#tw suffocation

… 

You forget about that little spat a few months later. Cain, Abel, and Florian seem to be getting along even better than before, and you’re glad. 

Between the upcoming Paris trip, Cain being your art professor, Abel constantly telling the stupidest jokes, and Florian still being as romantic as ever, you’re under the illusion that life is as perfect as it’ll ever be again. 

But you’ve been finding little notes all over the place. In your room, in your backpack, in your notebooks… The contents varied. Sometimes it was “I know all your secrets.” Other times it was “You don’t deserve to be around others.”’

They could be hurtful, yeah, but you blamed it on Emily and paid no mind, tossing them out. 

It was fine, for the most part. You had been through worse before. If that was the best bullying that Emily could do, then it was pathetic.

You were simply having lunch with Cain and Abel before you got a text. Florian was in a counseling appointment, so you assumed he had gotten done early.

It wasn’t him though.

You didn’t even hesitate to block her. How stupid. 

You frowned and rolled your eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Abel asks, nosy as he peeked over your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you answer, shutting off your phone. “My dad’s just texting.”

You put your phone on “Do Not Disturb.” Paying no mind to it as you continue your conversation. 

It’s not until later when you check your phone again. 

You laugh it off until you scroll further down and find compromising photos of yourself. 

What the actual hell.

You can’t lie, you’re a bit freaked out now. 

You practically melt into Florian’s arms when he shows up at your front door, your father fast asleep in his room, thankfully. 

Florian is happy to wrap his arms around you, his comforting scent calming your nerves.

He gently leads you to your room, tucking the both of you under your covers as he holds you close.

“Now, what’s going on, darling?” he asks softly, hand caressing your face.

You can’t help but come completely clean, about the harassment, the notes, bullying, text messages, and blackmail.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit, tearful as you showed him the messages on your phone. 

Honestly, you expect him to be more upset about it but he’s surprisingly calm.

“You should’ve come to me sooner,” he only sighs quietly, “My poor darling, if only you had relied on me earlier they wouldn’t have needed to rely on such foul tactics.”

You can only sniffle into his chest, tears streaming down your face.

“I don’t think Cain and Abel will judge me, even if my photos are leaked…” you try to comfort yourself.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Florian adds, “You don’t know them like I do… you don’t study the human mind and behavior like me, love. They’re the type of people to use you and then stab you in the back. As awful as I feel to say it, I agree with your little blackmailer.”

Florian was smart. You knew that for a fact. So maybe he was right and you were just being irrational. 

“Besides, if you stop talking to them, the harassment will stop, right?”

You nod miserably against his chin.

“But they’re my friends.” you mumble.

“That’s what they want you to think,” Florian tuts gently. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll still have me. That’s all you need, right?”

“You’re right,” you sniffle again. “I only need you. As long as I have you then it’ll be alright.”

Florian’s smile tugs up at that, nearly sinister as his cheeks turned a rosy red. You were too busy hiding your face in his neck to notice.

…

After that, you started avoiding Abel and Cain. You didn’t reply to their texts, didn’t hang out during lunch, and barely talked to either of them. 

You missed them honestly, but Florian kept telling you it was all for the better.

The mysterious notes and text messages stopped as well.

“Stay behind class, [Name].” Cain’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. “You’re falling behind.”

You know for a fact that you’re not falling behind, so you know exactly what this is about. You know better than to argue with your “professor” in front of everyone else though. 

“What do you want?” you huff at the end of class once all the other students have trickled out of the classroom. 

“You mean what do we want?” Abel pops out from under Cain’s desk, like a rabbit being pulled out of a magician’s hat.

You can’t help but laugh. Gods you missed them so much. 

“Really? Laughing at a time like this?” Cain raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Dear Abel, they’ve actually gone insane.”

“I’m afraid so,” Abel just sighs sadly, leaning against the desk seductively. “They weren't even given enough time to appreciate how much muscle I’ve gained in the time frame of them ignoring us." he pouts playfully.

“I’m not ignoring you two,” you interject.

They give you a look.

“Okay, fine. So what if I’ve been ignoring you two?” you admit.

“Is it because of your boyfriend?” Abel asks, sticking his tongue out. “I never thought you two were a good match.”

“It is not because of Florian,” you huff. “Him and I are doing perfectly fine, thank you.”

“If that’s the case then why are you ignoring us and not him?” Cain asks.

It’s a game of push and pull before you tell them the truth.

“I’ve been getting blackmailed.” you sigh.

“You went down with something as simple as blackmail?” Cain can’t help but poke fun at you, though he does look concerned.

“What have you been doing to be so easily controlled?” Abel furrows his brows together, skeptical. “It’s not like you’ve killed someone… and like, even if you did it’s not like we’d judge you for it.”

