The Florence Theory ☆ FRERARD

Chapter 9

"You could've been a little more gentle, Bert."

"I thought he was going to punch me. What was I supposed to do, Bob?"

"I would punch you too." A sneer.

Gerard's eyes cracked open, but he immediately shut them again when he saw the two men standing unnaturally far from each other, heads hanging low on their shoulders in a kind of sulken agony, but ironically displaying intense levels of confidence.

A groan. "What do we do now? We can't just leave him here."

A sigh. An annoyed sigh. "Sometimes I think you're slow in the head, you know that?"

"That's not very nice."

"Wake him up. I don't have all day."

Gerard felt the presence of two men approach him and he sensed his shoulders cave in. But he decided to keep his eyes closed and continue to fool them into thinking he was unconscious. For what reason was he passed out? He didn't even want to know.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty." Bert grabbed a handful of Gerard's ink-black hair and shook, throwing his head back and forth.

Now that Gerard had his eyes opened fully, he could feel the numbness lingering on his bruised cheek. But ironically, the numbness didn't suppress the pain that came with it. So he'd been punched a few times. Probably something to be expected when you're kidnapped and smuggled from your home.

"Hey, there we go. I did it," Bert announced, grinning.

"We don't know if this is the guy." Bob analysed Gerard's stone-cold expression he was trying ever so hard to pull off. "This could be a false alarm. And then we'll have a lot on our plate—multiple charges will only be the tip of the iceberg.

"Only one way to find out." Bert lifted his uninjured hand to his mouth and bit hard, eyes squinting in pain and concentration. Soon, a semicircle-shaped bite mark formed, blood oozing from each pierce from his teeth. His flesh was compressed from his molars and turned into a bone-white colour; it was a terrible sight that would make anyone feel pain just looking at it.

"You're sick," Bob commented. "What do you think the blood bag was for?"

He stared blankly at Bob and then glanced at his bleeding hand. "Oh."

"Does this turn you on?" Bob blurted out, pointing to the mangled mess of Bert's skin.

"No."

Bert moved his hand closer to Gerard's face so that some of his blood smeared onto his cheek. "How 'bout this?"

A tear lingered in Gerard's eyelid, threatening to fall. His initial reflex was to jerk his head back, hating the warm and wet sensation of the blood on his face, but more so hating how it made him think about drinking blood.

"He looks uncomfortable. If he was a vampire, he'd lick up the blood," Bob pointed out, crossing his arms and staring at the man they had tied to a chair.

"Let me go."

"Not that easy, buddy." Bob shook his head and cupped a hand around Gerard's shoulder. "Now, how about we test the last thing on our list..."

"It's not much of a list if there's only two things on it," Bert noticed, cradling his injured hand.

"No one asked you," Bob snickered.

Gerard, who still held an expressionless look, struggled to keep himself from panicking. Bert circled Gerard like an eagle and then untied his hands from behind the chair. Gerard bit his lip hard when Bert's hands brushed against his, but he remained silent.