🍋Lemon Juice🍋

the only light in the room is a flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling over your head. even then, it’s weak. all that it allows you to see clearly are his hands as he pushes himself closer to you. he’s wearing those rubber dishwashing gloves, and even then, you can barely glimpse their original yellow through all of the red. 

you’re completely still for the excruciating amount of time it takes the man to get to you. even if you wanted to, you can’t move; you’re tied down to one of those folding chairs, the sort you might find in a waiting room. it’s fitting, in a way. 

“y-you’re really here, angel. finally…” 

time seems to stretch on indefinitely, as you’re forced to listen to the sound of his laboured breathing in the silence of the room, and for a split second, you almost laugh at the absurdity of the scene; it really does feel like you’re waiting for the inevitable. 

“do you know how long i waited for this? just kidding, haha. you obviously wouldn't. i forgot that, well, there’s no reason for you to.” helpless, you can only watch on as the stranger painfully drags himself closer, chest rapidly rising and falling. his arms are shaking when he stops, finally, right by your feet. “my sweet angel. i don’t blame you for that, it’s okay.”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. you hear him take a shaky breath. “haah. still, i-i knew this part was going to make me a little sad, y’know. for obvious reasons. but, still… you… this is kind-of-sort-of-really crazy because, like, you don’t even know who i am. you don’t know me… yet, i guess. but wow, yeah, you really don’t know me, now that i think about it. i mean, hah, definitely not like i know you—”

his head is bowed. but you can clearly make out is his size. he’s lanky, but taller than you. you consider if you would be able to knock him out and run for it until he reaches for your feet, with quivering fingers. 

“—but, my sweet darling angel, you will soon.”

it’s only when his hand wraps around your ankle that you abandon the idea. he’s shaking, but he’s strong. stronger than you. his hold on you feels like an anchor. like he’s keeping you in place, holding you down.

what the fuck.

although your limbs are bound by rope, you still jerk away from him, wincing as the rope chafes against you. the man flinches at your sudden movement, hands flying off your skin as if scorched. 

“oh.” he breathes.

for a moment, neither of you move, regarding each other with a mutual appraisal. you silently pray that your resistance hasn’t set him off. you’re not sure if you’re strong enough to stay still and let him touch you how he wants. you hear him swallow, before he reaches for the end of his gloves. with great care, he peels the bloodied rubber off. you try not to look at them, try not to acknowledge how they’re completely drenched in red. 

“p-please… please don’t be scared. um, i-i’m sorry. i get it—i’m sorry, my darling angel. i just k-keep getting ahead of myself and i know i should be more patient and slow and i really do promise that i’m trying.” even though you know he’s frustrated, the words come out more whiny than anything else.

he takes a shaky breath, “i’m trying to be very good for you and as patient as i can be but i need to—i need to just feel you. i need to know you’re real. like, you’re really here and i can just hold on to you. i, well, i need to know i’m not just dreaming. because, i mean… d-don’t laugh but… i used to, y’know.” strangely slow, he flexes his hands in his lap, giving them a curious once over before he finally, finally, lets himself look up at you. and now, beneath the little light buzzing above you, you see him. “because i used to, angel— i used to dream of you. haha, you probably think i’m really weird, don’t you..?”

his face is covered in a sheen of sweat. his adam’s apple bobs nervously as your eyes are drawn to the small, pale patches on his otherwise tawny skin, which are flushed an incriminating red. his bangs are overgrown, shifting with every other blink as he looks up at you from behind the thick black frames of his glasses. his eyelashes are long, causing the overhead light to cast shadows down his gaunt face. but that’s not what catches your attention. it’s when you follow the dark lines under his eyes, and meet his stare—

“for the longest time… that’s all you were to me. a dream.” he laughs, but it falls flat. he’s looking at you when he says it, but he’s not really there. “i would sleep, just to see you again.” he confesses. his eyes are eerily dull, even his words seem to slow down. “when i woke up, every day, i just wanted to die. i hated my life enough to consider it… but then i would go to bed, and every night, again and again… you would be there.” 

his gaze sharpens then suddenly, as he snaps out of it. once more staring at you with unnerving lucidity, as he returns to his bashful self. “except now it’s different! now you’re really here… you’re like my saviour. like the light of my life. no, no. more like the— more like the love of my life. ah, it really was always going to be you, angel. nobody else could ever be enough.”

oh my god. he’s crazy.

the man’s pupils are unnervingly dilated. from where you sit, it looks like his eyes are almost completely black. he turns to the side, averting his gaze almost shyly as you continue to stare at him, still in shock.

