Impractical Jokers: You Can't Escape

Chapter 2 - The Beginnings of a Plan

"Brian, the skyline is beautiful!"

There's an admiration in your eyes that he's never seen before and it takes everything in his power not to take you against the car right there. He's taken you on quite a trek, up a mountainside on a cold night so that the sky is clear and the stars are evident; a beautiful sight and, as you stand at the edge with Brian's arm around your waist and his body behind your own, the only thing that could make him even more intoxicated is if you both fall.

His gaze is calculated and your voice, sweet as it is, fades into the background. He only has so long to wait before you're his... and then you can be with him for the rest of your days. Perhaps some would accuse him of being cliché, but he is a firm believer that something is not a cliche if it is plausible - and it's very possible that he's going to end up keeping you alongside him, even if he has to force you.

"Not as beautiful as you," he remarks, and though it's passive his lips raise in a half smile as you scoff and reach your hand backwards to slap him lightly on the chest.

"Idiot," you reply, though you don't deny the colour in your cheeks. You're flattered, graciously at that. "You get off on making lame comments like that?"

He laughs, genuinely, because he's always appreciated your spunk. "I did stoop a little, didn't I?"

"Damn right you big gumball."

X X

The next time you open your eyes is to the feel of something wet on your face. A dribble of water, and then fingers filing through your unwashed hair as if it's the finest silk they've ever touched. Instantly you know who it is, the only person it can be.

You're starving, beyond parched, and here comes Brian with a bottle of water and something on a plate, nudging it towards you as if it's God's gift. You have half a mind to get up and attack him, though you know you're in no state to do so. Besides, (and this is aside from the fact that you're bound to a chair) what chance would you really have? He's bigger than you, tougher than you, crueller than you-- there's not a chance in hell you would beat him, even in your best condition.

Instead you stare up at him blankly, wait for him to say something. He doesn't, instead pours a small amount of water onto his fingers and splashes your face with it, apparently trying to drag you into consciousness. A hoarse moan leaves your throat, scratchy and weak.

"Wake up - eat something. Drink. Before you get sick," mumbles Brian, and had you not known him at all you would have assumed he cared about you. Properly. In a not-totally-insane way. Silently you long for that - how could you have gone so wrong? You hate him, but with even more shame, you hate yourself for falling for it.

That being said, you know what happens when you disobey him, so when he puts the opening of the bottle to your lips and pours a small amount down your throat, you accept it without complaint, eyes closing as cool relief fills you from the inside out.

When he pulls it away, the man regards your face with a softness that makes you uncomfortable.

"Good," he praises, raising the food to your lips this time. You want to obey just to avoid confrontation... but you feel so sick you could vomit right then and there. With a light whimper and a raise of your bound wrists, you shake your head. "[Y/N]. Eat."

You suppose you never learn because you shake your head again and it is to your horror that the man growls loudly with annoyance, drags your chair over to the wall so that he can lean it against it, throws a leg over your knees and forces the food - bread, you discover - past the confines of your lips.

"Get it fucking down you!" He shouts, rage overriding his features. You sob at the invasion, unable to breathe through the mess of crust, eventually swallowing because there's nowhere else for it to go. Tears leak down your face, lungs screaming for air while he pulls away and admires his handiwork. Why wouldn't he? You've been fed. You won't die on him. "Maybe next time you'll do as you're--"

Before he can finish, you throw your head to the side and vomit, stomach rejecting the consumption after a period without sustenance. Brian is about to lose his temper all over again... but the rate at which you're sobbing has his attention, your tied wrists raising from your lap and reaching for him.

Unbeknownst to you, this has the psychopath easing. You need him. You're crying, and on the brink of unconsciousness, and you need him. The thought makes a pang of heat rush to his belly, mind flipping upside down as his obsession for you blooms into something dangerous. Dependence fuels his desires to keep you, has him believing he's succeeding.

The man advances, bottle of water at the ready as he takes your face in his hands and shushes you.

"I'm sorry, [Y/N]... I just want you to be healthy," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before easing the bottle to your lips. Because it washes the foul taste away, you allow it, even welcome it, screwing your eyes tightly with disgust as he pulls you close and breathes you in. It's the least to say you're not flattering right now, the bitter tang of sweat emanating from your body and the new aroma of vomit on your breath - but he holds you anyway, despite all that, and had you been more naive, more stupid, you'd have been happy about it.

But the gears in your head are turning. You've had more than enough time to think, being cramped in this dingy little room, and it's time to begin putting yourself into action; because if you don't you're going to die, and nobody is going to know where you've gone. Nobody is going to care either. You have to get away from him. You're determined to do that much.

And what better way to do it than to give in to what he wants? Or at least, give the impression that you've given in. With the most pitiful whimper you have in you (and balanced with the fact that you hate vomiting, it really isn't that hard), you let one of your hands lightly grasp at the fabric of his jacket. Feeling him flinch, though not in fear but aggression, you look at him pleadingly.

"Brian, it's so lonely down here... I want to spend time with you again, like we did before..."

Q gives you a firm look and you can tell it's not enough; you need to up your game if you want to survive.

"I-I don't want to leave-- I just want to be around you. I miss you...please let me spend time with you. It's all I want..."

Slowly, the crease in his brow fades. It isn't disbelief that marks his features any more. You know that Brian isn't stupid, that he's not going to fall for shit. You have to stick to your guns, make yourself believe that you want to be with him until you can get enough freedom to be able to get the fuck out. It's with wet eyes that you stare up at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth in the fashion you know drives him crazy (he'd said so once on one of the many of your dates, though you have to wonder how much of it was real).

Eventually, through the silence, he turns away, "You wait here."

And for an assortment of tense minutes in which consist of him walking around the house, you sitting there with bated breath (and why the hell had he even made that comment in the first place considering you can't move?), you wonder if you can actually pull this off. Only time will tell - whether you live or die is completely down to how pathetic you can act.

When Brian returns, he has a pair of scissors in his hands. Making quick work of the rope around your waist, you stand on legs that are half asleep due to the fact that they haven't been used in a while now and you offer your wrists towards him. He shakes his head.

"You think I'm stupid? I pity you, I don't trust you. Not yet. I love you, [Y/N], but I know how difficult you are. No, they're staying put."