Depression ||TicciToby Story||

Chapter 2: Safe Haven

See end for Author's Notes

Warning: Non-Graphic Attempted Rape/Non-Con, mention of past child abuse, description of minor character death.

Quick AN: Okay, so I think in the old version of this story Toby is full on raped, but I decided to change that because it made me feel like it would be to much for some readers. I didn't what to be the reason someone gets triggered. So, I'm really sorry if you do :(.
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Sex was never an option at the mansion. If anyone had the urge to have sexual contact with someone, they would be forced to wait until the next mission, and take advantage of their victim. It wouldn't matter much if they would be murdered afterwards anyways. It was much simpler than relationships. They weren't forbidden at the house, just very rare since the drama they caused was just to much for the many unstable people in the mansion, like myself or Jeff.

I never had any need to have contact with someone, so therefor none of my victims were forced to have sex with me. Whether it be my young age or the fact that physical contact was to much for me, I wouldn't know. Jane often forced her male victims (and sometimes female because she'd take whatever she could get), to have sex with her, mostly because she had no qualms about killing them afterwards. No one ever had any qualms about killing.

Even though relationships were allowed in the mansion, I never thought anyone would ever have any remote interest in me. I mean... look at me, there isn't anything to be attracted to. And no one would ever be a fan of my personality, and if they were, I would call them crazier than me. Which, by the way, is beyond crazy. Hah.

So, I wasn't exactly aware that I was being... courted. Heck, I didn't know the difference between types of touches; sexual, friendly, dangerous. Me, with no experience with sexual, lingering touches and little feeling with friendly, dangerous touches were the only ones I was ready for. I don't know how to tell when someone was trying to get my attention.

And when the one person I came to admire as my friend at the mansion started doing thing I didn't know were "friendly", I was taken aback. It started with fingers through my hair. Thin, bony ones caressing my scalp with such gentle touches, I didn't know how else to react except for staying completely still. Faded pale white, the fingers would cascade through my hair, and down my back, with such ease and grace. His long, pointed nails all but avoided any chance of hurting me, although he was aware, I wouldn't be able to tell if he did. His finger pads, would pitter down my thighs, and rub my knee in circles while relaxing in front of the television. He sat dangerously close, are legs often brushing beside each other, in which I would apologize profusely for doing so.

He was kind. Beyond kind to me and only me. His words would ring through my head and remind me that I had a friend who loved me and cared about me no matter how I feel. I relished in the feeling of being cared for and admired, as if I were a piece of gold. As if I were a king, sitting upon his thrown, being loved and appreciated by his loyal subjects. I needed the feeling of his arms wrapped around me in a hug only the best of friends could give. I appreciated the amount of time he spent with me, to make me feel like I was needed and that I was useful and people enjoyed spending time with me.

However, I refused to touch him back. It was some odd feeling in my head, and an unpleasant warmth in stomach whenever his hand reached to high on my thigh, if his fingers traced to lowly on my back. It gnawed on my gut, and burned though my head, until I finally had the courage to stand up and excuse myself from the situation.