Authors note: It only occurred to me I wrote this entire chapter in present tense when I was finished with it. I usually use past... sorry everyone. Im a dipshit.

*flies into the sun* a ha I dont even know what im doing anymore. Thank you to all who still follow, and motivate me to continue this pile of feels.

enjoy!

Mark pov:

It's been awhile since I last saw daylight. I'm not one for measuring time off the top of my head, but I'm assuming it's been at least two months.

Jason has been getting easier to deal with since I decided to play along with his games.

He's been giving more little freedoms each day. He stopped locking my door, giving me more food, he even went as far as to let me come out of my ropes during the day.

They sound like stupid, pointless things, but I have a plan. I could do this. I could escape, and I don't think he's become any wiser. He seems to be treating me with a bit more respect than usual.

He might think i've given up, or something like that. That I "Abandoned hope for escape." Fuck him. Fuck him and his ideas. I'll be damned if I dont make it home to Roger.

With my extended freedom, ive been thinking. Constantly planning, and glancing around for any hopes of a way out. It's a dangerous dance to do. While Jason may be letting me get away with a lot more, hes not stupid. He's got a stern eye on me.

The basement he's keeping me in isn't very big, so trying to make a dash for the stairs would be an idiotic move. I know for a fact that he keeps the door to the upstairs bolted, even when he's down here with me. It consists of concrete walls and floors, with a small work bench in the corner. There are two rooms off the sides. One i'm locked in, and another where Jason likes to keep his ropes, and gardening tools, and other probably gruesome treasures. Nothing about that room seems right.

One day when I was walking around, stretching my legs nonchalantly, I noticed something. A vent above the workbench. An old, decent sized, industrial style vent. I felt my heart race. I never thought the sight of rusty metal would be such a comfort. Maybe, just maybe, if I was somehow able to get off that grate… I could make my way through the ductwork to the upstairs… and get out of this hell hole. The thought itself seemed to melt away the hopelessness that had grown to like my insides. I could get home. I could see Roger!

I knew something this crazy would take time to develop. Right now, Jason was still sitting down here when I was let out of my room, watching me like some freaky hawk. I would first need to wait until he started leaving me alone, which I knew would come eventually. That was Jason's specialty sometimes: being gullible. I would need a tool to get off the grate, and I would need time to crawl out. It would have to be done with stealth, and quiet, as to not alert Jason to my whereabouts. I would need to do it at night, as soon as I heard Jason start to snore.

My first step would be to try and estimate when, and for how long he'd leave me alone down here. Looking for tools at night would be hard enough on it's own, as the basement turned pitch black as soon as the sun set. I would have to wait until he went upstairs for something, or I could provide a distraction. I would need to slip in there, survey my options, and get out before he had time to realize what I had done.

I would need a flashlight, as a night escape would go terribly wrong without being able to see what I was doing. I knew for a fact Jason kept a flashlight down here somewhere. One night, I fell off my bed, and made too loud of a noise when I hit the floor, and he came running down the stairs. I heard him slam a cabinet, and suddenly a light was burning my eyes as he questioned what the hell I was up to.

Sitting against the wall of my room, weighing my options, I nearly jump ten feet as he unlocks my door. I force a smile as he examines me with a tilted head. I learned my lesson about making sure to smile at him. Last week, when I woke up in a murderous mood, he made sure to leave a decent sized bruise on both of my arms, just so I wouldnt forget to never frown his way. Today, he's in a bad mood, and he glares at me.

"Youve been sitting here all morning, yknow." he sort of spits, coming closer to stare down at me. I look away, which I immediately regret, as he grabs a hold of my face, and forces my chin up so im staring straight at him. "Mark, what have I told you about looking me in the eyes when i'm speaking to you?" his voice is a low growl now. I'm treading on thin ice, and it's only gonna get thinner.

"I'm just bored…" I lie, licking my lips nervously. An idea popped into my head. A way I could record my progress about the escape. A way to map out the tool room, the basement, and possibly the vents themselves. "Could I maybe have some paper or something? to draw on? Jason, ive been good lately, let me do something!" I attempt to persuade.

He lets go of my face, and considers this for a moment. God, I fucking hate him. I want nothing more than to punch his lights out, but I know he carries a pocket knife on him at all times, and id rather deal with his nonsense than lose half of my insides.

"Fine. If it'll keep you from sitting here like a zombie all day. You want some crayons too, you dumb fucking two year old?" he snarls, and I resist a sarcastic comeback. He isn't Roger. If I snapped back, id probably lose my tounge. Jason only tended to be playful when he was in a stable mood. Now was not one of those times.

I listen to him shuffle around outside my room, and soon, he comes back with a notepad, and a blue pen. He throws them rather aggressively my way, and begins cackling like a hyena when the notepad smacks me in the face. I snort to myself in annoyance as he leaves, locking the door behind him. I fix my askew glasses, and uncap the pen.

I get to work, beginning to scribble down possible tools. I write as much of the basement as I can recall. I start brainstorming escape routes, and before I know it, im day dreaming about a reunion with Roger, and the others soon after. I'm filled with hope, and light, and a new found determination. I'm going home. I'm getting away from Jason, and never seeing the fucking psycho again. Im going to be curled up in Roger's arms, safe, in no time. Freedom was close, and I could taste every last drop. As I snapped back to reality from my daze, a small grin danced it's way onto my lips.

Jason, youre a fucking moron.