Jack left you soon after the incident. You had no idea exactly why, or how long it would be until he came back, but you'd noticed something a bit odd.

After his little revelation, he had turned away from you and moved toward his bookshelf. His fingers grazed the spines carefully, but he seemed distracted somehow – like he was waiting for something, or like he was lost in thought. You couldn't tell which.

With nothing else to do, you had watched him for a few silent minutes. He stood almost unnaturally still, only his arms moving to read the spines of books and his shoulders rising ever so slightly. It was unnerving, being reminded that he wasn't fully human. You supposed you were lucky he was still shaped like one, and that he could still talk, though his coughing sometimes got in the way.

In any case, you noticed almost every movement he made, if only because there were so few of them. That said, when he started to tilt his chin towards the door like he was listening for something, you tensed.

What could he be doing?

Is someone there? Or coming?

How good is his hearing?

A knock on the door was your only clue. Jack shot you a look, which you assumed was a warning, and quickly exited the room. He only opened the door enough for his body to squeeze through, and though you didn't know if he had done it on purpose or not, you assumed so.

He wouldn't want me getting any ideas.

You were happy for the solitude, though. Jack freaked you out on every level – even those you hadn't seen yet, and had only thought of – and you could almost relax when he wasn't in the room with you. Of course, you'd always be on edge for as long as you stayed in this place.

And probably if I ever managed to get out, too...

You didn't like the thought, but there was no denying the fact that it was true. You had nothing left to live for, and nothing to go back to after your escape. Jack would always be after you, or his friends would be if Jack was out of the equation for one reason or another. You'd never be free of him or this wretched place.

Your hand travelled down to the incision Jack had made. It was a reminder of both the power he had over you and of what you were for him; A reminder of what his plans were for you.

You were just a fucktoy now, something he could use to fulfill his fantasies and get off. You were nothing more than a living fleshlight to him – or maybe more of a doll. There was nothing left for you in your future. You knew he'd never listen to you, or care about your pain on an emotional level. He'd sew you up and wait for it to heal, if the injury was bad enough, but you were pretty sure there were very few things that constituted bad enough for Jack.

You wanted to cry, but you found that you just couldn't anymore. After all you had been through, the prospect of no future was more appealing than freedom. You wanted to kill yourself or get yourself killed, wholeheartedly. You wanted to fade from the world, and from the memory of anyone who had ever loved you. You wanted to join your parents in wherever they were, though you weren't sure anymore if there was even a God to believe in. You wanted to die.

There was only one thing in the way of that, and you weren't quite sure what it would take to get the roadblock out of the way.

You wondered, though, why he had kept you for as long as he had, and why he had gone through so much effort to make you a pet. Sure, it had only been a day or so, but Jack had a touchy temper and, though you hated to admit it, a rather high intelligence. If he saw you as a problem, he'd get rid of you, because you weren't worth it.

But what would drive him to that point?