Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 17 - In his grip

You find the number of the cab company in a notebook next to the kitchen telephone. Seems to be a small local firm, since the operator on the other line knows just which driver usually takes the Heelshires. Maybe they preferred it that way. You're told to expect the car within half an hour.
You go upstairs again to get a bag from your room and some of the money you've received as payment. You stop by your closet, pick out a warm sweater and pull it on over your shirt.
"Have I been good?" Brahms suddenly asks behind you.
You're taken by surprise by this out of nowhere question, and turn around to see him leaning tall against the door post. He fixates his gaze on you.
"Have I... been good?" he then repeats, slower this time and in a slightly threatening tone, just noticeable. "Will you return?"
Is he still doubting that this is not just an escape attempt? You're not even bringing anything, except one small bag and your wallet.
He seems afraid you'll be gone for good. You wonder if that means you've got the upper hand here somehow. Or if it means you're becoming a prisoner. He said he could never hurt you, but what about if you went against his will...? You take a deep breath and walk up to him, and look him in the eyes. Something tells you that you must show that you're not intimidated, in a tense moment like this.
"Why exactly am I going to town?" you ask him.
"To buy something for me." He replies shortly.
"And why am I doing that?"
"So I can go outside."
"Right. So you can go outside with me. Like I said, remember?"
He looks at you for a moment, then nods once and seems convinced enough. He turns around and walks off, heading down the stairs leaving you alone in your room.
You breathe out and get your bag from the drawer. You stop at the mirror for a moment, just looking at your own reflection. A familiar face in an unfamiliar situation.
What kind of story is going to unfold from here on, you wonder to yourself. Of all the things you've imagined yourself doing in life, living in a mansion with a masked stranger wasn't one of them. Especially not a stranger with the kind of past that Brahms has. You still don't know him, but you want to.
You make your way downstairs. You have a feeling you'll find Brahms by the same window as before, and you're right at that. As you enter the study he's standing there looking out at the driveway. He looks at you as you come closer.
"You didn't answer my question." He says. You sit down on the sofa next to where he's standing.
"You have been good, Brahms." You answer. "You don't have to worry."
He looks out the window in silence for a moment before he sits down beside you with his hands in his lap. You glance at his hands and long fingers as he fiddles nervously, and cracks his knuckles. He seems frustrated still.
"I know you're going away for my sake." He says, as if trying hard to convince himself. "I know that."
You wait for him to continue but he doesn't. It seems like he has much more to say but keeps quiet.
"Yes...?" you try. You listen to his breathing behind the mask for a while.
"That doesn't change how I'll feel when you've gone." He says tensely. "What it'll be like."
"Tell me." You implore.
He glances at you from the side.
"Whenever I'm bad... I'm left." He starts, and you detect an ocean of suppressed anger underneath the surface. "Alone."
You look down at his hands and notice that he's clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles whiten. He's shivering, and you notice the veins on his hands bulging. He seems stressed out of his mind. There's obviously something about being left behind all by himself that creates such a strong reaction in him, but what and why? Something that lies in the past but rises to the surface at every reminder. Something that's really left a deep mark on him. Whenever he was bad, he was left alone. As punishment.
Was he sent to his room without dinner? Ignored? Locked inside somewhere, virtually being held prisoner?
The questions pile up and balance on the tip of your tongue, most of all 'what happened', and you're racking your brain for the right thing to say at this moment. Anything could go wrong.
But before you get the chance to say anything at all, suddenly and fiercely he turns around to you with flaming horror and rage in his eyes.
"I don't know what to do!" he spits out, shouting in wild frustration.
You twitch and jolt back instinctively; but in the same second Brahms throws his long arms after you, grabs you hard and pulls you in as if you weighed nothing, forcing you tightly against himself. You feel his strong, heavy arms locked around you, his hands on your shoulders in an iron grip and the heat of his body through his thin buttoned shirt.
With your ear pressed against his chest you hear the fast beating of his heart, even feel it thundering against your cheek. He buries his cold mask in your hair, and you can hear his muffled breathing closer than ever. He squeezes you much too hard for this sudden embrace to be even the least bit comfortable; either he doesn't understand, or he doesn't care. Like a frightened child holding on to a teddy bear for dear life in fear of the dark.
You wait a moment for him to loosen his immovable hold - but if anything, it's just getting worse and actually making it hard to breathe at this point. Your throat hurts, your back hurts. You begin to feel ill and to panic inside, gasping for air. Seconds feel like minutes.
What if he won't let go?
You can hardly struggle in his grip, so you try to lift your free hand and lay it on top of his clutching your right shoulder. Barely reaching it, you carefully stroke it with your fingertips.
"Brahms." You whisper. "It hurts."