Their words make you feel at ease. You knew they were friends. You don’t know why you would ever doubt them. 

You showed them the messages, all the content that was going to be used to blackmail you now exposed on your own accord.

“Seriously,” Abel laughs, “You look hilarious, if anything I’d make these pictures my new reaction pics, not like, harass you over them.”

“I really did think you were smart once,” Cain only sighs, scrolling through the rest of your messages. “I take that false preconception back. You’re incredibly stupid.”

You can’t help but be a bit offended. “It’s completely natural to feel threatened in this case-” you start to defend yourself. 

“No, not about that.” Cain rolls his eyes. “This is your boyfriend.”

You blink, “What?” 

“This unknown number. Your boyfriend is blackmailing you.” Cain expands, sliding your phone back to you.

You feel like your whole world just crashed down on you. It’s all clicking together now.

You can’t believe how much you blindly trusted him.

“Awkwarrrddd…” Abel breaks the silence. “Told you he seemed fishy.”

“I think… I’ll confirm with him later,” you mutter, a bit shaken. “But I’m just glad I don’t have to keep avoiding you two.”

“Are you sure you want to be alone with him?” Cain asks.

“It’ll be fine.” you say, assuring yourself more than them. “Florian isn’t like that.”

You would regret saying that in a little bit.

…

You go to Florian’s office later in the afternoon, still trying to figure out why he would do something like that.

“Hello, love,” he greets you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi,” you say back, not with a pet name or an affectionate return.

“I talked to Cain and Abel today.” you tell him.

You can see his face visibly darken in displeasure. 

“Were you the one blackmailing me?” you confront him. 

“What are you talking about?” he only acts clueless. “Why would I ever, ever, do that to you?” he frowns.

“You truly hurt my feelings,” he says. “What lies are those friends of yours feeding you?”

You're getting tired of this. Couldn't he just be honest for once?

“I’m being serious Florian, tell me the truth!” you yell, getting tired of this loop of lies. 

He returns your frown, dropping his act. “If that’s how you want to play, then so be it.”

His hands grasp your neck as he shoves you against the wall, his thin fingers suffocating you as you claw at his arms.

“All you had to do was be a good darling and listen to me.” he sighs softly. “Now, look at what you’ve done. You’ve gone and made things difficult for both of us.”

You gasp for breath, but you can’t freaking breathe and it’s not long before your consciousness slips away.

… 

You wake up in a cold place. 

Your eyes are covered completely, and trying to stretch came with the realization that your hands and legs were bound with something sticky. 

Your neck ached. 

Oh. Now you remember why.

Florian, your perfect boyfriend, choked you.

Apparently, not to death. 

You struggled against the constraints for a while before giving up. The first thing you needed to figure out was how to get the blindfold off.

A low chuckle sounds beside your ear before the blindfold is untied. 

How long had he been there, watching you squirm?

“Good morning dearest,” Florian has the gall to smile as he gets on his knees, laying his head on your lap lovingly.

You would kick him, but your legs are tied to the chair.

“Why?” you simply ask, voice hoarse and dry.

“I didn’t want to darling, I really didn’t,” Florian only says. “You made me do this. We could’ve stayed the same if only you listened to me and stopped talking to those two murderers.”

“It was going so well,” he sighs, as if deeply saddened, “you were listening so well, until they tainted you again. That’s why you have to stay here now, where no one can talk to you again. Where no one can touch you. No one, but me.”

“You’re insane.” you spit out.

As soon as she arrived home from the hospital, Emma realised she had lost her wallet. 

She patted her pockets, checked her jacket and her jeans - even the depths of her backpack, but no. It was gone. How could it be gone? She was sure she’d had it on the way out of the building…though, it was always a bit of a haze after a particularly rough blood test. 

Annoyed, she felt the buzz of a heart rate alert from her phone and forced herself to sit down on the hallway bench, taking some slow, careful breaths.

Surely someone would find it and turn it in. 

Only a scumbag would steal a wallet they found in a hospital, and it was only just gone seven, not too late at night yet. If she rested for an hour or so, maybe she could make the journey back out to the hospital and -

The doorbell’s chime went off like an explosion in the silent flat.

It made Emma jump and set her heart pounding even harder. Her brows furrowed, and she turned to the door, unconsciously putting a hand on her chest. 

She’d only just got home, who could it possibly be? 

With a heavy sigh, Emma slowly pulled herself up from the bench and made her way to the door, one hand trailing back along the wall for the extra balance in the low light of her flat. Just as she put her hand on the knob, a knock from the other side made her flinch. 

Why even bother trying to stay calm?

