A bloodcurdling scream awoke him from the forced slumber he'd been put into; he jumped, and winced at the dull ache in his bones, and the soreness of his muscles. He was sitting, his knees brought up to his chin and his back leaned against something cold. Metal. A small space that didn't even allow him to stretch his arms; panic started to overwhelm him as his vision became less and less blurry. He pressed his palm against the metal surface and, against better judgement, he tapped twice, hearing it resound. Behind the barrier there were chains rattling, and the sounds of someone thrashing desperately, gasping for air and crying out for help. His throat felt tight.
Help wasn't coming; the screams were scratching at his eardrums, tears starting to cloud his vision. A beam of light pierced the blackness somewhere above his head; he struggled to raise to his feet, his tired joints protesting loudly and his shoulders bumping into the walls. Horizontal strips of metal, bent and some broken allowed him to see outside of his cage; he was in a locker, he realized. He's hid inside them a few times before, while clamping a hand tightly over his mouth and nose so he won't whimper in fear of what awaited him behind the doors. The safety they had brought him was long gone; he's never felt so trapped before.
The light blinded him for a split second, forcing him to bring a hand to his eyes and shield them. Once they adjusted to the sudden change, his blood ran cold; the man tied to the large table was awfully familiar, despite the fact that he's only seen his face once, and only for a few seconds. He was the one that had warned him, about this man downstairs, and Waylon had then lost him in the darkness and thought he'd never seen him again. His horrified expression was burned into his memory; guess you can't run away from what you fear most.
The chains wrapped around his arms had scrubbed his skin raw, small droplets of the vital liquid splashing the wood he was laying onto. The rapid movements of his chest showed that he was hyperventilating; he was in the middle of a panic attack, and watching him made Waylon sick to his stomach. He knew what was coming; the man knew as well. He was next. Waylon was next; his hands started trembling uncontrollably and he retched, but nothing came out, not even bile. He was completely empty, drained. Nothing left inside him.
Gluing his forehead to the cold metal calmed the feverish sensation that had overwhelmed him; he pushed his entire, weakened body into the door, but it wouldn't budge. He didn't expect it to, it was just some reaction that his body had, led by that tiny piece of his brain that believed he still had a chance to escape. Hope may have yet to leave him, but now Waylon just urged her to die already. The images of him back to his wife that she was painting for him were only making him feel worse; it will never happen. He will die there, on that man's table. Hot tears fell freely down his cheeks and he hit the door harder, only stopping when the light was blocked by a large body.
"Don't think that I have forgotten about you, my darling." Those azure eyes bore holes into his skull; he felt like a piece of meat under their glare. He was just a piece of meat for Eddie after all, one he could carve into to his own taste. "Please forgive my behavior, you know how a man gets when he wants to know a woman." he could hear him drum his fingers on the metal door. It sounded like the thunder he was so scared of when he was a child. "I just couldn't let you roam free, it's too dangerous around here, for such a delicate and fragile person like you." His silky tone was anything but comforting; like a spider would talk to a fly tangled into its web. His hand covered the slot in the door, sliding south slowly. It lingered there, almost affectionately. "I am deeply sorry if this makes you a bit claustrophobic, I didn't want to tie you up." his voice lowered to a whisper that Waylon almost missed. "I didn't want to leave any marks on that perfectly smooth skin of yours."
He crumbled, sobbing and begging, but they fell on deaf ears. That must have been the first time he talked in hours. Eddie glanced behind him, at the man that was bound on the table. "No need to be jealous, he is just warm up, a little practice before I take care of you." He turned to the man, and for the first time Waylon noticed the large knife he was gripping. Another thing that he had missed was that the man was naked. He watched, mesmerized, as Eddie caught the man's knees in his large hands, forcefully parting them. He knew what was coming, yet he couldn't stop looking; his eyes continued to be fixated on the gleaming blade of the knife that Eddie now held raised.
The scream somehow reached his ears before the knife struck home, sinking in between the man's legs. Waylon jumped, biting the inside of his cheek until blood filled his mouth. Eddie's hand twisted and stabbed deeper; the noise was unbearable, Waylon clamping his hands over his ears, trying in vain to drown the sounds of the man's agony. A piece of flesh fell down with a wet sound, a small stream of blood leaving the man's body. Waylon crouched back down on the floor of the locker, covering his mouth when he realized what that piece of flesh was.
All of his thoughts seemed to have left his mind. There was no past, there was definitely no future. Just that dreaded moment when he will find himself tied up there, instead of that man. He was next, his mind kept reminding him, blaring on like a broken record. There was no way someone could survive that horrible mutilation. Death was inevitable. He only hoped that it would be fast, although bleeding out didn't sound like such a quick way to die.
He raised back up to feet, his legs shaking terribly. He had to see what was happening. He realized he had been tuning the sounds out; Eddie was talking to his victim like a doctor would talk to his patient. His words sickened him, spoken so nonchalantly as he cut and sliced and tore skin and meat apart.
"Just don't give up on me, darling." Waylon's clothes were drenched in cold sweat, his body shivering. No attempt to calm himself seemed to work; he choked on the air he was breathing deep in his chest, and his own fingers felt like sandpaper against his temples. He winced everytime Eddie made a new cut, dragging his hand over the same body part that he had damaged, just to make sure he was still whole. At least for now.
Eddie dragged his knife down the man's chest, towards his stomach. The deep line didn't leak blood; Waylon looked horrified at the crimson lake on the floor, that Eddie was, probably knowingly, standing into. His skin was sickly pale and littered with cuts that remained open and clean.
Suddenly, everything was quiet. Waylon could hear to own shaky breath as he stared dumbfounded at the man, waiting for him to move. To make a sound. His eyes widened until they started to burn, his mouth was open but no sound came out.
He was gone. And that could only mean one thing. He jumped when Eddie impaled the knife into the lifeless body furiously. "You gave up on me. You gave up on love." he sounded hurt. He pulled the knife out and Waylon saw the blade clean; no drop of blood left inside that man. That's what awaited him. The still body was unceremoniously dumped on the floor with a thump, and Eddie turned towards the locker.
"It doesn't matter." Waylon slid down the metal wall, hugging his knee closer to his chest. He continuously shook his head like a madman. "I have you now."
The lock on the door clicked.
I am almost done with exams people! Can't wait, I haven't seen outside in a while :)) also, the next chapter might be the last one. Hope you won't hate me too much for what I have in store for poor Waylon..
Please let me know what you think. :)
