#oneshots.

in hindsight, you should have recognized that something was very off when you walked out your front door that evening.

the first sign was your car engines’ pitiful sputtering as it failed to rumble to life. you sat back in the driver’s seat, brows furrowing. you knew your car was old, but the recent check in the local auto - shop proved that she still ran as she was supposed to, engine strong. you leaned forwards, grabbing the key and giving it one more try, listening to the car as it once more attempted to start, but once more failed to do so. fumbling to get out of your car and look under the hood, you searched, but not being particularly savvy when it comes to vehicles, you reluctantly shut the engine and left the driveway on foot. you supposed you’d just have to walk to the store and back — thankfully only needing to restock a few groceries.

the second was the sight of a matte black van, parked across the street from the small market store. green to blue ombré writing scrawled along the side, yet the windows were darkened, making it difficult to tell whether or not someone was inside or not. regardless, you took small note of the unfamiliar van before you carried on with your late evening shopping, finding the foods you had needed and quickly getting in and getting out. it was late dusk when you exited the store’s comforting bright light, the last bit of sunlight illuminating your walk home.

the third was your last sign, a sign so glaringly obvious that even an idiot would have seen it a mile away. something that you saw as sure as daylight, and yet you fell for it all the same. you were only a couple of blocks away from your home, holding your brown paper bag on your side, propping it a tad on your hip as you walked. glancing around at the familiar street you lived on, one thing stood out. the matte black van with it’s scrawling green to blue ombré text on the sides. you walked further, trying to ignore the unfamiliar van, when your eyes caught something new. near the back doors, a sharp dressed man stood, two similar brown bags clutched in his hands, attempting to open the back. he seemed frustrated, yet kept trying. that was your third sign. it didn’t cross your mind then, but it sure did eventually : why didn’t he just put the bags down?

head throbbing, you grunted miserably, hand reaching up to press to your forehead, trying to subdue the muted pain. you were propped up again the cold, hard wall, sitting on an old mattress far too small for you, as if it was for children and not for adults. you had sat in this dank, dusty room for how long you were unsure of, not knowing how long you were out cold. could be hours, possibly a day or two. you only remember that man in snippets of you thought hard enough. you remembered his firm grip on your shoulders, the lock he got you in by him wrapping his arm around your neck just under your head, quickly drugging or sedating you. you remembered the feeling of your body curled into his chest as he carried your limp body down a flight of stairs, the disgustingly comforting smell of his cologne and the feel of the fabric of his black polo shirt. and you remembered how gentle he had been settling you down on the mattress, hearing his voice mutter some faint words out before he stood back up from crouching.

a click resonated through the room, dimly lit by the evening’s last rays of sunlight that streamed through a window too high up and barred. your eyes snapped to the large door as it painfully freaked open, a dark silhouette entering the room. you steeled your nerves, anxiety and fear ripping through you and yet you glared the most fierce glare you could manage as the man walked further into the room. he came closer until he stood right before the mattress, your body pressed as far back into the wall as you could possibly imagine. “well hello.” his voice was bright and friendly, eyes bright behind the devilish and dirty mask he wore over his face. you remained silent, but that didn’t seem to deter him. only irritate him ever so slightly.

“is your head okay? took a pretty nasty fall trying to get away.” his voice smiled, hand reaching out to caress your head. you pulled away, face stony as you retorted, “i’m fine.” with a snap. his hand stuttered, but retracted back to resting on his knees. you both stared at each other, silently observing. his gaze was sharp, narrowed, and from under his mask you could see how his jaw clenched. “what?” you snapped at him, trying your best to hide your unease. the air was tense, electrifying as he stayed where he was, stilled.

“why are you?-” he grabbed your wrist tightly, and despite the smiling mask he wore, you could tell how dangerously irritated he was. “be nice.” his voice was low, warning, his grip on your wrist slowly loosening. “i know you’re scared and you wanna go home.” he murmured, hand moving up your arm, sending chills running down your skin. “and i’ll take you home.” he paused, fingers moving to gently hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. you held your breath, the feel of his warm fingers on your skin enticing in the most wrong way. “but.. i gotta be upstairs.” he seemed almost reluctant to leave, but he pulled his hand away, eyes trained on you like you were his prey, his possession. “why?” you immediately asked, desperate to get as much information as you could possible. he shushed you, chiding, “nevermind why. i’ll be back later.” he moved to pull away, but you moved forward after him.

the grabber turned, catching your wrists in both of his own hands, making you freeze. you were still kneeling on the small mattress, him crouched in front of you. until he stood up to his full height, hands still gripping your wrists tightly. he looked down at you, fear flooding your stomach. but your mind slowly clicked into place as soon as you heard his almost wistful sigh as he observed you, eyes racking over your form from where you kneeled in front of him. a sickening feeling rose as your mind shifted into the gutter alongside his own. “well, would you look at that..” he hummed suggestively in that soft voice of his, your eyes widening. “let go!” you yelped, wrenching your hands from his bruising hold. he let you fall back, turning on his heel, door creaking to a close behind his leaving figure.