“...please don’t look at me like that. it’s…” his voice turns strangled, awfully low. “it, erm, it overwhelms me.” it sounds like he’s forcing the words out. his expression is so pained, you would think he was as upset at this as you if it weren’t for the way he keeps readjusting his pants, and attempting to angle himself away from you. 

“i-i mean that in a good way. obviously. or, erm, even not obviously,” he winces. “like, i can see how that could be misconstrued. but i just mean it in. like, a ‘you drive me crazy way’ i promise! i’m not, like, a creep or anything! haha. obviously not, but fuck… when you look at me that way… i…” he shudders. 

it’s upsetting how apologetic he seems, even when his fingers shamelessly reach for your bare foot again. you’re not wearing any shoes. in fact, you aren’t wearing much at all. there’s a gap in your memory between going to bed last night and waking up… here. 

you’re guessing he took that opportunity to dress you for the occasion, since your new outfit’s all blushing teddy bears and smiling love hearts, the sort of ostentatious thing you’d see on the clearance rack after valentine’s because nobody actually wears shit like this. except, apparently, they do—because he’s wearing the exact same pants. risque matching couple’s pyjamas for your death day.

he’s insane.

you try pushing away from him again, except this time, he holds on to you with more force. you jerk your knees away from him and he falters momentarily, before his fingers curl around your ankle even tighter, his other hand’s palm sliding up your shin almost reverently. “please don’t struggle. it’ll just tire you out and, erm, the rope will dig into your skin and i really don’t want you to get hurt, angel. you should try and, well, enjoy it. haha, i know i will. sorry, that was kinda lame. what i’m trying to say is that i just, um— i just can’t really stop myself. sorry.” he sheepishly grins up at you. 

it’s hard to object when he starts peppering kisses along your leg. they start off relatively tame, before eventually becoming sloppier, and increasingly shameless until he’s practically sucking at the skin. it’s mortifying, the way he keeps his eyes trained on you, as his mouth moves down towards your feet. he licks your heel with a strangled whine, and you wince at the wet sensation of his tongue slowly running up the underside of your foot. 

all you can do is close your eyes; it’s hard to say anything at all because of the duct tape. 

he’s clearly enjoying himself. you try to ignore the sounds he makes. which is why you notice his silence before you realise he’s stopped. he’s not touching you anymore, you can feel that much, but you’re not sure you want to open your eyes. this is it, you think miserably. he’s already gotten bored of me.

“angel?” he sounds unsure. “c-could you look at me? sorry, i meant— um, please.” he amends. “could you please look at me? angel? it’s just that, well, i-i don’t like when you look away. sorry, you think i–i’m stupid, i know but this is the first time that you’re, well, noticing me, i guess. it’s the first time i can look at you looking at me, and it would mean so much if you could just, erm, open your eyes, pretty please?”

not willing to find out what happens when you don’t listen, you open your eyes just as the man stands, straightening to his full height. he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. he gnaws on his lip absently. he looks like he’s thinking about something. all that you can focus on is the fact that even with you tied to the chair, he’s double your height like this. 

and that really scares you. 

he’s finally going to kill me, you think. you’re about to die on valentine’s day in some delusional creep’s decrepit basement, and there’s nothing you can do about it. i’ve already seen his face, there’s no way he’ll let me go now. 

you burst into tears.

you can't speak coherently but you can cry, even though your incoherent sobs are muffled by the duct tape plastered over your mouth. the stranger immediately panics, his eyes wide and alarmed as he hastily wipes away your tears with shaking fingers. “no, no, no! don’t— don’t cry! please. i-i can’t bear seeing you sad,” even his voice trembles as he nervously flitters around you. “was it me? was it something i said? i-i’m so sorry, my love,” his voice breaks. “just— don’t cry, please. i’m sorry. cross my heart, i’m so so so very very sorry, darling angel. i promise i didn’t mean to make you sad, i really really do want you to be happy.” 

he’s anxiously biting on his nails, stopping abruptly only when he sees how scared you look. forcing his hands to his sides, involuntarily flexing out his fingers with what you think is the effort not to chew on the raw, peeling skin. but despite his best efforts to calm you down, the tears keep coming. 

