, he'd find you like he had before. Was it so crazy? To want to live? It didn't feel like you were asking for the world. Around 7 billion people lived on this Earth. Was it so wrong that you just wanted to be one of them?

Your body felt sore and tired, your mind ached, and you felt emotionally drained and traumatized. Claire was still back there, still alive, left to be that monsters plaything. She would still be free if it wasn't for you. She came back for you. All your fault. You deserved to die...

Wiping away the hot tears on your cheek, you got off the bed, your arms cradling your chest as you stumbled over to the dresser. There was a mirror mounted there, and the reflection that looked back didn't look like you. You had gotten even skinnier than before, your eyes had sunken into your skull, and they now held a certain wildness about them. There was more though, a certain fire behind them, determination. No, fuck that, if you deserved to die, you'd be dead by now. Yet here you were, alive and fighting.

The sadness began to turn into bitterness and anger as you headed off into the washroom. You roughly pulled off the clothing he had bought for you, not caring if you tore some of the fabric as you tossed it onto the floor. You were even sure to step on it as you walked into the shower stall. You tried to picture all the stress and anxiety being washed away with the water- it didn't really work out like that though. You felt equally distressed, just a little wetter.

"Clean fresh start," you whispered to yourself, "It's over now, it's all over." That was a lie, but maybe repeating it enough would make it more convincing.  "Over, all over, done, free, safe, so safe, extremely safe, the president wishes he was as safe as me." Alright, maybe a little overkill. Sighing, you let your legs give up, laying your head on the glass as you just sat there. Your fingers had become significantly pruned when you finally stepped out of the stall, closing the tap. There was no towel, you hadn't planned that far ahead in your traumatic state of mind. Heck, the only clothes you had were the droopy, smudged, and crumpled mess on the floor.

Great, now you were cold, wet, and extremely underdressed. Who's idea was this again?

Alright, you could use the bedsheets to dry yourself off, and you'd regrettably have to wear those clothes again. Or hey, maybe you could be extra rebellious and turn a nudist leaf in your life. Clothes are so 18th century anyways.