The peep-hole showed it was a woman outside. 

Well, they were wearing a large biker helmet - the visor showed nothing except the warped reflection of the hall outside -  but their figure was feminine. A low-cut black top with a ripped collar showed a floral, winding collarbone tattoo and the chapstick hanging amongst keys from the decorative carabiner on her belt loop was the same brand that Emma used. Possibly a woman, but definitely a biker.

“Can I help you?” Emma called through the door, watching through her little fish-eyed window as the biker reached into one of her cargo pants pockets and held up a wallet. 

“This is yours, right? Emma Cross?” She called back, somehow easy to hear despite the helmet on her head. 

It was, in fact, her wallet. 

Emma  was so grateful to not have to make another journey,  so relieved and caught up managing every little ounce of energy she could, that she didn’t even consider how the woman had found her address in the first place.

She opened the door with a weary smile. 

“Hi, yeah. You found it at Northwest Hospital, right?”

“Sitting pretty in the parking lot.”

The biker offered it out, and Emma got a peek of muscular arms and more tattoos under the rolled sleeve of her leather jacket. 

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” 

“Sure. Those are pretty nasty -“ the biker commented, nodding her helmet towards the bruises on Emma’s arm. 

“Oh, yeah…uh, I’ve got bad veins,” Emma said with a weak sort of laugh; out of habit she flexed the sore muscles, “Had to get like four sets of blood tests in the past couple weeks.”

“It must be hard being sick…” 

“Yeah, the doctor doesn’t really know what's causing - well, my issues. Still, gotta keep on living, right?”

But the biker didn’t respond to that. 

Just stood there in silence for a long moment.

Emma blinked, noticing from the corner of her eye that the biker’s fists were clenched.

In fact, she noticed the biker's chest was heaving just a little heavier than it had been a second ago, and for the first time realised she’d just been talking to a complete stranger who hadn’t shown their face yet. 

“Uhh…well, thanks for bringing my wallet, I’ll let you get back to your -“ 

The biker's hand slammed down on the door as Emma moved to close it. 

Her heart leapt into her throat and brought on a bout of hiccups; she took an unsteady step back into her flat as the biker took a powerful step towards her; “What are you doing? Th - there are cameras in my building -“ 

“Outside. Looking at the main entrance,” the biker interrupted, forcing Emma to flee further backwards as she took a calm step forward.

And as the shadow of the doorway fell over her, she pulled a knife from another cargo pocket. A ridiculous, sharp-looking thing made of black metal and surely too big to have fit in the pocket it came from.

“M - my partner will be home s -“ 

“You live alone.”

The biker took another step towards her; she took another halting step back.

“Stop - I’ll yell for help - I'll -“ Emma’s heart drummed in her ears, her eyes flicking from the knife to her own warped reflection in the biker's helmet visor, and back again, “- my neighbours will call the police -!” 

“Shhhh…” 

The biker eased further into the flat, never more than a couple of feet away from Emma, her knife close enough to kill. And once she got far enough inside, she slowly closed the door behind her and twisted the deadbolt with a loud clunk. 

Emma put a hand on the wall to steady herself and tried to blink away the spinning in her head.

 What was she supposed to do? 

Try to talk? Defend herself? Submit to whatever it was she wanted?

No one had ever prepared her for a fucking hostage situation in her own home!

“Please - I don’t have anything to steal, my - my television is twenty years old. My PC is cobbled together from cheap parts -!” She flinched as the biker raised the knife, feeling her stomach twist into a tight knot, “-but you can take it! You can take it, take whatever you want, just please -!” 

“Not much space to run in here, huh?” The biker asked, though her voice was husky and tinged with sarcasm.

Emma felt her heart in her throat, suffocating her with each beat. 

It was true she didn’t have much space to work with, but her phone was sitting in her pocket as heavy as stone. If she could get even a couple seconds locked in the bathroom at the other end of the hall, she could call the police and maybe scare the woman off.

But no matter how much she willed herself to run, to just do it, just break into a sprint and get safe - damn the consequences to her body - she couldn't. 

She found herself wholly frozen where she was, eyes wide and mouth hanging open like a fish caught on a hook, dangling, helpless, in front of a terrible fisherman.

“No…” she managed to wheeze, “I don’t…need much space."

It was all she could do to shuffle back on wobbling legs, her wallet on the floor, long since dropped.

"Can you even run?”

“N…not well,” she admitted through choked breaths, glancing away from the biker for the first time to look for her inhaler - which sat on the windowsill on the other side of the living room. It might as well have been miles away. 

The biker followed her eye line, and the knife clicked innocently in her hand as she gestured with it. 

“You can get it.” 