weeks have passed since that first encounter in your prison in what you figured was his basement. he had visited you many a time since, mainly to bring you food and drinks. this time, as he left, your hearing pricked at an unknown sound. you heard his leaving footsteps as he made his way up the stairs — yet you had never been able to hear that before. with a glance over, away from the same old scrambled eggs and bottle of water, you found the door had not been latched. putting the bottle down as quietly as you could, you snuck over towards the door, wrapping your hand around the latch like you had done many times before, checking with a dying hope that it would be what you were expected. you steeled your breath, and with a silent heave the door pulled open a few inches. eyes wide with hope, you pulled it wider, mind running away with the overwhelming joy at your newest hope. you finally had a chance to escape.

you soon found yourself creeping up the stairs, peering out from behind the door that remained wide open at the top. seeing no one in sight, you moved in to the fairly simple house space, noticing no one else around, until you moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. the first thing you noticed was the front door and it’s lock. however the second thing was less welcoming. you turned, and with horror quietly covered your mouth with your hands as you looked to the couches, finding his figure laying on his back, fast asleep, a frowning mask still on his face. his partially bare chest rose and fell with his breathing, one of his arms used as an arm rest under his head while the other resting over his stomach. the sight enough to make you pause.

before now, you had never been able to leave that basement for what felt like weeks, and neither have you seen him in any other context. seeing him now, asleep and vulnerable in the comfort and safety of his own home had you erupting in a mix of longing and raging, fear - fueled hatred. on one hand, this man was horrifically disturbed, stealing you away from your life, and who knows how many other’s he’s stolen and kept trapped? yet, as you stated down at him, observing the way his broad chest rose and fell, his large hand that laid comfortably over his stomach, how his feet hung over the edge of the couch due to his height, and how his copper hair splayed out against the couch and tickled at his jaw — it confused you on why your mind flashed with thoughts of running your hands over his chest, or thinking about his large hands gripping your skin.

you shook the thoughts away, huffing silently before turning to the padlock on the door, regaining your hatred and desperation to leave. you pulled at the lock as quietly as you could, finding yourself unable to open the door. you had no idea what the stupid number combination was. and yet, you weren’t done yet, no, far from it. creeping your way into the kitchen, looking and rummaging as quietly as you could through doors until you found a hammer in what seemed to be a miscellaneous mess drawer. grabbing the tool, you tested its weight in your hand, before deciding this would do. you crept your way back to the door, heart pounding. you knew he would wake up, there was absolutely no doubt about it. you needed to do this in one strike, and make your run for it.

you aimed your hammer, lining up the shot. you glanced back at the couch, assuring that he was still sound asleep.

the head of the hammer struck metal, the lock breaking off — old and rusty it seems — clanging to the ground. you kept ahold of the hammer, unable to hear if he woke up over your terrified breathing and pounding heart beat. you ripped the door open, and rushed out the door into the cold night air. the chill nipped at any skin left bare, the cold air feeling like a fresh slap to the face, a drink of cold water as though you haven’t tasted water in years.

your feet carried you as fast as your weak legs could manage, having been what felt like months stuck in that dark and dank basement. your feet ached, barefoot as you ran down the cracked and rough sidewalks on the streets you once loved and cherished. and yet, you spared a glance over your shoulder, and your blood ran cold.

bare - chested, the grabber sprinted after you, frowning mask slightly askew on his face due to having to rush out of the house after you. his striped cardigan whipped against his broad chest, threatening to fall off his shoulders and be lost to the night. that split second glance behind you was burned into your head, your chest squeezing painfully and a scream bubbling up in your throat, tears burning in your eyes. the sight of the muscular man running bare chested behind you, danger laced in his eyes which moonlight reflected in, it was absolutely terrifying. “no!” you choked out, voice cracking. you felt the scream in your chest rose, but before you could open your mouth, large hands shoved you to the side, landing in a hard face full of grass.

a strong pair of hands grabbed you by your hips, pulling you back and into his chest, both of you now sitting in some unknown neighbor’s lawn.

the air grew tense, and startlingly quiet. a gentle breeze blew by in the cool night air, contrasting the fear that made your body go rigid. you felt the heaving of his chest that was pressed flush against your back, clearly out of breath after having woken up and immediately sprinting after you. one arm was wrapped around your neck, not choking, but holding firmly in place with his bicep. you could feel his arms flex, tensed, not daring to loosen his grip in the slightest and risk you getting the jump on him once again. the other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you both down and pressing you back against him. you sat, pinned against him between his legs, and could feel the huffs of his hot breath that fanned down against your head.

from down the street, a light could be seen glowing from one window of the house. seeing your chance, you let the scream that had been building up rip from your throat, “HELP ME!-“ his hand that was gripping your hip shot up, covering your mouth while his legs came up to pin your legs down. “quiet!” he growled, silently huffing curses into your ear as you both watched with bated breaths as the porch light from that one house turned on.

the front of his mask bumped against your cheek as he leaned down, glowering as he whispered huskily into your ear. “make one sound and i’ll gut you like a pig.” the light flicked off after a couple beats of silence, and he quickly lifted you up and over his shoulder, carrying you back to the dreaded house in silence. in hindsight, you wish you would’ve seen the warning signs that fateful evening.

