Cait

You didn't think much of it at first. Bobby had disappeared, one minute he was here and the next he was gone. He had left a note, saying something about a research project with Kat and his boss, Clark or whatever. You couldn't help the subtle sting of knowing he was with Kat, the sharp pinprick of a needle telling you that you weren't enough. Kat was probably funnier, probably understood him better. You knew the thoughts were ridiculous, caused by your own insecurity but Bobby didn't exactly help with those thoughts, in fact he aided them.

But you let it go. Like you always did. Always letting it go like the carbon dioxide your body expels.

One week.

Two weeks.

Three weeks.

He still hadn't come back. It had been three weeks and he was still on a 'research project'. Three weeks was a long time, you had heard nothing from him or from Kat, not that you expected to hear from her but the point still stands. That was the first time you went to the police. You reported him missing, along with Kat. You knew enough about her to be able to report her disappearance alongside Bobby's. You had let it go on too long, three weeks was such a long time but Bobby was unpredictable. Sometimes he'd just take off, he always came back though so you never had to worry. Not until now.

You saw the look on the police officer's face when you said how long it had been. The silent judgment, it hit you harder than a punch to the gut. A neglectful girlfriend, that's what you were. He probably thought that you didn't care, that you didn't notice his disappearance but you did. You always did. When Bobby went off on his adventures with his friends, you always felt the empty space which he usually occupied with his body, with his attitude, with his mere presence. When he leaves, it creates a mass so large it feels like a black hole. You just dealt with it until he came back, the pressure would relive and things back normal again.

You answered questions to the best of your ability under the scrutinising eye of a police officer, you are sure that you were a suspect. Crazy girlfriend and all that, you're sure your late report of his disappearance didn't help with their suspicions. But you knew the truth and they did too, or at least you hoped they did eventually.

A month had passed. Missing posters had been put up around the entirety of Santa Clara, their faces plastered onto paper, stamped onto wooden posts and trees. The only physical proof of their existence currently, the only proof that they were here. You can't tell if it made things better or worse. When you finally manage to wrangle yourself out of bed to get shopping (long overdue), you are greeted with so many pictures of Bobby's face. The same picture, that picture with his head tilted, a slight side smile like he was incapable of giving a full one, as if it would make him too vulnerable.

One month became two and then two became three.

There was no hope anymore, you knew that, you understood that. But it didn't stop you from staring at the landline for something, for anything. You can't tell if you were waiting for the police to say they found Bobby or if they found a body. Perhaps both, waiting for something that would give you the semblance of closure.

You wanted closure, you wanted to be able to close the book, to feel the cover of the book getting shut beneath your hands. You couldn't help but think over your last day with Bobby. Of course, at the time you didn't know it would be the last day. If you did, maybe you wouldn't have argued, maybe you wouldn't have spent the day glaring over at him while he toyed with his camera. Arguing over a lack of attention seemed stupid now, you complained about the fact he barely even pays attention to you and now he was gone. The universe had a sick sense of humour.

The smell of him in your shitty apartment is gone now too, the slight stale smell of weed mixed with the soft scent of sandalwood. His cologne sat on your bedside table. You had used it at first, just on the pillow that laid under your head to help you sleep but now you were too afraid to touch it. Scared that one day it would run out, that the smell which was so uniquely his would too be gone from your life, you would only be able to remember it. And overtime, you'd forget the keynotes. It would be a slow process, you wouldn't be able to avoid it.

There were other physical reminders, jorts which had been left in the corner of the room. Jewellery which you could find across your entire apartment, in the cramped living room, on the beside table, in the kitchen, even in the bathroom. There was always something, a ring, a chain, a bracelet. You had taken to wearing some of them, your thumb was embraced by a silver ring he often wore. It grounded you, it kept you sane. The cool metal kept him in your mind, kept him alive. The weight of it refused to let you think of him in a past tense, like he was a part of your past and not your future. A reality that was becoming more and more realistic.

You refused to move any of the clothes he had unceremoniously stripped himself of and left on your floor. They remained there no matter how messy it looked, no matter the fact they had been there for three months, untouched by anyone else. You couldn't bring yourself to pick them up, to wash them or move them in any sense. That would be you removing a trace of him, evidence that he existed in this space, a shared space between you. If you picked them up, that was acknowledgement that he wasn't coming back.

