You Belong To Me

Chapter fourteen:

It's astounding what a person would do to get just a tiny bit of what they want. Scott pushed the last bite into his mouth. It was like eating ash and dust. He barred his mind from admitting to itself that the meat was even remotely good, despite the seasoning and rich texture. Bile would rise in his throat if he thought too hard about what he was eating. Scott could only imagine what the man would do to him if he vomited on the table. Maybe he would lose his whole hand next time, and that was an idea he was not fond of. The man looked proud of him, and he was washed in that overwhelming childish feeling. He missed his masculinity that the man had so brutally ripped away.

"Okay..." Scott mumbled, swallow hard and looking up at the man with a pale face. His tongue was pressed to the roof of his mouth and his teeth were clenched to keep his stomach still. It had tasted so good, but he didn't want to think that. He imagined eating the grey goop from his first night in this hell hole. It made it surprisingly easier to feel nauseated about eating the food.

"Oh good job, Scotty." The man's voice was oily and cruel. This whole thing felt like a joke. He felt exploited and embarrassed. He had been confused since last night. He watched two grown men gored, but when he woke up, there was no evidence other than the blood on his own body. The splatter-drops on his face and arms. He knew they were killed; he couldn't have dreamed something so vividly morbid, but he couldn't do anything. He couldn't move or shout for them to run. He couldn't call anybody to fix it. He just sat and watched helplessly.

He didn't know how to initiate the suggestion, but he did want to watch tv. As silly as it may seem, Scott longed for something normal and comfortable, just to feel like a whole person again. He cleared his throat and looked longingly out of the kitchen. The man smiled at him in the way that you would smile at a puppy. He stood up and took Scott's plate and his own and set them in the sink, Scott would no doubt be put to cleaning again today.

"You want to watch something now?" The man cooed, walking behind Scott's chair and putting his hands on the back. Scott's skin prickled with the proximity of the man, and he felt the burning of his eyes on the back of his neck. He just managed a weak nod, feeling adrenaline beginning to seep into his muscles and his chest. "What's your favorite show?"

Scott didn't have one. He paused, his brain seeming to scatter all at once. And besides, what if he did have a favorite show and it was something stupid. That would be embarrassing, right? But why would he feel embarrassed around the man.

"Um... I guess we could watch Grey's Anatomy? I've been trying to watch it for a little bit and... I just never got into it." The last bit was said half-heartedly, and Scott knew that the man could tell. Maybe Grey's Anatomy was not the best show to watch with this man. In fact, the more Scott thought about it, the stranger this became. He didn't want to watch TV with this man. He wanted to be as far away as possible from him.

But why was it becoming so increasingly difficult to really convince himself of that?

"Actually... let's just watch what you want to watch." Scott offered, plastering a fake smile across his lips. Maybe he could charm him. Scott didn't know that the man didn't need any more charming to convince him of anything, but it was Scott's best bet.

"Well aren't you so considerate, Scotty, dearest. But I think Grey's Anatomy should be fine." The man said, and reached out with a hand to gently brush Scott's cheek. Goosebumps rose on Scott's arms as he squirmed slightly. He didn't flinch, though, nor did he make a move to get away.

"Oh... okay." Scott found he couldn't get his voice any louder than a whisper

He found himself being led back down the hallway to the living room. Scott wondered why they didn't just go through the conjoining door in the kitchen, but didn't dare say anything. The hallway was awkwardly lit with wall scones. The more that Scott saw of this house, the more that he realized it had never really been beautiful. He thought, at first, maybe he was off put because of who was dwelling within it's walls, but the more thought he put into it, the more he started to see that this was just a really creepy house. Not in the Disney haunted mansion way, but in that disturbing way that you can never put your finger on. The whole home seemed to be falling apart in the same way that made it freakishly charming. Scott frowned, but stayed close behind the man, just close enough for the man to feel his presence and not lash out at him.

The living room was at least a little more comforting than the rest of the house, probably because two of it's walls were mainly dominated by large windows, their drapes pulled open. The lace valance curtains seemed almost translucent in the warm sunlight. The room seemed to glow in livid warmth. It reminded him of his grandma's living room from his childhood. A long past childhood. The man guided him over to one of the couches with a hand on his elbow, ever cautious that Scott might still intend to run.

