So, I decided to write from a different POV this chapter. Enjoy! :)

And thank you, SweetPeaKiller, for suggesting this, because I was going to write this scene from James's POV, but then I realized it would be better this way. Love ya!

Oh, and sorry it took a few days to update. I've been busy. I would be busy again today if I could have gone to the Big Time Rush concert at the WI. State Fair, only like, twenty minutes from my house, but I couldn't get tickets. :( But, at least I had time to write.

Logan's POV

There's really no way to describe the feeling of being kidnapped. It's beyond horrifying. It's beyond cruel. And lying here all alone, in my kidnapper's bedroom, isn't doing anything to help my mental state. In fact, I'm fairly certain I'm going insane. It's never a good thing to be left to your thoughts for too long. Pretty soon you've replayed every "what if" in the situation a million times. Fear starts to kick in, and you start to panic at the slightest noise. You never know which second could be your last, which breath you might never take. There's always that horrifying possibility that you could end up dead, or hurt, or, in my case, raped.

My ankles and wrists are chaffed from pulling against my restraints, and they sting. I'm still naked. My heart is thumping in my ears, my head is spinning, and I may just throw up the little bit of food I have left in my stomach. My eyes sting with unsure tears, and I can't seem to find my voice. I'm pretty sure I'm shaking from head to toe, but I can't tell if it's from the fan spinning above me or fear. Most likely both.

And James... I hope he's okay. I know he must be driving himself crazy looking for me. There's not a doubt in my mind that he'll find me, no matter how long it takes. I just hope I can survive that long. I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him, or if he's in such disbelief he doesn't really feel anything.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps, right outside the door, and I nearly pass out, but I force myself to stay awake, knowing that I'm more vulnerable when I'm unconscious. I'm exhausted, though. I haven't sleep since I got here, and I can barely keep my eyes open at times, but now, my eyes are wide open. The door opens, and he walks in, still wearing that dark blue hoodie, and the tears I've been holding back break free. He smirks, bright blue eyes flashing as he walks closer, and I turn my head away so I won't have to watch him come closer.

"Hey, Logan," he says casually, as if we've known each other for years, and I swallow back a sob. I hate how he acts so calm before he does such horrible things. How can he live with himself? He places a hand on my cheek, sitting down on the bed beside me. I refuse to look at him, trying to forget that he's there. I don't want to look into those cold blue eyes. I don't want to see his freckled face and sandy blonde hair. However, he doesn't like being ignored. He places a firm hand on my chin, turning my face so I'm looking directly at him. I close my eyes, trying to ignore his breath on my face.

"What do you want now?" I ask quietly, cringing away when he chuckles.

"Same as always," he replies simply. "You." And then his lips are on mine, and I'm trying so desperately to turn my head away, but he's got a vice-like grip on my chin. His tongue slides along my lower lip, and I keep my lips pressed tightly together. No way in hell is he sticking his tongue in my mouth. Unfortunately, he seems to have different thoughts. He brings a fist down onto my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, causing me to open my mouth as I try to breathe. His tongue is jammed into my mouth in an instant, and I can't seem to get enough air. I weakly pull at my restraints, eyes wide open as I desperately try to catch my breath. I try breathing through my nose, but he's too close for me to inhale enough oxygen. This is it. I'm going to die. And then, finally, he pulls away, and I throw my head back, chest heaving painfully as I take deep breaths. The oxygen seems to leave my lungs as soon as it's replenished, and I struggle for a few seconds before I manage to take a few normal breaths, the air finally seeming to fill my lungs. My kidnapper is watching me with wide eyes, and I turn to him, eyes narrowed.

"You idiot!" I spit. "You can't knock the wind out of someone and then not let them breathe!" He looks shocked for a moment, and then his expression turns angry.

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd just opened your damn mouth," he says, not even showing the least bit of concern, and I turn away from him again, tears pooling once again. I just want to go home... "Are you hungry?"

"W-what?"

