heaven in hiding 🌷 tracob

10

Troye's pov

As the pale grey sky seeps light through the curtains, making my tear-dried and itchy eyes ache, I sit up and hang my legs over the bed. I stare down at my thighs, my heart feeling as though it's pounding in my ears. My thighs. My skin dancing with scars I'll never be able to fix. There are stories and nightmares that go with each, one in particular, I endured having a flashback of hours prior. I woke up around three am, sweating and crying, I wanted more than anything to turn around and face the bloke in bed with me.

But I Can't.

I miss my last Master, pathetically enough. I wish I didn't, but I do. When I woke up crying, reliving the horror film that was my life with him, I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms. I wanted to embrace his strong arms holding me tight while he rambled on about his life. Of course, at the time he was only being kind because he was punch drunk laying with me on the floor. Me being curled up on his lap while he played with my chains.

It's not that I miss the man that held me hostage for years, it's that I miss the man who loved me. Or at least the one who said he did.

I could have saved him, I could have made him better. Now he's locked away. And it's all my fault.

"Troye...? What are you doing awake?" ... "It's six am."

I place my hands on my knees and lean forward, finding that tingly feeling in my toes quite fascinating.

"May I take a shower, sir?" I ask, leaning back and making the feeling go away. I turn my head the slightest and look at him through my peripheral vision.

He sits up on the bed and tears the blanket off, "Yeah, let me get dressed first."

"I- I can go alone," I whisper, feeling my throat beg to lock up on me.

"You're still acting off, I think it's best I at least stay in there with you." He murmurs, cracking his back and stretching his arms over his chest.

I sit there patiently while he gets up and changes into newly washed clothes I so kindly washed. First I had to figure out how to work a washing machine, but after a few tears shed and frustrated huffs, I washed his clothes. That I did while he was away yesterday... While he was out hurting people. He hurts people.

I wiggle my toes and watch the sweats Jay lent me sway around my ankles. His clothes look awful on me. He says it's cute, that it suits me, but it just makes me feel yucky. Everything he owns is two to ten times larger than my frail body, it all hanging off of me. I tried rolling the trousers, tying the shirts, and holding my undies up, but the end result is always his clothes slouching off my shoulders and sagging down my hips. I'm disgusting compared to him. 

Not a word slips past my lips. Not when he says he's ready, not when I stand up on unsteady feet and more or less wobble to the washroom. He stands a good distance away from me as I stare ahead at the crack in the floor separating the washroom from the hallway.

"Are you oka-"

I step forward and trudge to the tub, hushing him up. Twisting the shower knobs until water begins falling down to the tub, I gently pull the curtain and step back. I cross my arms over my chest and hook my fingers under my shirt, pulling it over and off of my mess of curls. I set it on the floor and glance back at the bloke sitting on the edge of the sink, watching me intently. Looking back at the tub, all I have to do is nudge my bottoms with my fingers and they're falling to the floor. I step in the tub behind the curtain and stand under the chilling water.

Jay doesn't get much hot water, not that I mind. Hot water reminds me of the bad memories.

I drop my head low under the faucet, letting the water stream down my face, suffocating me the slightest. I breathe out shakily through my mouth and stare at the floor of the tub.