Obsession

Chapter Twenty-One: The Hero Trope

(Ava Carter), Present Day:

My throat was parched, and my joints ached. I had no idea how long I'd been held here for. Jack and I had tried our best to force out conversations, but it had just become completely hopeless. We were going to die. Peter would come around every few hours to make sure everything was okay. He would put dog bowls filled with water in front of us, then toss little pieces of hay into it, making the water practically undrinkable. I couldn't shower. I couldn't move. I felt my body slowly weakening, and I wasn't sure how much time I had left. The dark barn was soon lit up by the door cracking open. Peter slipped inside, and pulled the light string down. He headed over to Jack, grabbing him by the top of his hair, and dragging him aside. I lied down on my side. I couldn't sit up anymore.

"It's your time, Jack."

I tried to yell, but my throat had cracked, and no sound came out. I couldn't even shed tears. Jack's eyes were no longer fearful. He wanted to die. He wanted his pain to be over. But we both knew better. This would be no quick and painless death. Peter dragged Jack to the center of the barn, and headed over to the shed, pulling out an array of knives, saws, and shovels. Peter pushed Jack onto his back, and held him down with his foot slowly pressing deeper into his chest. He picked up the saw in one hand, and held down Jack's throat with the other. With a small grunt, he began to set the tiny blades to the skin of Jack's ankle. Jack screamed in pain. Blood began to seep onto the rusted metal, and soon, a small shard of bone stuck from his foot. 

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look. I wanted to die. I wanted this all to end. Jack's screams intensified as He left the saw stuck in the tendons and muscles of the ankle. Taking a new weapon, Peter began to slit his sides with the knife, and blood soaked the sides of his shirt. He then traveled down to his calves, and sliced off chunks of skin and muscle from his legs. Little pieces fell to the hay like a man feeding his dog scraps from the table. I doubled over, emptying out my stomach from the sight. Peter wasn't finished. Jack was no unconscious from the pain, and Peter took the shovel to the front of Jack's face two times, and then Jack was silent. I heard his throat screaming for life, but it drowned in the thick pools of blood that choked him. Peter left Jack's now deformed body rot into the hay, where it sat for three more days. I had to sit in the stench of my ex boyfriend's rotting body, and sleep in my own vomit for three more days. On the third day of the torcher, I finally begged Peter to end it all for me. Peter had different plans for me. 

Peter untied my legs and arms, then dragged my into the house, prying me of my clothes and setting me into the bath. The water stung my cuts, and I winced in the little pain I had left to feel. He cut my hair into a short bob, and bleached it to a bright blonde color. I looked like a new person. I was assuming that was the goal. He handed me a t-shirt dress and sneakers and I changed, before he dragged me into his truck and drove into town square. When we drove down the street, I noticed all of the missing posters for Jack and I. He even drove me by my house. My parent's cars were parked in the driveway, and I could see the lights on in the house. I just wanted to be home. Then, he drove me by school, where I watched the students get out of their cars and head to their classes. I wondered how long it had been since I had been taken. When we pulled into the market, he had me head into the grocery store with some money he gave me. He told me if I asked for any sort of help, he'd kill my family and I. I trembled as I heard the engine of his truck behind me, and I walked into the grocery store with his list shaking in my hands. My wide eyes made heads turn, and a concerned worker approached me. I waited until my body was hidden from the Peter, and begged the worker for help. She took me by the hand, and as soon as Peter saw her dragging me away, he raced from his car into the store.

I tried to run from him but his grasp on my wrists were too tight. He explained to the worker I was his sister who struggled mentally and he was taking care of me.

"So sorry for the disturbance." He apologized. 

Dragging me back into the bar, I felt a hard force hit the side of my head, sending me into the window. His fist shook with anger, and I looked up at him, blood dripping from under my eye. He kept hitting me. Over and over again his hands battled with my skin, until I couldn't feel them anymore. My body just froze. When I stopped moving, he put the car in drive and sped out of the parking lot, tires screeching on the concrete. He got about five minutes onto the road, before a brutal impact hit is car. It sent me flying out of the windshield, and my body hit the concrete. That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up in the hospital.