#tw dehydration

"Why, why are you doing this?" He bravely asks with a quivering voice and huddled up in the corner. He rests his bound hands on his knees and tries his very best to disappear into the shadows. Shrugging, you walk forward, TV tray in one hand and pocket knife in the other. "Because she asked." Furrowing his thick brows, he flinches as you approach. "Who-" Gulping, he continues. "Who asked?" Your head tilts as you process his question; a dull gaze meets his frightened one as your dry voice responds. "My sister, who else?" Surprise and betrayal flicker across his face once you respond. Brows raised, you roll your eyes and crouch, placing the tray on the ground; you then reach forward with the knife. Talas flinches yet again, curling up in the corner to avoid your knife. He couldn't believe this; Olivia is the reason he's stuck here?! Rolling your eyes yet again at his cowardice, you waste no time yanking him forward by the ropes tied around his ankles. Predictably, he falls over as he's pulled towards you. "Quit cowering; she wants you alive."

This does not comfort him; instead, it worsens the dread within him. Your sister is the only reason he's unharmed. What if she changes her mind? Oh god, he's doomed, isn't he? The slicing of rope distracts him, and he watches as the fibers fall apart and land on the ground. He almost considers escaping until he realizes that his feet are still bound and you don't seem inclined to unbind those. You lean back, grab the tray, and bring it to him. "She wants you to eat." Oh, does she now?For some reason there is an unexplained rage within him at that sentence. His captor wants him to eat? In a show of rebellion, he tosses the tray out of your hold and pushes you away. Not that it does much; after all, you're much stronger than him.

Your vacant state does not relent as you acknowledge his disobedience. "I told her this wouldn't work." You stand, looming over him motionless for a moment. Discomfort crawls up his spine as your unforgiving glare remains, piercing into his innocent soul. "Guess you can starve." You croak, stepping away and turning without a second glance. Panic builds in his stomach as you walk away, panic at being left alone, at the potential idea of starvation. But rationale tries to chime in, assuring him that you wouldn't do that. After all, your sister loves him, and you mentioned that she wants to keep him alive. Surely she wouldn't let you starve him, right?

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Oh, how wrong he was. It hadn't been very long since you walked away, locking him in this wretched place, but it was long enough to start to wear him down. He did his best to count the time, but it was hard to do without a watch, and it was even harder to count the days without a calendar. He assumes it's been three days, though; he couldn't tell. Most of his time was spent asleep. What he did know was that he was thirsty, his throat was terribly dry, and he would do anything for a glass of water.

Tired eyes watch the ceiling, following the pattern of the concrete and drawing imaginary shapes on it. This is what he did when he wasn't sleeping; he occupied his mind. It worked, to an extent, but it can only do so much. When you first left, he had tried untying the rope around his ankles; sadly, whoever tied it did four different knots, and he was too weak to keep trying. Sighing quietly, he licks at his dry lips and curls against the thin mattress he's forced to lie on. Just as he was returning to the arms of Dreamland, the door swings open, and he shoots up, causing mild dizziness, and so he lies back down. His wary gaze watches as you enter; he notices the sweater you wear and the pants you paired it with.

Oh, and combat boots, how intimidating, he muses. Talas is so bored that he's started analyzing outfits, hurray. Catching himself, he steels his nerves and cautiously watches your approach. "Olivia wants me to check on you; she thinks you'll listen now." Your apathetic voice drones; clearly you disagree with her. Determined to ignore you, he eyes the door behind you; you probably locked it, but he can still fantasize, right? Exhaling softly, he blearily blinks his tired eyes and briefly glances at your face. Then he turns his gaze to your shoes; they're leather, he notices, and they're worn. They must be old; there are even a few stains on the bottom. He wouldn't be surprised if it's blood. Crouching, you reach for his face; he freezes as you force his chin up.

His fear fades for a moment once you bring a glass of water to his lips, and his exhaustion disappears for a moment. Talas' pale hands snatch the glass from your hand, chugging it desperately. You scoff, but he pays no mind. Once the glass is empty, you effortlessly pry it from his cold hands, and he nearly begs for more. Then confusion occurs as he tries to understand why you allowed him water. "Olivia wants you alive, remember?" Oh, right. "Why?" He croaks. Your gaze makes him feel stupid for asking. "Because she loves you, obviously." Anger, again, rushes through him, and he weakly forces himself to sit up. "Bullshit, if she loved me, I wouldn't be down here." But you don't lash out; no, you just stare, vacant and uninterested.