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"Ei, psiu."

"Helena, de que cor é o seu amor?", você me dizia enquanto eu passava os dedos pelas suas mechas multi-colores. Era mais uma daquelas tardes em que nós apenas nos sentávamos num canto do quarto para assistir um filme ruim - do qual nós, diga-se de passagem, não prestávamos nem um pouco de atenção. "Hm?", respondi, um pouco atônita. Estava perdida demais nos pensamentos. "Do que você está falando, Olivia?".

Você levantou-se para me olhar, aqueles pequeninos olhos animados olhando para mim enquanto eu te encarava como se estivesse sem saída. Você gostava de me deixar assim. "O seu amor.", você repetia, "De que cor é?". Pisquei repetidas vezes enquanto degustava cada sílaba, tentando achar o sentido que fora perdido. É claro. A sua sinestesia as vezes trazia essas perguntas estranhas de vez em quando. Respirei fundo e encolhi os olhos numa expressão pensativa, buscando para a melhor resposta.

Nunca entendi muito bem esse seu mundinho, sabe? Não sei porque você acha que meu nome tem um cheiro doce e diz com tanta convicção que ele é roxo. Pensei até em dizer que ele era roxo por isso, na verdade. Mas você me deixa de um jeitinho que eu não sei explicar; eu viajo junto contigo. Mordi o lábio inferior.

Seria o meu amor um tom radiante do vermelho, como dizem naquelas poesias românticas e tradicionais? Sinto que talvez ele seja um pouco assim, quando você passa aquele batom bonito que deixa seus lábios irresistíveis e passa seus braços pelo meu dorso, dizendo que não me quer longe de jeito nenhum. Sim, nosso amor é quente e confortável como a cor vermelha.

Mas ao mesmo tempo, há quem diga que azul é a cor mais quente. Eu me sinto meio azul quando você diz que vai embora e derrama lágrimas toda vez que temos alguma discussão e ninguém dá o braço a torcer, por mais que a saudade seja tão enorme quanto o oceano, e talvez tão azul quanto ele. No entanto, sinto ele um tanto amarelo quando você me leva para andar naquele seu parque favorito, cheio de girassóis. Ele fica amigável; aconchegante.

Esse sentimento também pode ficar meio verde quando você me pede pra fugir no meio da noite e fazer alguma coisa totalmente inesperada. Tenho certeza que ele fica tão esverdeado quanto as folhas que eu tento com todo cuidado não pisar em cima. Mas ao mesmo tempo, ele é tão cor-de-rosa quando você sorri para mim e fala alguma frase melosa que parece ter sido tirada de um conto de fadas!

Quando os primeiros raios de sol começam a adentrar pela minha persiana, beijando meus olhos como quem diz bom dia, sinto que é hora de levantar. Acredito que meu único motivo para me soltar das presas do meu cobertor é que seria extremamente desagradável deixar meu sol esperando. Ele teve todo o trabalho de passar as mãos quentes pelos meus cabelos, entende?

Sempre fui uma pessoa meio noturna. Minhas janelas sempre foram cobertas por cortinas espessas para que a luz do dia não pudesse encontrar-me. Não gostava de passear por aí sem longos casacos; aqueles de pele sensível não podem se expor tanto. Acho que essas coberturas sempre fizeram parte de mim de certa forma. Mas até mesmo a Lua, em todo seu reinado noturno, dá seu espaço para que o Sol possa respirar e sorrir e você me deu toda sua luz na medida certa.

Acho que foram os meus olhos que não se adaptaram muito com aquela claridade toda; por isso me assustei. Mas quem não poderia se derreter pelo seu sorriso caloroso? Todas as vezes que você me abraçava lentamente, como se tentasse entender aquelas crateras que toda lua tem, eu me cedia um pouco mais.

Assim como a Lua, eu tento reproduzir mesmo que um pouco do seu brilho. Não vim com essa capacidade maravilhosa que você tem, esse charme intrínseco entre suas pequenas explosões. A escuridão vai embora quando você entra. mas pobre de mim, que estou sempre rodeada de sombras. Queria eu ter seu sorriso sempre para me encorajar a deixar de lado o medo do escuro e dormir tranquila.

Prometa-me nunca parar de me iluminar, sim? Eu, como uma singela lua, não conseguiria viver sem seu calor todos os dias. Sinto como se fosse congelar todas as vezes que você vai embora. Fico encantada com tudo que você faz; mas meus meros olhos humanos não são o suficiente para contemplar toda sua beleza. Todas as vezes que sinto seus lábios quentes contra minha pele fria, eu me pergunto porque você, um astro de tamanha magnitude, não procura outro do seu nível.