"I said, are you hungry?" he repeats, voice softening a bit. "You haven't eaten in a while..." Truthfully, I'm starving, but I'm not sure I want to eat anything he gives me. On the other hand, he'd have to untie my wrists so I could eat, and I might be able to get away...

"Yeah," I reply, turning to look at him once again. "I'm starving." He quickly stands.

"Alright, I'll go get you something," he says, and then he's gone. I force myself to calm down, a few stray tears still making their way down my cheeks. I'm okay. Everything's going to be okay. I just need to calm down and focus. As soon as my wrists are untied, I can try to injure him and get away, but I need to concentrate. Then I just need to find my way home...

After another few minutes, my kidnapper re-enters the room, holding a plate of what looks like mashed potatoes and chicken. I'm surprised. I was expecting a bag of chips or something.

"I hope you like chicken and mashed potatoes," he says, sitting down on the bed. "I'm not the best cook, but it shouldn't be too terrible."

"You made this?" I ask, eyeing the plate of food. I have to admit, it looks pretty good. My stomach rumbles, and the man smiles.

"Yep. I made it last night," he replies. "These are just the leftovers." I nod, and he scoops up a bit of mashed potatoes with a spoon, bringing it to my lips. I'm confused for a moment, and then my stomach sinks as I realize that he's not going to untie me. "Go on, eat." I hesitate, frowning slightly. But my stomach rumbles again, and I reluctantly take the spoon into my mouth, swallowing the mashed potatoes. My kidnapper then cuts a piece of chicken, which I eat as well. Disappointment fills my stomach, and I barely taste the food as it slides down my throat. My eyes sting with tears that threaten to fall, but I hold then back, not wanting to cry and let this man see how upset I am. Soon the food is all gone, and he places the dirty plate on the bedside table before looking down at me. It's silent for a moment before I decide to speak up.

"Who are you?"

"You should know," he says, frowning. "But no, you never paid attention to me." I look up at him, confused. What does he mean? I've never seen this guy before in my life. His voice turns bitter. "We went to school together. I was in your math class in seventh grade."

"I...don't think that was me..." I say softly, trying to remember him, but I honestly don't recognize him.

"Oh, it was you," he says angrily. "I was new that year, didn't have any friends. No one paid attention to me, especially not you. I could tell you were different from everyone else. You were kinder, more caring. I fell in love with you." I blush, looking away. "It was hard for me, realizing that I was in love with you. I didn't want to be gay, but when I looked at you, I knew. You were the one for me."

"Why didn't you try and talk to me?" I ask gently.

"I did," he spits. "But you were always so distracted with your three best friends, especially James. He was always occupying your mind. All you ever saw was him. You never gave anyone else a chance. I tried so hard to get you to notice me, but you ignored me, just like everyone else."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to. I was in love."

"Oh, I know you were. With James of all people," he growls. "That self-centered asshole. He doesn't appreciate what he has. He doesn't love you, not like I do."

"That's not true," I say, eyes narrowing. "James loves me more than you know, and he does appreciate me. And he didn't have to kidnap me to earn my love."

"You never gave me a chance!" he practically screams, standing up. "You don't even recognize me! But that's alright. You're mine now."

"I'll never be yours." My kidnapper runs a hand down my chest, and I shudder. Oh god, not again. Please, not again. His hand travels lower, run in down my thigh, and I start to cry once again, pulling at my restraints with all my strength. I can't take this, not again.

"You're so perfect," he murmurs, and I let out a shaky sob.

"Please don't do this," I whisper. "I'm begging you." He ignores me, grabbing hold of my cock. "Stop!"

"Shut up!" he snarls, slapping me across the face. I whimper, closing my eyes in defeat as he strokes me harshly a few times. And then his hand is gone, and when I open my eyes, he's nowhere to be found. I let my body go limp in relief, glancing around the room just to make sure he's not there. My eyes find the camera in the corner of the room, and I stare right at it for a few moments. I'm not sure why it's there, and when I asked about it, all I got was a laugh in response. But I want to make sure that when he plays back the video, he sees the hatred in my eyes. I want to make sure he knows that I will never love him.