It's Complicated (Troyler)

Greater Good

*Troye's POV*

I awoke with a jolt to the sound of metal clattering beside my ear. I tried to jump away, but my body just did not permit that. I gasped, the unbearable pain in my side sending me a reminder that it was still very much there. I flopped back to the floor, taking a few deep breaths before opening my eyes. The first thing I seen was the metal tray right in front of my face. It had a bowl on it, though the slimy contents had mostly spilled all over the cell, including on myself. I groggily examined it from my position on the cold concrete a bit more, too exhausted to even attempt lifting my head again. It looked like creamed corn, gross. Not that I'd planned on eating the slop anyway. Suddenly something clicks in my mind and I realize the tray had to come from somewhere, so I flicker my eyes up to the bars. The door is open, but Wyatt is standing in the way of freedom. I really didn't think I would have had much chance getting there even if he wasn't though. I probably could sit up if I was determined enough, the pain was horrid but probably not enough to keep me from walking. But it was so much easier to just lay here and try to keep the pain at bay altogether, and I definitely didn't feel like running.

"Eat up, you're going to need your energy." I shivered, not even wanting to know why I'd be needing that energy. I studied his face, but it was as cold and emotionless as always. His eyes were dark, but I hoped it was from the low lighting conditions and not lust. I really couldn't deal with that level of creepy right now. They were flickering around the cell, not focusing on anything for more than a second. He really did have the crazy essence to him, why had I never noticed before now? With his hair greased back like that he almost seemed like a snake, which only made me even more uncomfortable. I watched him lift a hand and flinched, even though I knew he couldn't do me any damage from that distance. I was right, he'd only intended to point at the food on the floor and nod, trying to make a point. 

"There is no way in hell I'm eating this." I stated firmly, staring into his dark eyes. He groaned, rolling his eyes like someone would do over a misbehaving child.

"What's wrong with you? I'm sure you're starved." He said, gesturing to the small grated window like that would tell me exactly how long it'd been since I'd eaten. Judging by the light this was my second morning here, so nearly two days here now. That's over twenty-four hours, the cops should be searching for me by now. Suddenly my stomach rumbled, betraying me. Wyatt smirked knowingly and I debated sticking my tongue out at him. I didn't though, instead staring at the gruel just in front of my face. I was hungry, but the thought of eating that only made me want to vomit. The thought of eating anything that sick fuck gave me made me want to vomit. What if he'd drugged it? What if he wanted me unconscious to... Oh god, maybe I'd be vomiting after all, just thinking about his intentions with me. Surely he wouldn't get that far before someone found me. Someone was going to find me, they had to. 

I jumped a foot in the air when I felt him kick my limp foot. The pain surging through my side was insane, but I still scurried to the far corner of the cell to get away from him. I'd been so lost in my thoughts I hadn't even noticed him walking toward me. I clutched my chest and glared up at him.

"What's wrong with me? What a fucking ironic question coming from a psychotic kidnapper possible rapist murderer." 

"Oh, come on, that's a little harsh. There is nothing wrong with me. Can you really blame me for wanting to keep you to myself so badly? You've been my idol, my reason for living, for over a year now. When you said you'd go to coffee with me, that was the most surreal moment of my entire life. People don't just go to coffee with their idols everyday, you know. And then you wanted to date me and for just a little bit, I felt like I had everything I ever wanted. Except I didn't. I never had you, you were always his." During his impromptu speech he had knelt down beside me, now at eye level and less than arms length away from me. I didn't like the close quarters, but I'd already backed as far away as I could. He was tilting his head to the side, looking at me inquisitively. It was like he was studying me, waiting to see what would get a rise out of me and what wouldn't, like he craved every reaction I could give. He was sick, in the most serious sense of the word. I could tell just be his shifty eyes and constant twitching, something just wasn't ticking right inside of his brain. He was like a teeter-totter, I never knew which way he would tip. Was he going to be angry or show me some sort of sympathy? I didn't think even he knew. Nobody knew when he was going to go off next and that's what made it all the more scary.