Then it happened. You finally had started sleeping throughout the night without the aid of his cologne or sleeping pills. Although, you could not tell if getting sleep was worse than not sleeping at all. Your dreams, or lack there of, would either be pitch black or torturous ideas of what could be happening to Bobby while you lie in this bed, comfortable and alone. Nightmares which you have you shooting upright from your bed, legs kicking to escape the tight restraints known as bedsheets which had tangled around your legs through a night of tossing and turning.

You woke up to the landline, the loud ringing which broke through your empty sleep. You reached your hand out, it searching the wooden bedside table for the docked phone, hitting against wood until it found what it was looking for, that distinctive glossy plastic feel, to stop the ringing which echoed throughout the empty apartment and made your newly awoken brain hurt from the mere sound.

Pushing your body up with one hand while you accepted the call with the other, pressing the phone against your ear. Your brain couldn't process what was happening, not until they said the words that made your heart stop.

"We found him."

You could feel everything stop in that moment, your breathing, your heart, the police officer's voice becoming inaudible. Instead of his voice and words, you heard static, starting quiet but increasingly getting louder. You dropped the phone, ripping the bedsheets off of you like they were personally trying to hold you back, to keep you away from Bobby longer. You hadn't even turned the light on, you didn't need it. You didn't even get changed properly, the last thing you cared about was your appearance, you reached for a shirt and grabbed whatever brushed against your fingertips first.

You grabbed your car keys and ran out the door, you don't even remember if you locked it but that's besides the point. You doubt someone would be dumb enough to try and rob a broke uni student whose apartment was essentially falling apart. The drive to the police station was quiet, the type of quiet where the tension in the air is palpable, where you can feel it weighing heavy on your chest and shoulders like an unknown presence pushing down on you. No music, no talking, just pure silence in the dead of night.

It was still dark outside, not pitch black anymore but that sparkly dark blue. Twilight. Where the bright stars shine against a midnight blue backdrop. Where the edges of the sky slowly start becoming a lighter blue, a reminder that a new day is approaching, a new beginning is starting, that the sun will rise again.

When you walked into the small Santa Clara police station, you saw him. You never thought you'd see him again. Not alive anyway, you had starting accepting the idea that the next time you'd see him, he'd be on a cool metal table, a white sheet would be covering his naked body and they'd ask you if it was him, if it was Robert Franklin. But here he was, alive and breathing before your very eyes.

He looked different, that was to be expected obviously. His hair seemed darker than it was, more brown than blonde but that was due to the fact it hadn't been washed in three months. His eyes, once such a bright blue had dimmed into an empty dark shade, accompanied by dark purple eye bags. He looked skinnier, muscle less defined than it was three months ago. Starvation clear in his features. For a man who appeared so confident and full of life three months ago, he seemed so small. Like he had shrunk himself down in order to survive. The jacket he was wearing wasn't his, you knew that because it was stamped with the emblem of Santa Clara Police Department. But the rest of the clothes were his style, simple yet worthy of a statement.

You could see the white shirt peeking out from under the jacket, white but you could see the distinctive stains of old and new blood on it, caked into the fabric to the point it is inseparable. He was covered in bruises, you could see them on his legs and one of his cheekbones had a blooming plum coloured bruise. Alongside the bruises were the cuts and scrapes, both his knees were scraped red raw. His left cheek was covered in what you could only describe as deep scratches, like long talons had dragged across his face.

You must have said his name without realising, perhaps you yelled it or perhaps said it quietly under your breath, you'll never know. But you must have done something for his head to turn towards you, for his eyes to widen at your sheer presence. You could see it in his eyes, wide and watery. There was longing in his eyes, and he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world. He had never looked at you like that before. But there was also something else in those deeply scarred eyes, but you couldn't name it. There was an edge to it, as sharp as a knife and as quick to disappear as a retractable box cutter.

He moved like a blur, like an animal who had spotted vulnerable prey. You didn't even see him properly, but you felt his weight slam against you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he collapsed into you. He didn't hold himself up, you weren't sure he could. Nor did he give you a chance, his body just gave out like it had been begging for rest, begging for the blanket of safety only you could provide. His already sore and raw knees slammed against the floor, you winced at the sound, as if you could feel the pain of his raw knees digging into the smooth resin floor. He, however, didn't react to the pain, he just pressed his face into your stomach as if he was trying to dig his way into your body. His grip was so tight, his fingertips digging into your sides as if he was trying to latch on for dear life, it was like he was afraid someone would come and take him away from you.

