READER

My world is in shades of green. Myrtle and celadon blur beneath his feet, sage and emerald converge as they fly past me and a canopy of chartreuse and harlequin seems to hang far above us both. I remember that green vest I wore this morning, I would have perfectly matched.

Where did that top go? I'm so cold without it. The cold has completely filled me; I have to stop it. Where am I? This green is familiar. The forest. The forest I saw out of the window to that room, that cream empty bedroom. Not my room though. Do I have a room, a house? They're lost now I suppose. I need to get warm; I need to get rid of the damn cold. There is something warm, the soft black surface I'm resting against; now if I can just turn a bit to face it.

It smells like metal but I burrow my face into it anyway. Right now it's the most comforting thing I have.

EJ

Jack kept his gaze fixed forwards as he ran through the forest, carefully following the path he took earlier.

He tried to focus on the scents of the forest, the woody bark and the damp undergrowth - a wet earthy smell that wasn't at all appetising. The more of the forest he inhaled, the less of her could get in his head.

(Y/N) was starting to bleed through her makeshift bandages; as her blood mingled with the air Jack felt some primal urge to stop right there and be done with it. The girl was lucky he had ate recently. He remembered her face when she saw the blonde's head, far away from the remains of her body: a combination of shock, horror and disgust. There were no traces of sorrow though, which almost pleased Jack.

That was strange.

Why the fuck did he care what she thought? Though he clearly did care, why else display the head but to see her reaction? Jack shook his head, bloodlust made him act weirdly.

Still...

He glanced down at (Y/N), just to check on her. She was cradled against his chest shivering slightly, her skin covered in tiny goosebumps. Humans weren't very good with the cold after all and all she had covering the top of her body was a scrap of black cotton covering her breasts. He remembered the hassle of his last meal. He had to pick bits of lace from her lungs when he ripped open her rib cage. No, when he prepared this dish he would be sure to remove any other materials before hand.

Jack looked at her lips. He recalled the taste of her blood there; the most exquisite flavour he had ever sampled. Both rich and fulfilling but with a light sweetness. Then there was the taste of her lips. They didn't have the same flavour as her blood, they didn't seem edible at all. But still, it was pleasant; a strange curiosity.

Jack decided it was something to try again, at least while she was still breathing.

READER

The world starts to slow down. I turn my head slightly, silently rejoicing that I can move again. The blur of green settles into the trees, surrounding us on three sides. In front however is something else.

The small brick house looks strangely out of place.

The forest feels old, as if its trees have been here for centuries before me and will be for centuries after; but the house looks fairly new, a few decades old at most.

Is this the man's home?

I sincerely doubt it. The house looks small but comfortable, domestic. It doesn't suit my captor but then I don't know what would. A dungeon perhaps? Somewhere cold and metallic.

I start to wiggle my fingers as he unlocks the door and carries me across the threshold, trying to regain movement. We stand in a narrow hall, the walls painted a pale blue and the carpet white. A pair of well-worn pink slippers are placed neatly to the left. As the man walks me down that narrow hall I try to inconspicuously shift my limbs, if I can catch him by surprise maybe I can run?

We turn through a door and he sets me down on what looks like a dining table, I notice several bags made of the same material as his rucksack strewn on the floor, out of place in the rustic room and its cabinets of what looked like small porcelain animals.

I don't try to move until I see him take a few lengths of rope out of one of the bags.

Then the adrenaline starts to kick in.

I let out a startled noise and try to scramble across the table. That godforsaken drug still hasn't worn off though and I stumble and lose my balance. I must look pathetic.

The man stands in shock for only a heartbeat before he is next to me. In one swift motion he hauls my leg back and binds it to a table leg; I can only cry and claw at the table as he repeats the process on my other leg. By the time he ties up my second arm I am sobbing. He wipes away a tear and crouches close to my face. I can tell that he enjoys this, having me completely immobilised.

I know he's smiling under his mask when he croons in my ear "This part is for your benefit too you know,"

I lay there for a few minutes as he does something in the room behind me; I can hear him searching through cupboards and slamming them close. I look at the cabinets and shelves on the wall, full of small ornaments and china plates as well as several photos that I can't make out. Yes, he definitely does not live here. I wonder what happened to the last owner?

I can finally move and as I struggle I begin to feel my shoulder again.

It begins as a low ache. But the intensity increases and it starts to burn; by the time the man returns it's unbearable. At the surface it's a point of white heat but deeper into my flesh the pain spreads.

He laughs again and I scream in response. I hear him open something. I see his mask set down on the table in the corner of my eye and he bends down over me. His hair brushes my face as he whispers to me "This will hurt,"

Then I hear liquid moving in a bottle and I can smell the sharp scent of alcohol.

I feel it rain down on my skin and it is like fire. It flows through every nerve in my body burning me away and surely I'm dying? And then the pain, when I think it has consumed me, radiates further.

It's a relief when it washes over my head and the colours of the world are drained away to black.