Hostage | Eyeless Jack x Reader

Washing Up

She lay on the baking hot concrete, facing the pale blue sky. Her parents, of whom she hadn't seen in ages, stood over her, peering down expressionless at her panting form.

Held in her hand was her heart, which still was feebly beating from where it had fallen through a gash in her chest. Yellowish-white, thick pus was oozing from every artery, spilling onto the concrete and her bloody hand.

"We thought this would happen," her mother said, her voice sounding distant as she gazed down at her daughter, "Ever since the incident."

The pus wouldn't stop. It was gooey, sticking to her fingers as she tried desperately to move them. She wanted to scream for help, for someone to call an ambulance, to explain what was happening, or just to put her out of her misery. Anything. Anyone.

(Y/n) sat bolt upright in her bed, a cold sweat coating her body and tangling her in her sheets. She was hyperventilating, shooting her hands up to hastily feel around her chest for any open wounds or signs of injury.

When she found none, she fell back onto her pillow, staring up at the slanted ceiling. Nightmares had become more common recently.

She closed her eyes as she drug her clammy palms down her face. Her skin was red hot under her hands as she groaned. Kicking her legs, she untangled herself from her sweat-soaked sheets and sat up. With one hand on her headboard, she unsteadily pulled herself to her feet.

She swayed for a moment, her room spinning before her, before she closed her eyes and raised her hand to her burning forehead. Was all of this just the result of the nightmare?

"Not enough sleep," (Y/n) sighed to herself, lowering her hand and beginning to shuffle towards her door.

After the teetery walk downstairs, she managed to click the lights on in her kitchen. She gave out a loud yawn, squinting towards the clock nailed onto the wall. She had only been asleep for a few hours, as it was currently five in the morning.

"Hoping I'd be asleep a lot longer than that," she muttered, rubbing her aching temples.

"You know, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness."

In seconds, (Y/n) was wide awake. She sucked in a loud gasp and grabbed her counter, staring to where the voice came from. Her living room was pitch black, but the light from the kitchen glimmered against the large metal bars she had installed just a few hours prior.

Oh. Right.

Him.

"God, don't scare me like that," she mumbled, too tired to be all too angry.

"Sorry," Jack called, although he didn't sound like it, "You woke me up, so now we're even."

She only rolled her sleep-crusted eyes, turning away from the living room to reach for a glass. When she found none in her cupboard, she swore under her breath, before choosing a mostly clean one from her cluttered sink.

"So why're you up so early?" Jack groaned. From the sound of it, he was stretching.

(Y/n) momentarily avoided talking to him by taking her sweet time draining a glass of water. She stared into the darkness all the while, as cockily as she could, before tossing her cup back into the sink.

"Nightmares. You're not exactly helping with that, by the way."

"Me?"

He almost sounded offended.

"Yeah, I mean look at you."

(Y/n) walked back over to her wall and hit the switch for her living room, instantly illuminating the space. Jack was sprawled out on her couch, still fully dressed with his hair matted with bed-head. His legs were just long enough to fall over the arm opposite from the one where he was resting his head, under which he had tucked his clawed hands.