You just held him, you were determined to be his anchor in the storm. Strong and steady, that is what you could be for him. One hand running through his greasy hair, you didn't cringe or grimace at the texture. No, you were amazed. Amazed that he had made it back to you, survived through whatever happened to him, he had come back. He had come back home. It was a surreal moment, how many people can say that their boyfriend was missing for three months and came home alive.

It was then that you looked around for Kat but she wasn't there. She was not sitting on the metal bench that Bobby had been on, nor anywhere else. Maybe someone had already come to pick her up, you hoped as much. You may have had soul crushing jealousy issues towards her but you had no ill-will towards her either, she seemed like a nice girl who you may have been friends with in another life.

But you couldn't concentrate on that for long, not when a police officer walked up to you. You got the 'OK' to take him home, that they were done with questioning for now. You nodded at the man's words but Bobby didn't react, didn't even acknowledge the older man's existence. Just nuzzled into your stomach more like a cat.

You eventually managed to convince him to let you go, holding his hand and leading him to the car. Everything was going to be okay, everything was fine because Bobby was alive. He just needed a lot of rest and help, an extreme amount of help but he was alive. That was all you could truly ask for in situations like these, you already knew how insanely lucky you were.

You were prepared for the first few days to be the hardest, for him to panic, for him to be angry, for him to be anything. But there was none of that. He was eerily quiet, watching you from across the room, cataloguing your movements in his mind. You felt like prey being stalked by a predator, naive and unaware. You kept telling yourself that you were paranoid, that you had spent so much time alone that you had forgotten what another presence felt like. But you knew that was not the truth.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, babe?" He'd reply instantly, the way he used to before. Calling you 'babe', his voice chilled and laid back as if he hadn't just crawled his way out of the depths of hell. Survived what most don't.

You shook your head, it was your imagination. "Nothing, just making sure you are still here…" You regretted the words instantly, your back going rigid. The concept of you even saying those words to someone who had just escaped hell was ludicrous, you weren't even sure why you said it.

"I'm here…trust me, babe, I'm not leaving ever again" You thought you'd feel reassured by him saying something like that, a declaration that he won't disappear again, that this won't ever be repeated. But you feel a bottomless pit in your stomach, uneasy weighing heavy on your chest like a tonne of bricks. There was something in the way he said it, the way his voice had this dark edge to it that almost felt borderline threatening.

You nodded, your fingers digging into the high-pressure laminate of the kitchen counter. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, collecting yourself and your thoughts which were scattered around, a jumbled mess between relief and terror. You needed to be an anchor, you knew this, he needed you to be this.

You don't know when he moved, when he got up and staggered his way over to you. But suddenly there were arms around your waist, holding tight, too tight. A chin found its place in the crook of your neck, its sharp and angular shape digging into the soft and sensitive skin of your neck. Such a delicate area of anatomy. You could feel his nose pressing against your jugular, breathing you in as if you were a flower which had just bloomed before his very eyes. You couldn't help the reaction your body had, the harsh and sharp flinch which was rooted deep in human behaviours, in your hardware.

He was silent for a moment, contemplating something. You couldn't see his expression, his face hidden from your desperate gaze. But you could feel it, the air seemed to get heavy and the atmosphere damped. "Are you afraid of me?" His voice was soft and quiet, meek is the word to properly describe it. You don't even think that he wants the answer, the possibility of it being 'yes' seemed to be high in his mind.

You hesitated for a moment, you don't even know why. You weren't afraid of Bobby, he had done nothing wrong. "Why would I be afraid of you?" You asked.

He could feel him shrugged his shoulders slightly, keeping his arms around you and his head tucked deep into your neck as if he couldn't bare to have a millimetre of distance between your bodies, as if he needed you to be one with him. "Maybe you think I've changed… that I'm damaged, broken…"

"I don't think that, I would never think that. You're Bobby, you're my Bobby."