Scott couldn't muster up the thought of running away, though. He was tired, exhausted, even, and had none of the strength that he had originally when first arriving at this circle of hell. He knew if he were to run, he wouldn't even be able to hop the fence in the backyard like he did last time. He was fucked.

His heart stammered in his chest as the man decided to sit right next to him. No, closer than that. He was practically on top of him. His warm thigh was pressed against Scott's generating enough heat to give him comfort. He was mere centimeters from laying his head on the man's shoulder. The man reached across Scott to grab the remote that sat beside him. Scott pressed his back into the couch as the man leaned over him, body pressed against Scott's chest, hair underneath his chin. Scott scarcely breathed, forgetting how to.

"You could have handed it, you know?" The man grinned at Scott, reaching up with a hand to pet Scott's cheek. Scott almost let him, too. Considering that allowing the man to do what he wanted was the best way to get on his good side, it would have been a good idea. But adrenaline rushed in, and Scott yanked away from the hand, face flustered. The man seemed angry for a second, but his features softened freakishly fast. "Oh, Scotty. You poor skittish thing." He said fondly. Scott hated it, the tone of voice made him feel icky and gross. The liquid smoothness of it and the fatherly tone that it carried. Scott felt like a coerced animal, led to crawl into a cage covered with a blanket. Except, now the blanket was gone from the cage and Scott could see the slaughterhouse outside of his bars. Maybe if he were good, the man would consider making him his pet, not his meal.

"I'm sorry..." Scott murmured, leaning skeptically towards the man. Every muscle in his body ached with the desire to pull away and run, but he didn't. He sat there on the couch and let the man touch his face. His cold fingers were completely abstract compared to his thighs. Scott bit his lip and squirmed on the couch, pressing his own thighs together to be able to contain himself. The man's fingers traced his jaw and his cheekbone and his eyebrows. Scott considered leaning in farther. For convincing purposes, of course... He didn't, though.

"It's okay, Scotty, dearest. You're too cute to be mad at." Scott felt his legs growing weak from the man's touches. His gentle fingers seemed to be lulling Scott away. It was terrible, Scott knew, and he tried to fight it off, but the comfortable, sleepy sensation persisted, tugging at his consciousness. His eyes began to drift closed, his lips growing softer as he leaned closer into the man's hand. "You're so tired, aren't you? Last night certainly was a lot for you." The man whispered. His voice was a gentle bass that seemed to drag Scott under. Last night? What had happened last night that would make Scott so exhausted? He had a weird dream about... something, but nothing really happened beyond the usual. He frowned, but couldn't get his face to cooperate. Shit, how easy it would be to just lean against the man's body and close his eyes. He wouldn't be hurt, he knew that much, but there was no reason that the man shouldn't do what he liked. Scott fought with his own morals and then, out of weak self-control, leaned all the way down. The man groaned in happiness, quickly shifting to adjust so that Scott could rest comfortably on his chest.

Scott pulled his feet up onto the couch and let himself relax into the man, the tv was forgotten. It hadn't even been cut on. The man put a hand on his ribcage, another one swept his hair out of his face, pulling it back on his head. Scott sighed, stretching, pushing himself into the man. This was wrong, he needed to get up, to keep fighting. He had a whole life back home. He had friends, a family. He wondered if they were looking for him. If he was on the news, in newspapers, on the google loading screen. He sniffled, tears burning in his eyes.

"Oh don't cry." The man shushed him gently, pulling Scott further into his arms. Scott let his weight settle into the man, who accepted it happily. "There we go, Scotty, good boy. You can relax now." The man purred, rubbing his back softly.

The more Scott thought about it, the more he began to realize what his situation was. He was living in a freakish house that seemed to have bent walls and a sagging roof with a man who found his fancy in consuming human flesh in mass quantities. But yet, he was safe. And fed. And cleaned. And this man was keeping him alive instead of simply killing him and consuming him. He was actually cared about.