Then you tilt your head. "We all love differently, Talas." The way you address him sends shivers through his body; hairs stand as he tries to understand your dead tone. "Are you going to behave now?" Leaning forward, you place a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he tenses. "My sister made a wonderful meal for you." Your other hand soon joins the other and holds him still. "A delicious soup, I believe it's chicken noodle. She's been simmering it for a while; you really should try it." His stomach grumbles, ignoring the protesting of his mind, at the thought of warm soup, and his favorite at that. Wiping at the drool that begins to gather at the corner of his mouth, he tries to pull back. You don't let him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't eaten in three days; that's a long time for someone...like you." The subtle jab at his weight is not lost, but he's too preoccupied to care. Talas bites his lip, trying to distract himself from the hunger. "No." He murmurs, insistent on rebelling. You sigh, release his shoulders, and grab the cup, which you had previously placed down. "Oh well, I tried." Rising from your stance on the floor, you shake your head and turn from him yet again. He watches as you walk away, as the door locks yet again, and he's left in the dark. A small amount of regret begins to build in his gut, but he buries it under his stubborn desire to prove something. You come back a few more times that week, offering water every two days and constantly tempting him with something delicious.

But he persists, stubbornly refusing each time. It's around the fourth week that he starts to crack.You hadn't come down in nearly four days; he was again thirsty, but most notably he was lonely. Sure, you were a terrible person, but at least you visited him, unlike the woman you claimed loved him. 'If she loves me so much, why hasn't she stopped by? Why is it always you?' His treacherous mind begins to think. 'Why doesn't she intervene? Are you just using her as an excuse to hold him hostage?' Scoffing, he leans against the wall, a shiver wracking his body as the cold begins to set in. "Geez, some blankets would be nice." Talas murmurs, running his arms and then tucking his hands in his sleeves.

He leans his head on his knees and stares at the floor, avoiding the sight of his bruised ankles and fighting back tears. He never asked for this; he was just being nice. He doesn't want to be here. What did he ever do to deserve this? Sniffling, he buried his face in the fabric of his pants and hugged his knees tighter. Talas' pity party is interrupted by the lock of the door; it's you, it has to be you. His head shoots up, eyes wide as he watches you enter. Gasping, relief overwhelms him once he sees you walk in with a tray. You've brought him something, and it smells amazing. Stomach grumbling, Talas sits straight as you grace him with your presence.

Vaguely he registers the door slamming shut, acknowledging the fact that it was likely Olivia who shut it, as your hands are full. You casually stroll over to his mattress, greeting him with a snarky comment. "She's tired of your disobedience." You lean down, sitting on your butt and crossing your legs. "And I'm sure you don't want to drag this out, right?" He should've been irritated by that comment, but he was hungry and tired, so he said nothing and simply shook his head. Then you smiled at him, and he was shocked; you never smile, and yet here you were gazing at him with a victoriously smug glimmer. He found this mildly upsetting but was too starved to care.

Patiently, Talas waited for you to place the tray in front of him, and then he attempted to feed himself. Sadly, his hand was far too shaky to hold the plastic spoon, and you took it from him. He whines, assuming you were going to take his meal from him but was pleasantly surprised when instead you began to feed him. His poor delusional mind, worn from being stuck in a dingy basement with little to no light and absolutely zero outside interaction, felt a flicker of affection for such a simple act. Did this mean he was swayed? No, he still refused to accept the fact that Olivia loved him, but he was more permissive now, and that worked fine for you. It meant Olivia could finally start visiting him, with supervision, of course.The meal ended far too quickly for Talas' liking, but he didn't protest, simply grateful to be fed.

When you began to gather the utensils up, placing them in the empty bowl, he began to feel minor panic. Was he going to be alone yet again? His nervous gaze flickered across your empty face, and he hesitantly reached for your sleeve. Your eyes snap to his hand, and immediately you pull away; disgust crosses your face as you snarl at him. "Don't touch me." Wincing, Talas shrinks into the corner and curls his arms as tight as possible around his knees. Oh no, what if you hurt him? Yes, she wants him alive, but she never mentioned unharmed. Or did she? He doesn't know she hasn't talked to him. Your fierce expression lingers for a moment, then slowly dissipates, and you seem to move on from the interaction as you grab a napkin and dab at his face.