“okay, okay, erm, let’s see— how about— how about, uh—” your whole body shakes from the sobs, growing more sore as you repeatedly shift against the abrasive ropes. it hurts, you think sadly. it really, really hurts. the man gnaws on his lip, still trying to console you. “how about i make you a promise. what do you think, darling? doesn’t that sound nice, angel? if you stop crying i’ll, um, i’ll leave..?”

just let me go.

you immediately quieten, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the sobs. you calm down enough for the tears to only be accompanied by an occasional hiccup. he visibly withers at your efforts to get rid of him, though his lopsided smile doesn’t waver. if anything, he looks extremely relieved once you finally settle down. except now, neither of you are sure what to really do. he shuffles his feet, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands. you look up at the man expectantly, and though you can’t speak in your current predicament, you’re sure he understands what you’re trying to say.

let me go.

he hovers over you, unsure, and clearly not wanting to leave. “o-of course, i’m not leaving forever ‘cause, like, i can’t leave you down here all alone— and neither do i want to, obviously.” he rushes to clarify. “just for a little. and then after that, maybe you can talk to me... i-i really want to hear your voice. i want you to talk to me. i want to have a… well… i want to have a real conversation with you,” he confesses quietly. “we’ve–we’ve never done that before, you know. i’ve only ever seen you speak to other people.”  

“anyways,” he sighs. “i do think i, erm, owe you a bit of an apology for… y’know.” in an attempt to further comfort you, his hand moves to your hair. “i’m sorry, my darling. i-i think i got a little, uhh, overexcited earlier. a little ahead of myself, maybe.” he hesitates to freely touch you, so his movement is disjointed as he awkwardly pats your head. it’s incredibly nerve-wracking, not only because of his trepidation, but also because of how hot and sweaty his clammy palms really are. “but please don’t worry.” 

it feels like he’s copying something he’s seen someone else do but never actually tried himself. at some point, it feels less like a pat and more like he’s… petting you. “i would never actually, like, hurt you. no, no, i’d kill myself first before i ever do that to you. it’s just that— well, i just— i want to love you.” he looks sad. “because i— i really think that nobody has taken care of you in the way that you deserve. nobody’s been as gentle as they should have. isn’t that why you're lonely? why you were going to spend today alone?”

he’s just crazy, you tell yourself. he’s insane.

“a-and there’s also the fact that i, erm, want you to… also… love me… back...” he blushes furiously, chewing on his lip hesitantly. “and, uh, i know you’re sort of anxious right now. i should have told you all of this as soon as you woke up but, well, you just looked so… well. y’know. haha. sorry, i get kind of crazy about you and it’s like i lose my head and, like— ah, shit. see? wow, i guess i’m really not doing a good job of this whole… thing. i’m sorry again, my sweet angel.” he laughs weakly. 

“you just do that to me, y’know? it’s like i lose a little more of myself everytime you’re near me. and now that i have you— a-all to myself, i mean. i can… i can touch you. i can talk to you, and this time, you can actually say something back. i don’t have to sleep to see you…” he collects himself, closes his eyes momentarily as if reigning in his frustration. “i already said that, didn’t i? fuck.” 

he looks visibly upset by this point. you can tell by the way his eyebrows furrow as he considers you. he takes a steadying breath. withdraws his hands back to his sides, before kneeling in front of you. 

he looks up at you with those big, doe eyes of his, and you can’t help but think about how earnest he seems in this moment. so hopelessly devoted to you, staring down at him in abject horror as he sits before you, sweet and hopeful. 

“what i’m trying to say, my angel,” he says very carefully, mindful not to ramble, “is that i took you because i love you. i love you because you’re you, i love you because i’m me. i love you because i love you.”

you feel like crying all over again.

he continues, “our house is all ready for you. i’m all ready for you. there’s a beautiful life waiting for you here... with me.” he smiles, and this time you can tell it comes to him easier, a rare thing he is so sure of that he doesn’t need to trip over his words as he confesses it to you. “and, well, you just have to be ready for it in return.”

he looks bashful then, rubbing his neck awkwardly. 