He seemed to pause, snuggling into your neck, getting closer to you which you didn't even know was physically possible. His body was pressed against yours with no space between, there wasn't even a concept of personal space, not anymore. "Your Bobby… I like that" His voice was low, almost a whisper in your ear. If he wasn't so close, you doubt you would've heard it. He seemed to be saying it more to himself than you, you don't even know if he realised those words and slipped out between his lips.

"You've always been my Bobby" You smiled, attempting to lighten the mood, to freshen the air which seemed so tense that it was suffocating. You just wanted to reassure him, to tell him that you were still here, that you were here for him. You weren't going to run away because his healing looks different than the ideal. Because he is processing his trauma differently.

"That means you're mine, right? It's only fair."

"Of course, baby, I've always been yours."

You could feel him smile against your skin, he was happy or at least something close to that. That would be enough, for now at least. He was still able to smile. You wished that you were able to see it in this moment, but you were content regardless. With his arms around you, his face pressed to your neck, his hair tickling your jawline. You were content, things were put back in their rightful place.

You should have been paying more attention to the cracks beneath the surface. The signs that something wasn't right.

You had to admit, you were still adjusting to Bobby even after a few weeks. He was so… clingy isn't the word. He's more than clingy, it isn't that he wants to be close to you No, he wants to be a part of you. It feels as though he wants your body to morph into his, to become a part of him forever. That way you couldn't leave. He always had to be touching you in some way, you couldn't stray too far.

A hand on your arm, your shoulder, your thigh, your knee. An arm wrapped around your shoulders or your waist. A head resting against your shoulder when watching a movie on the shitty TV that you could barely afford. Spooning in bed was a must, but you were used to it being loose. Now it was a tight hold, his arm over your waist and one of his legs over yours. It felt less like a hug and more like he was pinning you down, trapping you on the mattress, trapping you beneath him. If you moved at all, he'd feel it. If you tried to get up, you would wake him in the process.

You couldn't tell why this was happening, you didn't study psychology. You told yourself this was just fear, the absence of control and loss of autonomy being kidnapped creates. He needed to feel in control of something. But instead of taking control of himself, he has decided he wants to control you, monitor you like an animal in captivity.

You know logically what you should do. You should stop him, tell him this wasn't right, that he can't control what you do. You should put boundaries up, boundaries which would protect you and him equally. But staring at him now, lying by your side, face to face, chest to chest. You couldn't.

It was a rare occasion that you were awake before Bobby. Usually by the time you rise, Bobby is awake, staring down at you with his blue eyes which seem like endless pits of darkness. It was unfitting for eyes which were once such a sparkly, bright sapphire blue. He would watch your chest, moving up and down, up and down, a sign of life, that you were living and breathing. That you were real. You had begun to question if he truly even slept but now you have gotten your answer.

In this moment, he looked like Bobby. The old Bobby. He looked so gentle and relaxed, melted into the worn, old mattress which was a little lumpy. The sunlight that was peaking through the curtains shined down across his skin, illuminating the supple pale flesh. The bruises were fading and the cuts have almost completely healed. The physical damaged may be healing but whatever was going on inside his head, it was a mess. A violent storm which he refused to let out, refused to acknowledge. At least to you anyway.

You reached and brushed the hair off of his forehead, soft and sandy blonde. It felt like you were in a dream, the softness of this moment seemed unreal. You had missed this, you had missed him. The gentle, unguarded version of Bobby, it had been so long since you had seen him that you forgot what it was like. You watched as he stirred, one of his eyes cracking open at the sunlight which was caressing his handsome face.

You watched as his eyes fluttered up to yours, less empty and a brighter blue than you were used to seeing. Eyes still half-lidded and sleepy looking from just waking up. "Good morning" Your voice was gentle, almost breathless. You watched as the corners of his lips twitch upwards, you feel yours doing the same in return. The moment was so soft, so gentle, it had no place here, not now after what had happened. Yet, it felt so right.

"Morning, babe" His voice had that slight morning rasp to it, the slight scratchy-ness that hours without water creates.

You watched as his eyes traced down your face, studying your features and putting them to memory. It seemed softer than normal, instead of his eyes stalking you across the apartment, eyes flickering between every feature to make sure it is the same as it was the day before. Today, in this moment, it felt like he was seeing you. You felt so seen, the feeling was warm like a hug, it felt unfamiliar but so welcomed.

