The man's smell was making his head spin as he struggled to breathe through the ugly sobs that shook his entire frame; Pandora's box had caught fire and burned like a rat with his hope still inside. Lisa's face had burned itself on the back of his brain and looked at him with wet eyes; he wished he had kissed her goodbye that morning.

He'd fucked up. Of course, he hadn't gotten a clear warning of what he was getting into; hell, probably none of them really knew until they were in too deep to get out and were too scared, or equally as heartless as the Murkoff executives, to back down. Still, he should've had suspected something. The amount of money was huge; he remembered thinking he had hit the jackpot. He remembered Lisa's worried face. He wished he had listened to her.

"I fucked up, Lisa. I fucked up, I'm so sorry.." the words came out jumbled together and under his breath. Above him, Eddie's eyes held a trace of sympathy.

"Calm down, darling." The voice gained an edge Waylon hadn't heard before. "I know. We all have our demons."

He didn't expect that; the statement froze the tears on his cheeks. It seemed almost surreal to assume that there was a single shred of humanity left inside this man, after all the terrible things that he'd been put through, ever since he was a child. But why didn't he have the right to be angry? What didn't kill Eddie didn't make him any stronger; it wrecked him, didn't give him any chance of ever functioning in a normal society. Who would ever wish for that? For a brief second, Waylon felt sorry for him.

"See, we are alike, you and me." the gloved hand ran up and down his bare forearm and the skin broke into millions of almost painful goosebumps. He hated even thinking about it, but he was right, to an extent. They were both victims, both to Murkoff, and family, in Eddie's case. Sick minds that unfortunately had power over them chose their fates for them, completely indifferent to the disastrous consequences their reckless, evil actions would have. "The only difference is you had your chance to walk away."

He was right. He was right and his chest tightened painfully, the urge to cry and yell out in frustration becoming almost impossible to resist. He held his breath for as long as his lungs allowed him to, making a pact with himself not to let any sound out, not to let this man know just how scared and distraught he was making him. This could have been avoided. He could have turned down the offer. God, how he wished he could turn back time.

"But I'm glad you didn't." Eddie was suddenly on top of him, forcing his legs open with his narrow hips. "I never would have had the chance to be with you, then." Waylon's arms jerked and he winced when the rope bit into his flesh; it didn't allow him to reach Eddie, to push him off, do something to at least slow him down, if not stop him. Just give up; his mind was nagging him. There's no way out. No one is coming to help you. His brain was shutting him out of his body; he could see himself from the ceiling, pinned to the wooden boards, tied up and helpless at the hands of his, by now, murderer. Eddie sank his teeth into his neck and his body jerked, flush against the other man's taut one. He lowered himself on him, pressing him down with his entire weight. His lungs seemed to have tightened and gone stiff, refusing to take in any more air. His system was refusing to fight anymore, sensing the imminent demise.

It took him a while to feel something hot and thick drip to the back of his neck, reactions delayed by the state of pure panic and despair; Eddie's bite broke the skin and now he was lapping at the laceration, soothing the sting with his warm tongue. Waylon's flesh shuddered, a cold shiver stabbing through his spinal bone marrow. He swallowed thickly when Eddie looked at his face, drinking in the pitiful expression. He was clearly enjoying himself, lips curled into a satisfied smirk and eyes gleaming into the faint light.

Waylon didn't assume Eddie ever thought he would see him again; hell, he didn't think the other man would even recognize him, let alone have such an ardent desire to get his hands on him. But he, unfortunately, was a special little snowflake to Gluskin. He was the one that turned on the Engine. He could have stopped it. Not without consequences, obviously, but he could have stopped it. The scars on Eddie's face were his own doing. He turned his head to the side, disgusted with himself.

"I wish there was something I could have done." He surprised himself with how clear his voice sounded, despite the mess inside. "None of you deserved it."

Eddie laughed, an angry, bitter sound, different from the honey coated tone that he's used before. "The only thing you can do for me right now is behave." He was off Waylon and the software engineer suddenly felt cold. It seemed to Waylon that, despite apparently completely fixated on his bridal fantasies, Eddie's mind sometimes broke through the veil. Caught a glimpse of what's around him, and, saddened, perhaps frightened, went back seeking refuge. Some kind of protection mechanism.

He heard fabric ripping. For a brief moment, he failed to realise where the sound came from. He watched Eddie throw his ruined underwear across the room.

"Please, please, please.." he muttered under his breath; Eddie shushed him gently. "You said you wanted to do something for me, I named my price. Now keep your promise." He gripped the plastic handle of what, now that he's seen it up close, appeared to be a kitchen knife, most likely snatched from the cantina. A long, slicing blade. He found it harder and harder to keep quiet, and curse himself for feeling like he owed him that much. Eddie's fingers probed the soft texture of his thighs.

"No, please.."

Without a warning, Eddie's hand was around his manhood, lifting it up on his stomach. Waylon's left arm was completely numb and unable to move, and his right hurt bone deep from struggling without any result against the restraints. The tip of the blade tickled his testicles, like the needle of a wasp on his skin. He froze, awaiting the dreaded moment.

It came after what felt like an eternity and send a horrible surge of pain through his lower pits; the sharp knife sunk just beneath his balls, slicing through tissue and freeing the stream of crimson liquid. He kicked out his leg, missing Eddie by a mile and only managing to embed the metal deeper inside himself. Unbearable, the agony made him tear his vocal cords in half, screaming until everything was sore and pulsed painfully; he couldn't hear what Eddie was telling him anymore. His voice sounded like a radio with bad reception, fuzzy and distorted, words indecipherable.

Eddie gripped the knife and yanked it west, carving further; he was bleeding heavily, torrents gushing out of him and pooling at Eddie's feet, staining his shoes. The lightheadedness was taking over Waylon quickly as minutes flew by, replacing the agony with a pleasant numbness. Lovely numbness. Lisa was waving at him from the window of her car as she dropped him off to work that cursed day. He could see it on her face now, she was worried. She had always been worried but he chose to dismiss it. Too late for regrets now. Too late for anything now. He had his chances, and he missed them without even realising.

His ears were ringing; Eddie was bent over his unmoving, barely breathing form, urging him to not give up on him. Waylon laughed humorlessly inside his head as Eddie's face blurred around the edges. At least Eddie has lost too.

None of them win; blood was leaving his body, draining the color from his cheeks. Lisa looked at him with sad eyes over Eddie's shoulder; so many things he wanted to say to her, but time was running out of patience with him.

"We could have been beautiful." The words struck him violently; could have beens haunted his conscience. What if I did that? What if I had never done that? Constants and variables. It all led him to this point of no return, strapped to a table and carved out by a madman who thought he was in love. No strength left to cry when Lisa's face disappeared forever.

He closed his eyes tightly as he surrendered himself to the numbness.

*hides*
This chapter was brought to you while sleep deprived and high on nicotine. Boosts the craziness :) also, for my neighbor that slams doors at three in the morning, I don't know who you are, but I'll find you. :))
I am no doctor, but I highly doubt Waylon, or anyone for that matter, would've survived that makeshift surgery, and I like to be realistic. I'm a bit paranoid that I might have disappointed some of you with this ending.. I do suck at endings :D thanks for sticking with me :)