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Tuesday 28th November ~ 12:̢00a̢m

Anti's POV:

"Y'know, Jack, I've always hated you."

I secured the ropes around Jack's wrists, not that I needed to. Even after the day's walk back to the house the Irishman was defeated - his head lowered, body sunk into the chair.

I snickered. He really was weak.

My palm struck his cheek.

"Are you LISTENING?"

Jack exhaled, raising his head. The red handprint staining his skin stood out on his sickly white complexion.

"It's hard to hear over the concussion, so..."

His voice was a hoarse whisper, but somehow Jack still managed a dull laugh. He wouldn't meet my gaze.

"I've always hated you-" I repeated, walking around him. "And I never knew why. I just have this - this urge to see you covered in b̷̧͞l̶͜͠ơod̛."

At 'blood' Jack twitched. I rummaged through the kitchen drawer.

"And when dear ol' Markimoo ran off and took you with him - I knew you'd be here."

I couldn't find it. Where had I put it?

I searched more cupboards.

"Of course it would be here - here in this piece of shut house that I H҉̶̶̢͞A̵̡T̢̢Ę͘͜͟."

I slammed a cupboard shut. It was here somewhere. It had to be.

Behind me Jack stared at the wall.

"All his pointless scheming. His plans. He didn't understand that all I wanted was to feel your heart stop beating."

Deep in the back of a cupboard, behind some dusty packets of cereal, was where I found it. Finally.

Picking it up quelled the fire in my chest.

"Are you obsessed with me because you stole my face or something?" Jack rasped.

I shrugged, turning back around.

"Darkibitch is in the basement, I could always toss you down there if ya want to start an interrogation?"

Jack has no retort to this, bringing a smile to my lips. Watching him was too satisfying.

"My memories have always been a little-" I made circles with the knife in the air, searching for the right word. "-glitchy. Darky keeps all the answers to himself, like the brooding emo he is."

I made my way around the kitchen counter to where Jack was seated, pointing the knife at his face. My other hand stayed behind me.

"Now for the thing I've been waiting for..."

Jack flinched, but held his ground.

"Mark got away, so do your worst..."

I couldn't keep the smirk to myself, seeing his hardened features. His shaking tone had told a different story.

The fear alone got me high. Jack was staring death in the face - and he couldn't even look at me.

I pressed the tip of the blade against his cheek, taking the time to wonder if Jack's life was flashing before his eyes. The man in front of me had been bruised and beaten, but the way his eyes pleaded - even if he wasn't looking at me - told me that Jack was still grasping for a shred of hope.