You saw how his eyes dipped from staring into your eyes and instead looked down at your lips, questioning silently, if he should? If he shouldn't? But the look in his eyes wasn't unsure, the soft look was now almost entirely gone. Instead, desire swirled in his irises, raw and unfiltered. He was quick to lean in and connect your lips to his, it wasn't gentle, it was needy, desperate. His kisses felt like he was trying to consume you, devour you completely so that you will always be a part of him. It felt almost cannibalistic.

You couldn't say it was bad, it was good. Really good. You could feel his desire for you, it gave you something that had been lacking. His want for you was clear, but how pure was that want? Not at all, it was the furthest thing from pure. It was greedy and frantic. He had a craving for you that came from deep within, from the darkest corners of his body and soul, from the most depraved areas of his mind.

You tried to catch up with him, kissing him back but you couldn't match his hunger for you. Where your kisses were full of care, his were full of possession, of claiming. It was so different from the way he usually did it, but different didn't mean bad. It gave you the attention you didn't know you needed, that you never allowed yourself to crave. He gave it to you without asking, without even knowing.

Your hand pressed against his shoulder, pushing him away slightly. Not shoving him away, not putting a massive amount of distance. There wasn't enough "We shouldn't… It's early" You tried to make an excuse, a reason why this was a bad idea other than the slight unease which consumed your body.

His forehead went down, resting atop of yours. His eyes were closed, the tip of his nose touching yours in such an intimate way, his lips directly above yours, wet and glossy. "Please… I just want to feel normal" You could hear the gentle crack in his voice, a desperate plea for normality. You stopped pushing back, your hand going from pushing against his shoulder to wrapping around them instead. You felt his head lower into your neck, his lips against the skin of your neck. The feeling sends shivers down your spine, a fluttering in your stomach.

It was soft at first, small delicate kisses. Your head was tilted up and slightly to the side, giving him full and total access to the right side of your neck. But then you felt something new, something different. Teeth. His teeth dragging across the skin of your neck slowly, not biting but pressing down, enough for you to feel his top set of teeth scraping soft skin. You didn't know how to describe the feeling, it wasn't ticklish, no. It was something else, a slight tingling.

His movements stilled, at the crook of your neck where he loved to hide his face, where he loved to lean down and breathe in your scent. You don't feel anything for a second, no lips, no teeth, just his breath. Heavy and warm like a hot summer's day, brushing against your sensitive skin. It was slightly unsettling but that didn't mean it was bad, it created anticipation. Your heart hammered in your chest, breathing heavy and erratic like your heartbeat was.

Then you felt it, his teeth biting down on your neck like he was an animal. It wasn't gentle, not soft or caring. He bit down with force, it felt like he wanted to draw blood, to taste the red, metallic substance which resided under your flesh. Your body tensed up immediately, eyes shooting open and wide in shock. A sharp gasp escaping your lips as your hands gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders. But you didn't push him off. Maybe you should have, put a stop to whatever this was. But you didn't because of something that scared you more than the idea of his teeth drawing blood.

You couldn't say with full certainty that you didn't like it, perhaps that scared you more than anything, the idea that someone sinking their teeth into your neck didn't disturb you. He had never bit you before, wasn't something either of you were into. Or at least you didn't think he was into it. But the indentation of his teeth on the skin of your neck said otherwise. You said his name, your voice breathless and quiet, unable to even think of words to say to him. Your brain had short-circuited, especially when his mouth moved onto your shoulder, kissing the area softly a few times before sinking his teeth into the flesh there too.

At the same time, his hands travelled downwards to the waistband of your pyjama shorts. His fingers brushing against the cotton fabric before hooking his fingers under the band. He didn't pull them down, he just played with the fabric and allowed his touch to send electric shocks throughout your body. Your fingers managed to unclench and let go of his shoulders, you could feel the indents of your fingernails, small crescent moons which were now dug into his skin. Your hands ran over his skin, feeling the muscle which laid beneath layers of skin. You could feel the absence of some muscle mass, but he had begun working out again, trying to build back the muscle which he had lost over the 3 months. You were sure it would not be too long before you could feel the firm, dense wall of muscle once again.

He lifted his head from your shoulder and you took that as an opportunity. Managing to lift your upper body slightly, like going into the position where your core would engage if you were working out, removing your hands from his back and instead reaching down and grabbing onto the hem of your soft, cotton shirt. Pulling it upwards and off of your body, freeing yourself from the fabric. Everything moved quickly from there, every piece of fabric being removed, bodies being freed from the confines of clothing.

