🚬

You shot your eyes closed and averted your head in an effort to protect the rest of your body. It was not only for the lack of pain that you knew Toby did successfully hit his target; it was the sudden, jarring shift in weight that fought against your grip. You did not dare open your eyes until the loud thud of the woman’s body echoed in the empty cabin.

“Jesus christ!” you cursed instictively, throwing away the left over head you were still holding. Taking two steps back you tried to regain confidence, shaking off your hands and legs hoping they would stop trembling. As you glanced around the room at the bloodstained floor and the ominous stairs leading down toward the basement, a horrifying question popped into your mind: “What about Tim and Brian?”

Toby scuffs seemingly annoyed your urgency to rescue the other two is more important than celebrating his perfect target. Nonetheless, he straightens his back and marches past you before coming to a full stop at the top of the stairs.

“You hear anything?” he asks in a whisper, lowering his ear. You mimic his motion and listen, but only the sound of your fast beating heart was audible. You turn to look at him, before looking down into the darkness, as if prompting him to go check it out. Toby doesn’t seem to accept the anxious negative head shake you give after he nodded his head for you to go first.

His lips move silently, forming the words as he mouths emphatically: “G-O-!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Here he is, a towering 6’2" man wielding a blood-soaked axe, fresh from decapitating a creature that resembled a human. Absolutely no way was he sending you into the fray first.

“Y-O-U,” you mouth fiercely, pointing at him with both hands before shifting your attention to the enveloping darkness. “G-O-!”

With an angry shake of his head, he insists, “Y-O-U,” his voice rising in a hushed shout. “GO!”

“You go!” you retort, whispering defiantly back at him.

“I’ll fucking go!” Tim hollered from the basement. “Can one of you two idiots come untie us already?”

You roll your eyes, a new sense of safety washing over you.

“No, no, give them a minute” Brian’s muffled voice followed. “I think they were just about to reach to an agreement.”

The four of you were scattered around the dimly lit room. The paint was peeling off the walls, revealing layers of faded colors long abandoned. Dust hung heavy in the air, dancing lazily in the single, flickering yellow light bulb that buzzed incessantly above. Its glow barely reached the corners.

You found Tim pinned beneath a heavy metal tool case with a crimson gash on his forehead oozing slowly. Meanwhile, Brian was jammed awkwardly inside a cabinet, his face flushed and cheeks stuffed with gear. His body was tense, but even he managed a deadpan “thanks.".

"We've got one in two pieces upstairs," said Toby, adjusting his sleevs with trembling hand.

Tim nodded, a smirk creeping up on his face, despite his plight. The approval from Tim, in this absurd situation, felt like a badge of honor. It was enough to make Toby's chest puff out with pride, as if he'd just scored the winning goal. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

“Where's the other?” you interjected, your voice cutting his cheerful moment short. It was the natural follow-up question. The thought of another cultist lurking in the dark made the hair on your back raise.

“Probably snuck out while we were busy,” Toby replied quietly, his gaze darting around the dimly lit room.

“And left her friend to die?” you countered, frustration creeping into your voice. The two men you turned to for support didn’t seem to share your unease.

“Well she surely didn’t back her up, did she?” Tim shot back, his eyes fixing on you with a confidence that only added to your anxiety.

“What if she does?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your glance flickered from Toby’s frown of disagreement to Brian, who was casually shaking the dust from his hoodie, seemingly unfazed. “We can’t just assume she’ll abandon the situation like nothing happened!”

Toby groaned, leaning his head back as annoyance washed over his features. Tim narrowed his gaze at him: a warning, before turning his attention back to you. He struggled to keep his tone gentle, trying not to amplify your anxiety, but the traces of frustration and irritation seeped into his usually warm brown eyes.

“I know they look human, and it's tempting to think they possess intelligence,” he began, his voice steady.

Brian rolled his eyes, expressing the exhaustion of having heard this lecture countless times before. He took a step toward the stairs, glancing back at Tim to gauge whether he was still needed before making his way up to the living room. Each step on the old wooden stairs creaked loudly, a sound that only deepened your discomfort.

“Go secure the perimeter, Tics,” Tim commanded the teenager.

Toby scuffed audibly: “You really m-mean to tell me you- you really mean t-t-to tell me you think the other one is still- Fuck- lingering around?”

“What are you, desne?” Tim retorted sharply, giving Toby a light shove against the sternum and stepping closer, effectively cornering him. Instinctively, Toby shrank back, trying to make himself small against Tim’s imposing presence. “Object again and I’ll make you a cripple that repeat’s himself by sunrise.”

A chill climbed up your spine as you darted your eyes between Toby and Tim. The microaggressions Tim was displaying surely made you feel so much calmer. Heart raced as Toby, face pale with fear, suddenly darted up the stairs without looking back. Pity washed over you as you watched him flee, but your own dread grew palpable.

Everything that happened so far finally came crashing down on you and became awfully aware of the danger lurkig in every shadow. The cultists, the operator, and now Tim, who stood with his back turned, an air of menace that curled your stomach in knots. You stiffened, breath hitching at the thought of what might happen next.

“I know they look human,” Tim started over with a tired exhale. “They are not. Closer to fish rather than dogs, actually.”

What on earth are you doing? You spent the last months of your life eating, sleeping next to the people who killed your friends. Not only had you laughed with them, helped them heal- you came to care for them. The guilt suffocates you, eats at you from the inside. Yet this heaviness pales in comparison to the unbearable fear swirling in your mind as Tim calls your name.

He looks annoyed, you think. Is this the moment he finally snaps? The thought sends another wave of anxiety crashing over you. Even if he doesn’t lose it, you know whatever lurking monster awaits you all will surely come for you. And deep within, you can’t help but think that maybe it would be exactly what you deserved after everything that had happened.

“Hey, hey- look at me,” his voice is hard to grasp, like a distant echo. You cannot hear the words he’s speaking, they remain irrelevant though. You were going to die tonight- you felt it so strongly.

Tim steps closer, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. When did you start crying? Your breaths come in shallow gasps, and the world around you feels distorted and menacing.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and you can feel yourself breaking down completely.

"Sorry, I’m so—" you begin, but your words are abruptly cut off by a hiccup. "I don't know why I'm crying, I'm sorry," you manage to choke out, feeling overwhelmingly ashamed.

Tim remains still, his hand tenderly resting on your cheek. He looks at you with what you might've mistaken for concern had you not known him.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Surprisingly, his calloused hand begins to ground you. The steps he took towards you were forgotten in the haze of your panic attack, and now, you came to the abrupt realisation of how close you two really were.

You look up at him through teary eyelashes, and the image of him blurs, much like the lines of your hostile relationship. After swallowing dryly, you accept how much you embarrassed yourself in front of him. Despite all your better reasoning, you allow your head to fall heavy in his palm.

Exhale.

His hand is rough, cool against your skin, and undeniably dirty

Inhale.

But it’s been too long since someone touched you, and if you just close your eyes shut, perhaps he will feel familiar.

Exhale.

His fingers move ever so slightly brushing your skin with care. You cannot recall anyone touching you so gently before.

You should open your eyes, sooner better than later. You know who he is, what he’s done. It’s unfair for you to find comfort in the very hands that have inflicted so much pain.

Inhale.