The One You Trust (YB Peter x Reader)

Chapter 13

Peter was so fucking proud of the progress you'd made in the last month. You'd managed to take a full 180 degree turn on your emotional status when talking to him. Although he missed the sarcastic comments, your docile behavior was more than welcomed in his eyes. Hell, you were cuddling on the couch with him finally. The locks had been changed before he let you roam upstairs freely so you couldn't escape while he wasn't looking, and it also gave him peace of mind on the rare occasions where he had to go outside for groceries and things.

Truly, he was living his dream.

You though?

Fuck. You were bored out of your mind. You slept most of the day for this reason, took extra long showers, and read every book he'd given you three times over. There was absolutely nothing more to do in this fucking hellhole except for that. Him telling you a story was a change of pace, and although you still wanted to hurt him every time he spoke, it was... nice. It wasn't hard to play the part of the obedient partner now. Given, there was the little voice in your head that still yelled at you that you weren't playing a part anymore, that's who you were. But who really listens to that voice in their head anyway?

Things were okay right now. The physical contact with him in the ever increasing cold days and nights as fall started to take place of summer was much better than the basement, and you weren't alone anymore. You were relatively safe. So who would ever want to leave that?

If you forgot the fact that he'd murdered your best friend and kidnapped you that is.

Which, you were starting to.

That was a whole ass month ago, and since then he hadn't hurt you or made any sort of movement to suggest that he would. His anger was controlled as well, and so long as you remembered your place and your part in the home, everything would be perfectly fine. Just don't mention that you were angry with him for taking you away from your life, or that you wanted to speak to your mother or anyone else at all for that matter.

They didn't care for you like he did.

It was only him now.

And as the nights grew darker, longer and colder, you were starting to believe that they weren't going to find you. That they weren't looking to begin with.

You were far away from home, no contact with the outside world, and no ability to leave the house. It was expected for you to feel that way in all honesty. It would've been weirder if you did. Yet, you couldn't voice your concern to Peter. He'd grow upset again, as he did the last time you'd cried about it. No, you were happy. You had to be.

That was the part to play, and you were losing yourself in it.

But Peter when he went to get food three days later? Holy shit, was he fucking terrified. It had been so perfect, and he'd covered his tracks so fucking well, and yet his name and your shared photo was plastered on the front page of a newspaper. You'd managed to make national news. He paid for his groceries and the newspaper in cash, and drove home as quick and inconspicuous as possible.

"Missing person and murderer still on the loose"

"I'm not a murderer." Peter muttered in the driveway as he read the headline. "I-I killed them because I had to. And they're not missing! I have them to keep them safe! Why don't they understand?"

He continued reading, rocking himself back and forth in the drivers seat as he did. His fist slammed down against the wheel, and his other hand crumpled the paper. Whatever, this will blow over in a week anyway. Why get upset about it? He just won't leave the house until they stop looking and caring. Which would be soon... right?

Right.

He threw the balled up paper angrily at the opposite door, and took a deep breath. You couldn't see him angry like this. You'd become afraid again, and he couldn't have that. The stuttering if you dropped something or felt you'd done something wrong already shattered his heart, and there was nothing you'd done wrong this time. It was only his fault this time.

Another deep breath and he opened the car door, relaxing his muscles the best he could as he did so. His therapist had taught him that, and it worked wonders to calm him down, especially when something happened regarding you. He plastered a smile on, and tried to think only about you.

His smile turned real by the time he was at the front door and unlocking it. His smile dropped when he noticed the broken glass on the kitchen floor, and small droplets of blood surrounding a few of the shards.

"Darling?" He called out, worried that something had happened.

He searched the whole upstairs before beginning to panic, and ran as fast as he could downstairs. The moment he turned the lights on he could see you balled in the corner, shaking while clutching your hand to your chest. Your eyes were wide and wet with tears, your mouth open as you tried to say something only to squeak instead.

The panic faded, replaced by the care and worry he had for you. You were fucking adorable like this, and if he could take a photo he would. He knew however that it would be wrong, especially with you in pain to some degree. His poor darling. What would you do without him?

"What happened?" He asked softly, walking over to you slowly.

The only sounds that came out of you were sobs, and he could tell you were trying so so hard to speak. You were so strong, he thought. And ever so cute.

"Let me see your hand, please." He said, holding his hand out.

You hesitated, and if you weren't terrified out of your mind for some reason, he'd be upset with that. But, you placed your injured hand into his and turned away, eyes closed as you awaited more pain or anger that would never come. Instead, he hummed in acknowledgement, and stood up.

"I'm going to carry you up to the bathroom so we can bandage this up, okay? It's a little bit deep, but not enough to need stitches as far as I can tell."

You nodded, holding your hand against your chest again as he crouched and lifted you up. "S-Sorry." You whispered, continuing to cry.

"No, no. You're okay. Did you drop a glass cup or something?"

You nodded.  "Ah, well. Accidents happen, love. It's alright." His tone was painfully caring, and it hurt you more that you wanted to leave this, for him to just let you go home. He was caring for you, trusting you like this, and how had you repaid him? Breaking a glass and trying to form a plan of escape?

How fucking cruel were you.

He'd sat you on the toilet seat cover as he grabbed bandages and alcohol to clean the wound. A warning was given when he dabbed the gash, and another was given for the tightness of the bandage, allowing you a moment to calm down and regulate the pain in between moments.

"You're doing so well, darling." He'd say, only making the guilt worse.

Once he was done, he carried you to the couch, and laid you down. He cleaned up your mess, disposed of the glass into a double bagged garbage can, and returned to your side. The worry that your days together was ending soon was altogether forgotten as you laid on his chest again.

And the fact that he hadn't locked the door behind him when he walked in was long forgotten as well.

[Be careful while picking up glass. And also lock your doors so your captives can't escape while you're not looking. Smh. Be better than Peter]

[DO NOT KIDNAP PEOPLE. THE ABOVE STATEMENT IS A JOKE]