Behind The Broken Window - Felix Centered Short Novel

Chapter 3

Felix's stomach churned. Blake fussed over him, carefully untying his legs but leaving his arms firmly secured.  A suffocating dread filled Felix as Blake squeezed next to him on the tiny bed, the overwhelming scent of his cologne filling the air.
"Isn't this cozy, Felix?" Blake cooed, his arm snaking around Felix's waist.  "We can finally be a real family. You'll be my beautiful wife, and we'll live happily ever after, just like in the fairytales."
Wife?! Felix fought back a surge of nausea. He needed to get out of here.  But his bravado was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating fear. He had to bide his time, wait for the right moment.  As Blake's snores filled the room, a desperate plan began to simmer in Felix's mind. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but his mind was wide awake, searching for a way out of this twisted nightmare.
The suffocating weight of Blake's arm around him felt more like a chain than ever. With each rasping snore, Felix's hope grew.  This was his chance.  He feigned deeper sleep, his body growing tense as he waited for Blake's breathing to even further deepen.
Finally, judging Blake to be fast asleep, Felix moved with excruciating slowness.  Inch by inch, he eased out of bed, careful not to disturb the deranged man beside him. His legs, stiff from being bound, protested with a tremor, but he ignored them.  He needed to get out of this room, out of this house.
His bare feet landed silently on the plush carpeting.  The house was eerily quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of Blake's sleep.  Felix crept towards the door, his heart hammering a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He had no idea what awaited him beyond, but anything was better than this suffocating captivity.
Steeling his nerves, Felix reached for the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand, but the door was locked. He stooped down and pressed his face to the ground. He could see outside through the slit at the bottom of the door. A sliver of moonlight peeked through, revealing a hallway shrouded in darkness. Freedom. Hope surged through him, momentarily erasing the terror that had become his constant companion.
Just as he got up, a bloodcurdling sound froze him in his tracks.  A noise from behind.  He spun around, heart leaping into his throat as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
Blake's eyes were still closed, a sleepy smile playing on his lips, but the way his hand twitched by his side sent a jolt of terror through Felix.  Had he heard something?  Was he awake?

