who let you in? || cashby

you were a walking, talking corpse at best

So this time you're getting a new chapter a week later instead of having to wait like 3 months. You're welcome.

I feel like a whole lot of nothing happens in this chapter in general, but it's almost 5000 words so i'll let you all be the judge of that. I don't normally like writing chapters that take place exclusively in one room, but this story is writing itself right now and I don't feel fully in control, lol. 

Enjoy and remember to tell me how you like it. :)

-.-

The gun could be anyone's, but Alan can tell instinctively it's not anyone's he knows of.

He doesn't dare make a noise, listening to the sound of the wet, messy breaths of whoever's behind him.

His fingers twitch.

"If you turn around without my permission, I'm going to make you eat this gun," a raspy voice threads through the still air, and the sound of it nearly makes Alan bite his tongue off.

"I think you've got the wrong place," he quivers, eyes resolutely fixed on the now visible blood stains smeared across the edges of his balcony door. They look like handprints. "I don't want any trouble."

There's a heavy coughing noise and a grunt, before the steel of the gun digs further into his back. Alan winces.

"Too bad," the voice says, not sounding at all apologetic. "Hospitals don't take me in anymore."

Alan lets out a slow, slow breath. He is so, so fucked.

"So it is your blood," he says quietly, testing the waters. He'd assumed as much, because whoever's holding him hostage is clearly not at 100%, and because the scent of the blood had matched the scent—definitely male—of the person in the room with him.

"It's going to be your blood in a moment if you don't shut the fuck up," the man says, voice still surprisingly quiet. Alan can hear the undertone of urgency lacing his words, though. Whoever he is, he's hurt bad.

"I'm going to make this very clear, and I'm only going to say it once," the voice is closer now, just above his ear. "You're not going to scream or cry or talk above a whisper, because if you do I'm going to put a bullet in the back of your head and no one will be the wiser. My gun has a silencer—it'll be very quick and you'll be dead before you can spit the bullet out. Is that understood?"

Alan grits his teeth.

"Sure," he says, whispering forcibly.

"Good," there's a hand in his hair, gathering it into a fist and yanking his head upwards so he can't move it. The gun is still bruising his spine, and Alan suddenly gets the sick feeling that even if he does what this guy says, he might still not make it out of this alive.

"Now, you're going to take me into the bathroom and lock the door behind us," his words are interrupted long enough for him to cough nastily, and Alan knows that's a bad sign. Frantically, he wonders how long this man's been with him, and whether or not he'd thought to bar off the other exits before threatening Alan.

"Don't worry about anyone else walking in," the man huffs once he's regained partial control over himself. "Your door is locked and the window is covered. Plus, I doubt anyone else will be coming after me through your balcony."

Alan almost surprises himself by rolling his eyes as he begins to move tentatively towards the bathroom, his feet heavy.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," the man says and that alone is enough to make Alan nearly break down and lose it.