Pursued (Sequel to Noticed)

The Trap - 12

At times you face options. Options, but no choice.

♡

Y/n woke up thirty minutes later to an ammonia stick* breaking under his nose. Needless to say, he woke up very confused and delirious so when he found himself cuffed to a strange bedpost, he naturally said;

"I'm not into bondage."

"Do you think you are in a situation where you can make jokes?"

Y/n blearily blinked around, taking in his surroundings. He was staring at a white ceiling, surrounded by horribly white walls, and indisputably, he was in the blandest room ever created by man —

"Oh god," he gasped in surprise, handcuffs rattling as his hands jerked to reflexively clutch his chest. Just to his right, Myra was sitting on a three-legged stool she had obviously pulled over to the bedside. (Now, that Y/n thought about it. She was probably the one who answered his little bondage comment.)

"Hello, Y/n," she greeted him with a cold smile. "Now that we have time to talk, I think we should talk. Really talk."

"What the fuck were we doing before you drugged me?!" Y/n yelled, distraught. "That seemed like we were talking!"

In the next moment, he tested his bonds. One set of handcuffs was attached to his wrist, held by one of the metal bedframe's poles (it was a pretty sturdy hold), and two chains tied his legs to the bedposts by his feet.

"What-what-what," Y/n sputtered, completely out of sorts. "What even is this? Where am I? Why the fuck am I chained to a bed? Are you date-raping me?"

"No," Y/n answered himself. "I'm still dressed so probably not..." He then looked up accusingly at Myra, "And what the fuck was all that stuff you were saying before?!"

"...Are you done?" she looked blandly at him.

Y/n deadpanned, "Sure, yeah, I'm done. Completely satisfied for the no explanation for this clearly justified situation where you invited me into your home, purposefully and knowingly drugged me, and then tied me to a bed in this godforsaken bedroom." Y/n's brows furrowed, "Isn't your dad a cop? Um, shouldn't you know what you're doing to me is clearly illegal?"

"Are you done now?" she asked again.

Y/n sighed, "Yes."

"Good, now if you turn your attention to the front wall —" Framed between Y/n's feet was a projector screen suddenly lit up on the wall.

"I'm sorry, are you about to give me a fucking PowerPoint presentation right now?"

Myra leaned over and slapped him very hard in the face.

"Goddamn," Y/n muttered, cheek stinging. That promptly earned him another slap.

"Shut up and listen. Or else."

"Whatever. Continue with your fucking presentation I guess — fuck!" This time Y/n accidently bit on his tongue when she slapped him.

"Now, first I'm going to explain to you why you're going to prison —"

"I'm a minor. If I was convicted of a crime, I wouldn't be going to prison —"

Slap.

"Ow."

"As I was saying," Myra clicked a remote and the blank slide switched over to a wall of text. "The definition of a serial killer is a person who kills three or more people, typically to satisfy some abnormal psychological gratification. The murders will usually take place over more than a month. In your case, it's been over a year."