#dangerplasma

 You knew you couldn’t forgive him for what he’s done. He was selfish. He killed the others to stay on top. He tried to say it was for you, too, but you knew the truth. Lawrence’s only concern was surviving, and for some reason, he thought you were “worthy” to join him. 

He says he loves you, but you do not love him. Maybe if things continued like they were before, maybe you would have grown to… but not now. 

You were smart, though, and you caught Lawrence’s game. You know that you truly didn’t really get a choice of loving him or not. Soon enough, desperation and Stockholm would kick in. It was only a matter of time until he hardwired your brain to be as sick as he was. 

So you fought against him as long as you could. You would not eat, you would not talk, you would not even look at him until he forced you to. You refused to go down without a fight. You would not let him think that you were okay when you were not. 

Because of your stubborn reluctance and many attempts to escape the basement, you eventually fell ill. Which was… terrifying. You were at his complete mercy like this. You both knew it.

You knew Lawrence was growing short with you, but he never gave up. He was just as stubborn as you. He kept trying to take care of you, and now he could, whether you liked it or not. He could treat you with an unsettling softness. He could coax you and your ill mind that he was in love with you and only wanted to take care of you. He would always take care of you. 

You lay on the ground on several sleeping bags, a feeble attempt from Lawrence to create something more soft like a mattress. Your breathing comes out short and labored as he sits next to you, keeping you company while checking your temperature every so often. You needed to eat but you weren’t strong enough, so he had been feeding you on several occasions. You didn’t have the strength to push him away anymore. 

Lawrence was talking about something or other, but you weren’t paying attention. Your head, heart, body throbbed. You stare up at him while he puts together your meal, and he looks oddly at peace. The situation felt awfully domestic… A whimper eventually escapes you. 

His eyes meet yours. “Are you alright?” He asks. What kind of question was that?

“No,” you shake your head. “No, I’m not alright.” 

Again he places his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. You shake him off as best you can, wiggling from under your blankets as you grab his wrist. You want to pull him away, but… you don’t have the strength to fight anymore. 

You finally break in front of him, holding his wrist as you press his warm palm against your cheek. Your body shakes as you sob, your tears falling against and wetting Lawrence’s hand. “Why are you doing this to me?” Your voice is watery and cracks as you continue to cry. 

For once, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do. You’ve caught him completely off guard with your outburst. He only stares down at you with those wide eyes of his that were permanently fogged over with his lust for power and control. They were no different, even now as you fall apart in front of him. 

“Why do you keep acting like everything is fine…? Why- Why do you act like- like you didn’t kill our friends? You say you love me, but Lawrence… This isn’t love. This can’t be love,” You continue to cry into his hand as Lawrence stays quiet. Then slowly, tentatively, he comes alive again and wipes your tears away before cupping your cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and you shake your head. 

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did, but I am sorry for hurting you.” Lawrence sighs. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you cry.”

His words are sincere, but they mean nothing. You know this. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to protect and love you, because his love will always be wrong. It will always hurt. 

You let go of his wrist but his hand stays on your cheek. It slips down to your jaw, propping your head up so you will look at him. He’s overwhelmingly close. You know what he wants to do. “You can’t,” you whisper. 

“I know.” 

He does it anyway, leaning in and kissing your lips softly. It’s tender and sweet and vile. You lay below him, weeping as he kisses you again and again. 

You never kiss him back because you’re terrified. You’re terrified of how warm he is, how gently he holds you and how earnestly your heart flutters. You know that you hate him but you know that he’s all you have left. 

A horrible disease starts to root in your body that day. Lawrence planted it inside you with his hot lips and silver tongue, and now the disease is growing in your heart and lungs.