“and, well, i also sort-of-kind-of-maybe took you today ‘cause it’s valentine’s day. and…” he swallows, “i’m obviously your valentine. and you’re obviously my valentine. and i thought that today would make for the perfect anniversary of our new life together. the day of love, y’know?” a flash of hurt crosses his face, and his voice wavers momentarily. “yeah… i know. i know it’s probably really stupid to you, but…” his gaze drops to your lips. “to me, it means everything.”

he looks so genuine. he sounds so heartachingly sincere. in other circumstances, you might have even felt sorry for him. because although you’re aware that you can’t speak or scream or beg, that doesn’t stop you from putting on a show of it. the hope is that he’ll feel bad for you, seeing you try to talk against the duct tape, wincing at the pain. your pleas sound incomprehensible, even to your own ears, muffled and ultimately silenced. 

but not unheard.

“i’m so, so sorry, my angel.” he mutters apologetically. “i can’t take that off because, y’know... you’ll scream. i mean, not that anybody will hear you… but i still don’t want you making too much noise. well, that’s actually not entirely true, haha.” he immediately looks embarrassed, rushing to shake his head. “n-not that we have to do anything you don’t want to, obviously! i-i want you to like it just as much and, well—i want you to, erm, want me… too.”

he drags his hands over his face, in a futile attempt to hide the warmth that deepens the colour of the pale patches on his face to a flushed pink. “can i, uh… can i kiss you?” he asks, peeking at you through the gaps of his fingers, wincing at each word he says out loud. bracing for rejection, already. you almost laugh. 

it’s not like you could say no, even if you wanted to.

so you don’t.

instead, you nod, desperate to get the duct tape off. the man falters, visibly surprised. his eyes widen and his mouth trembles, as if he’s about to speak, but he never manages to get there. if the cost of your freedom is just one kiss— if you could just call for help—

it could be enough. for an escape.

it could be worth it.

silently, with trembling fingers, one hand turns your face towards his, palm against your cheek, still damp from your tears. you close your eyes in anticipation, bracing for the pain of having the duct tape finally peeled away, only for the pull to never come. in its place, a tentative pressure. soft, unsure at first. then, growing sloppier in its excitement; messy, amateur movements. his nose, bumping against yours. a nervous giggle.

he kisses you over the duct tape. 

the tape crinkles between you, catching on the scratchy stubble along his sweaty upper lip. he exhales against it, warm and uneven, and the sound is awful. the sound of your name, between his awkward movements, is even worse. 

and then you feel his tongue.

it’s grotesque. something wet against the shape of your mouth beneath the tape, a hesitant swipe, slow and searching; his tongue drags across the smooth grey surface, and again, you get the feeling that he’s mimicking something he’s only ever seen before. his nose knocks clumsily against yours again, as he smiles against you. “so cute…” he shakily breathes, “angel— my angel. i love you.”

“i love you.” the adhesive tugs at the corners of your mouth when he presses harder into you. “i-i love you.” he deepens the kiss, chasing a fantasy; uncaring that you stay deathly still beneath his lips, as they move once more to plaster open-mouthed kisses all over your chin, slick with his saliva. he says your name after each and every one of them, with such reverence, it sounds like prayer.

to him, you think, it may as well be.

“i love you...”

when he pulls away to catch his breath, there’s an obscene sheen to his chapped lips. even in the dim, flickering light, you know it’s his own saliva. you know it’s also plastered all over the tape on your mouth, can feel it smeared across your face, along your jaw, the shell of your ears. the man pants, his glasses fogged up so that you can’t make out his eyes. he takes them off, wiping them against his shirt, the speckles of blood you’d glimpsed on it earlier now dried. it makes no difference to him. he doesn’t care.

his attention remains transfixed on you. yours, on him.

you wonder why he’s so unusually quiet. and then, after he puts his glasses back on, you watch him rise to his feet, and realise what the reason for his silence is. “s-sorry, darling. erm,” he peers up at you through his lashes, gnawing on his lips. “i-i have to take care of… something.” though it’s a small consolation considering your circumstances, he at least has the shame to cover the patch darkening the front of his pants, as he presses the heel of his hand against himself. he ducks his head, giving you a sheepish grin. “i’ll, um, i’ll leave you alone for a bit, then.”

and then he stares at you. 

and you don’t know what he’s looking at.

you don’t know what he sees.

what you know is that before he leaves, he gently brushes away your tears. 

you hadn’t even realised you were crying. 

