||Vincent Sinclair x Reader|| House of Wax

Part 15 |Freak|

He pulled his eyes away from me, and began to drive. When I realized we were going to the house, I started to panic again, if Bo saw me, he'd almost certainly have my head.

He pulled up to the house, the gravel crackling beneath the tires as the car slowed down.

"No- no, I can't be here," my voice shook, "Bo- he'll... he'll kill me Vincent. Please get me out of here."

He got out of the car, paying no mind to my pleas. No. Walked around to the passenger side. No. Opened the door. No. And took my hand in his.

"I can't, Vincent... you don't understand!"

He squeezed my hand gentily, telling me it would be ok, but I knew there was absolutely no way this could turn out well for me. Bo despised me, and I him. I dread what that man's disgusting mind already has planned for me and my friends.

Suddenly the front door swung open.

"Hey!" Bo yelled, "you don't ever leave here without me. You know better than that. Don't be so stupid." He stopped yelling for a moment, noticing me clinging to Vincent's arm.

Every fibre of my being was telling me to run. But that hasn't really worked out thus far, so, I stay put, like a deer in headlights.

I the noticed Bi was covered in blood; hard to tell if it was his or someone else's, but guessing by his attitude and hunched posture, it was his own.

"What's the matter with you?" He scolded, "what? You got a little crush or somethin'," he huffed, angrily walking back into the house.

Vincent eagerly lead me up into the house, much to my dismay. His grasp on my arm grew tighter when I tried to pull away, though he wasn't even paying attention to me anymore, rather he seemed more concerned about the blood riddled Bo.

He pulled me inside, closing the door behind us and leaving me standing right by it. He walked over to Bo, reaching for the broken arrow sticking out of his chest.

"Don't," Bo waved him away. Vincent didn't listen, going for the arrow again. "I said don't!" Bo swatted away Vincent's carful hands, "get! Go play with your little doll over there." Bo's harsh, aggressive words made me flinch, even though they weren't targeted at me. My body was in fight or flight; tense and ready for an attack at any moment.

Vincent came over to me, his hands ghosting over my face, checking to see if I was alright, like an artist checking for imperfections. When he saw that I was ok, at least physically, he went back to the kitchen and started rummaging through drawers.

For whatever reason, he pulled out a metal spoon.

"Fuckin' freak," I felt those words deeply for Vincent, I knew what it was like to be in a similar relationship.

"Don't call him that," I quietly gritted through my teeth, not fully meaning for it to be out loud. Vincent looked up at me from the toaster he was using to see his reflection.

"What did you say?" Bo spoke with so much venom in his voice, it was becoming clear that this was probably just his natural tone.

"I said, don't call him that," this time I said it with confidence - more of an act than true courage.

Vincent put down the toaster, quickly coming to my side when he saw Bo limbering over to me.

I readied myself for whatever torment Bo was going to put me through, but Vincent stood directly in between us, hands held out, telling Bo stop.

Bo scoffed once, paused with a bewildered look, then scoffed again, before walking back to the kitchen to down a bottle of orange juice.

Feeling bold, I followed Vincent as he too went back to the kitchen - both out of curiosity and because I felt safer next to him.

He pulled a match from a match box and stuck it to life, lighting an old mostly melted candle. Picking the toaster back up, and holding the spoon over the lit flame made me realize he was going to attempt to fix that scrape in his mask. He looked at himself in the toaster reflection and started smoothing over the rough area of clay. I still didn't know how he got it, but I assumed it was probably from his scuffle with Jason.

Watching Vincent in the reflection, I notice he looked sad. Bo's words clearly affected him.

"Here," I offered, taking the spoon from his hand. He watched me closely as I held his masked face, turning it away slightly to better see the scratch.

I did what he did, holding the spoon over the flame and reforming the spot, the wax making a quiet sizzling sound as I pressed the hot spoon into it.

"Hey... towns looking real good. We're almost finished what mom started," Bo spoke as if I wasn't there. It was quite scary hearing his tonal shifts around Vincent. So manipulative. That's when it clicked in my head... mom... Bo was the second Sinclair brother."Those two are good. They'll fit perfect,"

'Who was he talking about?'' I wondered, 'Carly and Nick?'

"What did I tell you, huh? Isn't your work more real now?" My hand faulted for a moment, slightly messing up the work I was doing on Vincent's mask. Bo was the reason Vincent was doing this... "ma would be proud. Yeah, she'd be real proud."

I had to hold my tongue. This manipulative bastard was making Vincent an accomplice to murder.

"She always said that your talent would make up for what God took from you," Bo continued as I finished fixing the mask to the best of my abilities. "And there's two more. We still got a lot of work to do."

'Nick and Dalton? Maybe Paige and Blake?' I thought grimly as I placed down the spoon and blew out the candle. For all I knew, everyone was already dead.

Something compelled me to turn and look out the window, maybe in the hopes I would see any one of my friends out there. Unfortunately my wish came true when I saw Paige and Blake's mutilated corpses lying in the back of the truck I was sitting in mere moments ago.

My hand flew up to my mouth, trying to hide my gagging. 'Am I the only one left?'

Bo walked out of the kitchen, toward the window I was staring through. He noticed something at his feet, just sitting there on the carpet. A picture.

It was hard to tell but it very much looked like conjoined twins. He exhaled heavily, begin to look around the house in a slight frenzy. Clearly that image wasn't there before.

The pieces were starting to connect in my head. What God took from you. But that didn't explain the need to murder people.

Word count: 1100+

A/N- I think I have an issue... I like slashers and bad fictional characters too much lmao (emphasis added n fictional character. Like I absolutely adore Leatherface, like Tommy's my boy, and the Darkling from shadow and bone, and Ed Nygma from Gotham (tho I feel like that one's ok cuz he wasn't always bad, and was never fully a bad guy), and so much more... anywho, rant over.

[Updated]