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One window. Two doors. Two beds. Three outlets. Two lamps. One TV. Two chairs. One coffee table. One closet. One shower. One tub. One sink. One toilet. Three shitty paintings. One large carpet. 

Randy’s eyes flickered all over the new motel he and Benson are planning to stay in for the next few days, or whatever Benson seems suitable for the two of them. He stood in the doorway awkwardly, watching Benson go through the two nightstands before he tilted his head, gesturing for Randy to walk further into their room. 

“Not bad, better than the last one.” Benson huffed, moving towards the window and tugging the blinds closed. 

Randy sat himself down onto one of the beds, fidgeting with the sleeves of a shirt Benson had shoplifted, along with other articles for the two of them, the other day. He felt himself falling further into his own head. They’ve been on the run for a couple of days now, the first few sleeping inside the car before they finally got into Colorado. 

Benson thought that was far enough for the moment and that’s where they had their first motel pitstop, only for two days to gather clothes and have a proper shower and rest. Randy knew Benson would never mention it but he knew that his back was causing him a series of pain from trying to sleep in his driver seat. 

Through those days in the car, Benson always insisted on sitting in the driver's seat, not trusting that, if he was not there, Randy wouldn’t get into it and start to drive away. Another thing that worried Benson was him running away during the nights, which led to the older man to grab the rope he had in his trunk and tie Randy’s wrists together behind his back. 

It was unbelievably uncomfortable in the car and Randy has so far spent most of his time sleeping in the morning when he’s sitting in the passenger seat, his wrists no longer bound. However, the rope burn and indents are still obvious and tender to Randy, despite the way he touches and puts pressure on it may make it seem.

That’s how the spiral began.

Randy can only take so many days sleeping in uncomfortable positions, feeling so exhausted and sleep deprived despite the multiple naps he falls into and wakes up from throughout the mornings. He can only take his wrists being bound so many times, and he can only take Benson yelling at him in small amounts before it makes him want to start to cry. 

He misses his goddamn house. He doesn’t care how suffocating that town was, nor does he care how he was nothing before Benson came around. He simply misses the comfort of his bed, the smell of his room. The cheap motel scent was getting under his skin and the wallpaper was so tacky that it made his throat dry. That’s without mentioning how tired Randy was getting of Benson breathing down his neck.

“-ANDY. Jesus christ, anyone there??” 

A whack to the side of Randy’s head finally snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up at Benson, now standing before him, and clearly frustrated with the lack of response. Randy licked his lip, trying his best to not keep fidgeting with his hands. “What.. what?”

“He speaks! I asked you a fucking question, Randy. Where did you go in that head of yours, hm?” 

It was condescending, it was blunt. It made Randy’s head throb from everything building up in there and he stared blankly up at Benson. 

“Do you miss your home?”

Benson balked at him. “What? What’re you talking about?” 

“Do you miss your home?”

Randy dully notices the pure confusion joining the frustration on Benson’s face. He himself is unsure of what he’s getting at here. Does he expect Benson to agree with him? That he misses his home and they’ll both drive back and everything will be normal again? All he knows is that there’s an annoying ringing happening which he’d like to shut up so he can keep talking with Benson.

The older man laughed, as if he thought Randy was stupid. (He probably does, Randy noted to himself.) “Do you?”

It was judgemental and Randy tried to hide the small flinch he got from the harsh way Benson spat out “you.” He kept staring down Benson, not letting his face show his emotions for once in his life.

“I’m tired, Benson. I’m tired of these motels, and- and how I have to sleep with my wrists tied up. I’m tired.” 

Benson quirked his eyebrows at Randy, “Yeah? Tell me about it, princess. These motels don’t hold up to your standard?” Fully ignoring the comment of being tied up and it only frustrated Randy further.

He let his head drop, shaking it. “You don’t get it.” Then went back to picking at his palms. Long habits die hard.

“Y’know, I’m really not diggin’ this brat behavior from you, Bradley. Besides, I thought you’d be happy that you no longer need to live with your mom and her stepping on your di-.”

“You don’t know me.”

A pause.

“What was that?”

Randy looked up, watched how Benson cracked his neck to the side. Brows furrowed, a dark look in his eyes. Testing him.

“You don’t. Know. Me.” 

A slap. The sound of skin connecting with skin filled the room and Randy knew what Benson was going to say next. ‘Watch your fucking mouth. Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me that way? ‘

Randy reacts faster than those words coming out of Benson’s mouth. He lurched forward, getting up from the bed and sticking his hands out to shove Benson in the chest, successfully knocking him back before he moved away and began to pace. He couldn’t stand still, there was too much running through his veins and he felt like he was going to explode. 

It was the first time Randy gave any physical contact back to Benson.

“What the fuck was-”

“SHUT UP.”

First time Randy has ever told Benson that.

He continued his pacing, head down, hands rubbing at the rope burns on his wrists as if he wanted to peel his skin off. 

“I’m TIRED, Benson. I miss my home. I miss my MOM. I don’t care if you think she’s shit, I still miss her! I miss my room. I miss my BED. I miss not needing to sleep TIED UP.” 

Randy doesn’t realize when, during his rant, he started to hit his wrists against his forehead, over and over, and over again. He doesn’t fully register how Benson only watches, still caught off guard by everything pouring out of Randy. Watching him breakdown with front row seats.

“-and YOU don’t get to say if I should miss this or that. I get IT, I get that we’re not going back but I’m TIRED. Benson. BENSON.” 

His breathing was quickening and finally, finally, he felt Benson’s footsteps against the floor approaching him quickly. He felt the way Benson gripped his shoulders, pressing him against the wall behind him. He didn’t fully register his words. (“Quit it! Fucking quit it!  Get a grip of yourself, quit hitting your head!”)

Randy struggled against Benson’s grasp, his head thudding back against the wall that sent another spark through his whole body. Randy leaned his head forward, almost butting heads with Benson before slamming it backwards again. He repeated it again, and again. Feeling the ache on the back of his head as his hands scratched aggressively at his wrist now that he could no longer hit his forehead. 

The panicked.. Panicked? Panicked. He’s panicking? Randy could barely tell his surroundings as he’s getting dragged away from the wall, now pushed up to the bed. Yeah, panicked. The voice he’s hearing is panicked. The second thing he could identify were screams. Wordless, loud screams. Everything was quickly becoming a blur and the next thing he realized was that he’s laying down on a bed.

Something heavy sat right on top of his chest and he only realized he was thrashing by how tiring it became because, whatever was on top of him, was hindering him. One arm was grasped before being pinned down by something heavier. A knee, Randy distantly registered. The same happened to his second and now the only parts he could move was his head that thrashed left and right and his legs that kept kicking out but making contact with nothing other than the bed. 

A heavy hand made contact with his face again, this time covering his mouth. The screams Randy was hearing earlier began to muffle and that’s when he realized they were his own screams. His head began to spin faster and faster and soon the screams were fully dying down more, the only other thing he could pick up was the heavy breathing thudding against his skull.

And then his voice.

“Shut up. Please. Shut the fuck up. Randy, Randy- I’m sorry, shit. Calm down, just calm fucking down, Please.” 

Very distantly, Randy can process how panicked the voice is. Very distantly, he realizes the hand over his mouth is shaking. Very distantly, he starts to feel wet drops hit his face. Is he outside now? Is it raining? 

Very distantly, Randy processed his eyes closing and then registered nothing around him.