“my sweet angel. i know… that you’re not very happy with me right now, but…” he looks a little sad as he looks down at you, something impossibly gentle in his gaze. the way he looks at you is almost reverent. “you could be. we— we could be. everything is already waiting for you.” he smiles, “you just have to be ready to accept it in return, my darling.”

you close your eyes. i— i really think that nobody has taken care of you in the way that you deserve. nobody’s been as gentle as they should have. isn’t that why you are so alone?

and then, he finally, finally leaves. you hear a door open, then close. you hear a lock click, the echo of his steps on stairs that go somewhere far beyond your reach. the light above you flickers, humming in the silence, suddenly unbearably loud. you wonder whose blood had been on him earlier, you wonder why you’re really here—i took you because i love you.

i love you because you are you, he had said earlier. i love you because i love you.

you wonder what that means. 

Curiosity tugs at you, wondering what pushed them to consider doing this, so you sit quietly. The person drives for a while, not noticing that you're looking at them. The sun starts to set, and the road turns to gravel under the tires. They turn into a dark alleyway, parking the van. When they get up to come into the back, they startle at your nonchalant expression.

"You—I thought I knocked you out."

You raise your brows.

"Uh well, you just kinda threw me back here."

They pause. Did they...forget?

"Oh. Um, well. Thanks for not trying to escape."

You blink, struggling to not burst into laughter. They grab your elbow, pulling you up and out of the van. The door slams shut behind you and the person is dragging you down a set of stairs into the basement of a building. You walk down a long hallway to a door that looks ready to fall off the frame. They unlock the door, surreptitiously looking around before pushing you in.

They direct you to sit on a couch that has clearly seen better days, riddled with cigarette burns and various stains. They pace in front of you, their steps growing more frantic with each pass by. You reach out to grab the sleeve of their hoodie.

"So, what am I doing here?"

They glance down at you, dark brown eyes flitting over your form.

"I—I don't know. I thought—I just—I just wanted some company and I got to thinkin' bout it and I—I'm so sorry," they say, bursting into tears.

You stand up, alarmed, and pull them into a hug. They sob into your shoulder, clutching you with a desperate intensity. You let them cry, rubbing soothing circles into their back. Despite them kidnapping you, you feel terribly bad for them. If they were distraught enough to resort to kidnapping someone for company, they must have needed it something awful.

Eventually, they calm down enough to let you sit them on the couch. You rifle through their kitchen, finding a packet of hot chocolate. You fill a cracked mug with some water and place it in the microwave. You can hear the person still sniffling. You glance around the basement apartment as you wait for the water.

It's old, the wallpaper peeling in some places and the furniture scuffed. It's not very clean either, dishes stacked in the sink and on the counter, the trash can overflowing. Oh dear.

The microwave beeps, pulling you from your thoughts. You mix the packet of hot cocoa in, stirring it with a tiny teaspoon, the only one that was clean. You look in the fridge, sniffing the half empty jug of milk. You add a bit to the mug, then bring it to the person. They take it hesitantly, sipping at it.

"Thanks."

You nod, sitting next to them.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Uh, it's Briana."

"I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

Briana hunches over the mug. At some point, they pull the ski mask off, releasing a shoulder length afro. The hoodie gets pulled off too and the gloves. Your first thought is that Briana looks very, very tired, dark circles under her eyes. Her brown skin is ashy on her elbows and knuckles, and her t-shirt is wrinkled. She notices you looking and gets fidgety, chewing on her bottom lip.

"S—Sorry, I—um, I haven't showered in a while," she says.

She finally looks directly at you, her expression that of someone who expects to be scolded. Her jaw is square and her cheeks round, thick eyebrows drawn low over her eyes. You feel your face grow a bit warm. She's very pretty, you think.

"It's fine. Happens to everyone sometimes," you say.

