I'm not sure how long I've been lying there, but it somehow soothes me after a while of barely moving. However, the silence in the room starts to unnerve me.
After a little while, I move to get up. I sniffle, putting my hands palm-down on the floor and use all my strength to push up. My arms are shaky, but I somehow manage to sit up. Being off the cold floor feels better, and I rub my arms with my hands to warm up. My bare arms. I instantly remember that I am shirtless. Although no one is here with me, I feel my face heat up, and I grab my sweater and tug it back over my head, trying to be careful of my wounds. I sit for a while more, hugging my knees to my chest, unsure of what to do.
What did Jean mean by "I remember why I'm here"? Does that mean we're in this room for a reason? Is this hell? Have I died and gone to hell? It seems like the most likely situation. Paul and Peter do seem to resemble fallen angels, in their white clothing and their pretty faces…
No. I need to stop thinking like that. There is a reasonable explanation for this situation I am in, and I am completely innocent in all of this.
Right?
I shake my head to clear it. No sense in blaming myself. I have to figure out a way to get out of here. I eye the intercom button, and the button next to it that unlocks the door. I hesitantly move toward them. First I try the button for the door, knowing the attempt is futile immediately as I press it. I look closer. It appears to only register for certain fingerprints. Goddamnit.
I take a deep breath to calm myself and press the intercom button.
"Hello?" I whisper, terrified that Paul or Peter will be the ones to hear me. I swallow nervously before continuing. "Please, if somebody can hear me, please help me. I want to go home. I want my mom." Tears start slipping down my cheeks and I feel myself breaking down. I release the intercom button. No one responds. I take a shuddering breath and then I remember the drawers in the walls. I look over to them slowly. Will they open? Probably not. But it won't hurt to give it a shot.
I run to the drawers full of weapons. I tug on the handle and am shocked, literally. I let go immediately, but I still feel the jolting pain from the electricity. Apparently it will hurt to give it a shot. There's a number pad below the drawer. I don't know the fucking password.
This is the final straw. I break down fully now, sobbing and clutching the wall to hold myself up. I'm never getting out of here. I'm going to die in here. I'm –
The door makes the buzzing sound of it unlocking. Has someone come to let me out? I stand up and move towards the door slowly. It opens. There is a blur of white and suddenly Peter is above me, his hands tightening around my neck.
I bring my fist up and somehow it collides with Peter's face. I crawl desperately toward the door. It closes just as I reach to hold it open. Peter grabs my ankle and pulls me back towards him. I almost give up fighting, the disappointment of near-escape getting to me, but I twist my leg around in his grip, kicking wherever I can reach. He doesn't give up, though, and flips me over so that I'm on my back. He gets back on top of me and throttles me once again. I scratch desperately at his hands on my throat, unable to breathe. I notice that he's crying and repeating, "What does he see in you?" The edges of my vision begin to turn black, and I feel myself getting weaker. Giving up feels like a good idea right now. I stop flailing my arms around and feel myself sinking into unconsciousness. God, I'm going to die.
Suddenly Peter's hands are gone from my throat and all I can do is gasp for air. I cough and pant and focus on the fact that yes, I am still alive. I'm not sure if this is a good thing yet.
Once I've recovered slightly, I sit up and see that Paul has been in the room for quite some time now as he stands angrily above Peter.
"What the fuck, Tubby? You're supposed to play nice."
"I'm sick of you always flirting with her! You never treat the other players like that! What's so special about her?" Peter shouts through sobs, standing up. Now I'm worried that Paul is going to off me just to make Peter happy. I'm growing increasingly uncomfortable as the fight progresses, just as Peter seemingly grows more and more upset. I said it once and I'll say it again: emotionally unstable.
"What, Tubby, do you just wish I would pay more attention to you, instead? You want me to do this?" Paul marches over to me and kisses me hard, his hand clutching my jaw so that it opens and his tongue gets access to my mouth. As soon as I get over the shock of it, he releases me, pushing me to the ground like I'm worthless.
"Well, Tubby, guess what? That's never going to happen. And if you're going to get upset about a little flirting with a player, then you might as well just leave."
Peter is no longer crying, but his arms are crossed and he's looking at the ground. He doesn't say anything for a long while, until Paul says with a small smile, "What'll it be, Beavis?"
Peter looks up, a small smile of his own on his face. "I wanna keep playing, Butthead."
I am overwhelmed with crushing disappointment and fear. Peter has hated me from the start, and I know he'll do everything he can to make me as miserable as he can. But maybe if Peter's here, Paul won't try anything with me… Small victories.
I can't cherish the victory for very long, though. Peter wipes his nose on his sleeve and says cheerily, "What game should we play next?"
Paul clasps his hands together, as if just remembering I was there at all. "How rude of us! We've ignored our guest for so long. Sally, I'm deeply sorry about that." I glare at him, not responding to his "apology." He rolls his eyes.
"The Quiet Game again, Sally? C'mon now, silence doesn't suit you."
"Tell me what happened to Jean," I demand. "What did you do to her?"
Paul looks overdramatically offended. "Why would you assume I did something to hurt poor Jeannie? Personally, I like having more than one player around, but she just had to go. You know how it is."
"Tell me where she is," I say through gritted teeth. I'm so sick of this shit. I want answers now.
"You want information?" Paul inquires. "I'll give you information." Peter raises his eyebrows, confused. "But only if you're willing to play."
I swallow, then, looking up directly into his eyes, say, "I'll play."
A/N: And the plot thickens! You'll get a little information about Sally's predicament in the next chapter. I'll try and update a little more frequently. Thanks for reading!