“I-it’s just my inhaler, I-” 

“I said get it.” 

“Okay…o-okay…"

Emma swallowed hard, carefully, slowly backing through the living room towards the window. The biker followed, looming like a shadow, her booted footsteps creaking on the floorboards; but the distance between them slowly grew - a few more feet, and then a few more, until Emma bumped into the windowsill and finally had to commit. 

If she could surreptitiously get the phone out of her pocket then maybe she could get a call off to the police before…before…

What if she got caught? Would the biker hurt her? 

She hadn’t hurt her yet…but...

There was nothing else but to try. Maybe she was dead either way. And it was getting harder and harder to think. 

With great difficulty, she turned her back to the room and cursed herself for putting up privacy film on the window - it was beautiful and looked like stained glass, but not a soul from the parking lot outside would be able to see her getting fucking murdered, and maybe call the cops…

So, she picked up the little blue inhaler next to her dying house plants. 

And she raised it to her lips with one hand, while shielding her other hand and slowly, carefully reaching down towards her pocket. 

Her fingertips brushed the edge of her phone…

And at the same time, the biker's body slammed into her from behind. 

It jolted her forward, knocking the inhaler out of her hand entirely and off the edge of the windowsill.

The knife came over one of her shoulders, and Emma let out a cry that was strangled by the biker's free hand clapping down on her mouth.

“You really think you’re cute, huh?” She mumbled - her voice clear, and low, and frightening despite the cool plastic of the helmet that pressed against the side of Emma’s face.

“Mmm - mm!” She shook her head, falling forward over the windowsill as the biker pressed more weight against her back. 

The tip of the knife danced down her, scratching a path through the sweat but not drawing blood. 

“Changed my mind, I want you panting.”

Tears sprung into Emma’s eyes, she shook her head again but the biker held her fast, her grip tight and fingers squeezing tight.

The knife paused at the collar of her t-shirt; “No screaming. Got it?"

“Mmgh…”  

Emma nodded slowly and blinked through tears as the biker’s hand let go of her mouth and smoothed down her arm - her bad arm, where the nurses had drawn blood from today. The biker rubbed her fingers over the tender bruise.

“I saw you at the hospital today,” she said, “I like watching you at the hospital.” 

Emma’s entire body stiffened.

“Wh…what?” 

“You forgot your chapstick last time. Your lips taste good.” 

The biker’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her hips back with a powerful yank, holding her tightly as she guided the knife over the bump of Emma’s breasts and the folds of her stomach. 

“S…stop…what're you…?” 

Each breath was a struggle, a whistling gasp for air. 

“I wish it could be today. You feel so good in my hands.” 

The knife trailed down one of her thighs. 

Emma groaned, seeing spots at the edges of her vision. Her arms gave out under her, and she fell forward onto her elbows - and the sharp point of the knife bit through her jeans,  into her skin. 

“Please…I-I can’t…breathe…” she wheezed.

“You were crying at the hospital. You tried to hide it, but I saw. I always see what you show me,” the biker said, letting go of her waist and crushing her bruised hand, leaning down so far that Emma’s head bowed forward, pressed up against the window.

“Pl...ease…"

 “You hate suffering, but you love having suffered. You want everyone to see how much you struggle. But you don’t want to have to say it…that’s alright. You don't have to say it to me.” 

Her vision was going dark and blurry; her head reeled, too heavy for her neck to hold. 

“Help…” Emma coughed through tears, “I can’t….I can't…”

“Shhhh, I know.” 

The biker knocked her knee into the back of Emma’s legs, and they buckled. 

She stepped away, just far enough to let Emma fall backwards onto the floor but close enough to catch her head before it hit the carpet. 

Like a shadow, the biker stood over her for a moment that felt like hours as she lay there, gasping for breath, on the floor. 

The floor…her inhaler…it fell on the floor…

Weakly, she fumbled for it - forcing her failing body to move, to turn over, forcing her blurry eyes to find it in the darkness. 

Then, her hand touched plastic. 

Emma grabbed the inhaler quickly, and forced it to her lips, taking a painful, deep breath of medicine and choking heavily on it.

Panicked, she took a second dose immediately, and nearly passed out from the rush of lightheadedness that followed. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on breathing, every muscle in her body trembling.

And when she was finally able to open them again, to look back up - the biker was gone. 

The door of her flat was unlocked and hanging open, and the motion lights in the hall flooded inside, chasing away the darkness. 

Muscles screaming in pain and a stinging heat was spreading on her thigh where the knife had drawn blood, Emma forced her arm into one final task - taking her phone out to dial the police. 

Once they were on their way, she lay back limply, coughing and crying.

It had been a horrific night.

But it was over…

It was over...