She freezes, then relaxes slowly, letting out a shaky sigh. She gulps down the rest of the hot cocoa, setting it down on the coffee table a little too hard.

"Look, I—I didn't mean to—well, I did, but, um, since I kidnapped you, please don't—please stay for a while," she pleads, her eyes glassy with tears again.

Her expression reminds you of a puppy and your heart twinges. How can you say no to a face like that?

"I'll pretend you tied me up," you smile.

"I—I wouldn't! You—You can move around."

"I think I might do some cleaning, though."

She flushes.

"That—That's—I was gonna clean up. You don't have to—"

"It's fine. I like cleaning."

You flex your bicep, grinning. Briana looks very embarrassed, but makes no move to stop you as you begin clearing out the kitchen sinks. You hum as you work, scrubbing the sinks clean and filling them with hot water and soap. You wash the dishes, placing them in a dish drainer. It doesn't take you long to have the kitchen sparkling, all those hours spent working as a dishwasher serving you well. You take out the trash as well and sweep the floor. By the time you're done, the kitchen and living room look like different rooms.

Briana looks stunned at your quick work, then smiles at you gratefully. You move on to the bedroom and bathroom, starting a load of laundry and scrubbing out the bathroom tub. You put a fresh set of sheets on the bed, setting Briana's plushies back carefully. She comes in after a while, and when you leave for the laundry room, you see her jump into the pile of plushies, smushing her face into them. The sight makes you chuckle to yourself.

All in all, it takes you about three hours to clean the apartment and two more to finish the laundry. Briana looks ecstatic about the clean clothes, immediately hopping into the bathroom to shower. You flop down onto the bed, stretching your arms out. You're glad you could help someone out for a change, instead of just sadly watching from the sidelines. You feel a sense of accomplishment for helping out.

Briana steps into the bedroom an hour later, freshly clean and lotioned, her hair in a sleep bonnet. She hands you a pair of shorts and a shirt so you can shower, again flopping into the plushies when you leave. What a cutie. You giggle to yourself.

When you come back, she's snuggled under the covers, already half asleep. She makes a grabby motion for you and you acquiesce, letting her pull you into the bed. She nestles behind you, holding you to her chest. She quickly falls asleep, her soft snores luring you to sleep as well.

In the morning, you discover that Briana has latched herself onto you like an octopus. You carefully peel her limbs off of you, stuffing a large unicorn plush in your place. She nuzzles into it, still fast asleep.

You make breakfast, eggs and toast, placing a plate in the microwave for Briana. You write a note to her, saying that you have to go to work or you'll get fired, but you'll be back this evening.

You never imagined that you'd want to come back to the apartment of someone who kidnapped you, but there's just something her. Perhaps it's pity for someone who is struggling so hard or the urge to give her what she wants. Either way, you find yourself wanting to get to know her better. You can't fault her for wanting someone to care for her.

You sign off the note with a silly doodle of a dog, leaving it on the nightstand next to the bed. You gather your things and leave, thinking about buying her some groceries after work.

Briana panics when she wakes up and you aren't there. She tears through the apartment, only noticing the note when she searches the bedroom a second time. She holds the paper with trembling hands, reading your words over and over again. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

You just left for work. You'll be back tonight. There's no need to freak out. She presses the note to her chest, like she's hoping it will suddenly become you. She's only known you for one night and it's already enough for her to have become attached. You were so sweet with that gentle smile of yours.

Briana couldn't believe her luck in finding someone so kind and generous, who helped her because they wanted to, not because they wanted something out of her. It felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders when she saw the clean apartment and her closet full of clothes again. It had just gotten so bad, too much, too hard. You must have been a blessing from god.

She walks to the kitchen and pulls the plate of food from the microwave, happily eating. It's not much, but the fact that you made it for her makes it taste all the better. For once, Briana feels like she can breathe without the worry of everything crashing down around her.

She hopes to god you come back. That you won't be another disappointment. You have to come back. You can't just show her such kindness and then cruelly rip it away. You gave water to someone whose throat was parched, who realized just how much they needed that water. She'd kidnap you again if she had to.

She glances at the note again, smiling to herself. Your little doodle is cute, though she's not sure what animal it's supposed to be. Her finger traces over your words, engraving them into her heart. Finally, something worthwhile listening to.