Felix's breath hitched. He couldn't risk waking Blake. With a silent curse, he retreated back into the room, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. The terror fueled him, sharpening his senses. He needed to find a way out, any way out.
He scanned the room for anything useful. His eyes darted to the miniature furniture set, then landed on a porcelain dollhouse perched on a shelf. It was a long shot, but desperation bloomed in his chest.  He inched towards the shelf, praying the creaking floorboards wouldn't betray him.
Reaching the dollhouse, he gingerly lifted it. It was surprisingly heavy, but adrenaline gave him strength. He flipped it over, searching for a latch. Relief flooded him as he spotted a small metal clasp.  With trembling fingers, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment within. Inside, nestled amongst cotton wool, was a gleaming house key.
Hope surged through Felix, momentarily blinding him to the danger lurking outside.  He straightened, the key clutched in his sweaty palm, and his gaze fell on the doorway.
The blood drained from his face. Blake stood there, eyes wide open, a manic gleam in their depths.  The sleepy smile had vanished, replaced by a snarl that twisted his features into a grotesque mask.
"Going somewhere, Felix?" Blake's voice was a low growl, devoid of its earlier sweetness. He lunged forward with surprising speed, the plush Felix doll clutched in his fist like a weapon.
Felix barely had time to react. He sidestepped the blow, the plush doll flying past him with a sickening thud. Adrenaline coursed through him, pushing him towards the door. The key felt slick in his hands as he fumbled with the lock.
But it was too late.  Blake was upon him. A fist, the size of a ham hock, connected with Felix's jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor. Stars exploded in his vision, pain searing through his cheekbone. The key tumbled from his grasp, clattering out of reach.
Blake loomed over him, a terrifying silhouette against the faint moonlight filtering through the window.  He rained down blows, a feral roar escaping his lips. Each punch felt like a sledgehammer, stealing the air from Felix's lungs. He curled into a ball, protecting his head as best he could, tasting blood and something metallic in his mouth.
Through the haze of pain, Felix saw the plush Felix doll lying on the floor, its head detached at an unnatural angle. Its vacant eyes seemed to mock him. This wasn't a game, and he wasn't a star anymore.  He was a prisoner, at the mercy of a madman.
Sobs wracked Felix's body. The taste of blood and fear choked his cries, turning them into whimpers. Each hit felt like a bone breaking, and a wave of dizziness threatened to engulf him. Just as Blake raised his fist for another blow, Felix did something he never thought he would.
He looked up, tears blurring his vision, and pleaded, "Please, Blake... just stop. I'm not going anywhere. I'll do whatever you want. Just stop hurting me."
The effect was as immediate as it was unexpected. Blake's fist froze mid-air, a flicker of confusion replacing the rage in his eyes. He lowered his hand slowly, his gaze darting from the defeated figure on the floor to the mangled plush doll.
Suddenly, a new emotion flickered across Blake's face – regret. He lumbered towards Felix, his movements hesitant.  "F-Felix, I..." he stammered, kneeling beside him. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I just wanted you to be happy with me."
A twisted sense of pity warred with the terror in Felix's chest.  Blake was clearly delusional, a dangerous mix of obsession and loneliness. But seeing the vulnerability behind the rage gave Felix a desperate hope. He had to play along, for now.
Felix sniffled, feigning compliance. "It's okay, Blake," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "I understand. Maybe I just… I need some time to adjust."
Blake's face lit up with a childlike glee. "Of course! We can take things slow. Here, let me help you up." He gently, though with surprising strength, lifted Felix onto the bed.
Taking a deep breath,  Felix glanced around the room. His eyes landed on a decorative vase on the nightstand – a beautiful ceramic piece, but heavy enough to be a weapon.  It was a risky gamble, but it was his only chance.
As Blake reached for a tissue to wipe the blood from his face, Felix snatched his wrist.  "No, no need," he mumbled, his voice shaking slightly.  "I can do it." His hand brushed against the vase, his fingers curling around its smooth surface.
Blake didn't seem to notice, his attention focused solely on Felix. "There you go," he cooed, his monstrous features softening.  "Now, how about a movie marathon? We can cuddle, and you can tell me all about your favorite songs!"
Felix maintained his charade, using every fiber of his being to stay calm. Internally, he was a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment.  He knew this wouldn't be easy, but with a surge of newfound determination, Felix vowed to fight back. He would escape this nightmare, one step at a time.
The vase felt reassuringly heavy in Felix's hand, a cold resolve settling in his stomach. But as Blake leaned in, his concern genuine for a horrifying moment, Felix knew he couldn't strike.  The element of surprise was gone, and in this close quarters, a desperate struggle could turn deadly.  He steeled himself, shoving the vase back onto the nightstand with a practiced nonchalance.
"Thanks, Blake," he mumbled, letting Blake fuss over him. The touch was repugnant, but he forced himself to relax, to play the part of the grateful captive.  As Blake settled beside him, engulfing him in a suffocating hug,  Felix fought down a wave of nausea.
The movie started, a mindless comedy chosen specifically for Felix's supposed tastes.  But all Felix could see was the escape route he had to find, the weakness he had to exploit.  He forced a smile, offering comments and fake laughter at preordained moments, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Blake.
Hours bled into one another, a blur of saccharine storylines and Blake's incessant commentary.  Exhaustion gnawed at Felix, but sleep was a dangerous luxury.  He dozed fitfully, using every lull in the movie to scan the room, memorizing the layout.  The window was boarded up, another layer to his prison.  The door remained locked.  But there had to be a back exit, a fire escape, anything.
As dawn painted the sky a pale grey, Blake finally stirred, exhaustion etched on his usually manic face.  "You must be tired," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.  "Let's get some actual sleep this time." He shuffled towards a curtained-off corner of the room, revealing a surprisingly comfortable-looking mattress.
This was his chance.  Relief washed over Felix, carefully masked by a grateful smile.  "Yeah, that sounds good, Blake."  As Blake settled onto the makeshift bed, Felix stretched theatrically.  "Goodnight, Blake."
"Goodnight, Felix," Blake mumbled, his eyes already closed.  Silence finally descended, broken only by the faint sounds of Blake's sleep.  Felix waited, his heart hammering a frantic tattoo against his ribs.  This was it.  His carefully constructed facade had to hold for just a little while longer.  He had a plan, a desperate gamble, but it was his only shot. As sleep finally claimed Blake, Felix eased out of the bed, his mind racing with a newfound determination. He wouldn't be a prisoner any longer.