You felt him everywhere, his hands attempting to touch every inch of you. Touch every section of skin, untainted and soft. His fingertips graze your skin, leaving tingles in its wake. His hands moved fast, mapping across your skin, feeling every imperfection and treating it like the opposite, treating it like perfection. The way he was touching you, the mix between soft and rough, it was like he couldn't decide between worshipping your body like a Goddess or ripping you apart with his bare hands. The thought should disturb you, the faint red hand prints which were forming on areas of your body should have worried you but it didn't. Perhaps there too was something wrong with you, that was up for debate. But your body reacted in such delight, twitching, mewling, you made sounds that you hadn't before. Like Bobby had cracked the code to your pleasure with flitting between gentleness and violence combined with him sucking and biting on different areas across your body.

He worked his way down your body, not a single bit of skin left untouched. His thumb brushed against your clit, your body jumping to attention at the bundle of nerves sending signals of pleasure through your body. A strangled gasp left your lips, a sign of need, of want. Of desperation for him, for his touch which never seemed to be scarce, almost too much at times but right now, you couldn't get enough. You watched as a smirk appeared on his face, his thumb deliberately pressing down on the bundle, testing different pressures against you. He wanted to watch you squirm under his touch, to feel your body heat up, to see what he could do to you with just a few touches.

"You know, I thought of you every day" He confesses as his finger slowly slid into you, slowly while he stared into your eyes. He was awaiting your reaction to the intrusion and also his admission. "It's not an exaggeration to say that you kept me alive, the thought of coming back to you, it made me keep trying." Your brain couldn't comprehend what he was doing, making your heartache for him while also being distracted by his fingers prodding into you. Exploring within you, in the deepest parts of you.

One finger quickly became two, moving in and out rapidly. Pulling all kinds of sounds out of you which were like music to his ears, how long it had been since he had heard them, since he actually listened and paid attention? He knew not to take this for granted again, he wanted to be able to replay the sounds in his head, to be able to see how your face looks when you come, he wanted it burnt into his memory so that nobody could take it from him. Never. It didn't take long for your release, not when he was unrelenting with his dexterous fingers.

He barely gave you a moment to recover, not even just a few minutes. He moved fast, positioning his body between your already spread legs, he wanted to be on top clearly. It was unusual for him, his preferred position was typically you on top, riding him as he watched you bounce up and down, chasing your pleasure and his to your hearts content. But this time, he wanted to be in control. He wanted to control the pace, the angles at which he would hit, how deep he would go. He wanted to decide how much he wanted to give you.

And oh, he wanted to give you everything. He wanted to watch your body tremble beneath his. He wanted to see the eyes roll into the back of your head, lost in waves of pleasure and pain. He wanted to see every little twitch, every jerky body movement, he wanted to hear every whimper and moan that would leave your lips, the way you would say his name, all breathless and airy. God, that sound always went straight to his cock, he couldn't even help it. He wanted to engrave these moments in his brain, store them there for the rest of his life. He had come so close to losing this, losing you, being trapped there No, he didn't want to think about that, not right now. It had no place here.

He positioned himself at your entrance, you could feel the tip poking against you as he lined it up. The stretch was a familiar and comforting feeling, your body receiving something it has longed for. The physical and emotional connection of two bodies binding themselves to one another, it was beyond your understanding. Ingrained in centuries old coding, practices which have existed since the beginning of time. A sigh came forth from your chest once he had bottomed out, mixing with the sound of his groan which sounded like it came from deep within.

He stayed still for a moment, both of you just living in the moment, fully connected and breathing the same air. The darkness in his eyes had lessened, the tension and rigidness of his shoulders was forgotten. You knew they would come back soon but you would cherish this moment in your memories, the moments where he allowed himself to relax, to not be prepare for something bad. Or at least that's how you saw it, you believed that the darkness was gone because you could no longer see it in his half-lidded eyes. But it was there, under the surface, pumping through his veins like blood.

Your hand pressed against his cheek, holding the left side of his face, looking into his eyes as a moan slipped out your mouth. He was staring directly back at you, his hips rutting into you at an unrelenting pace. He was pent up and ruthless, you could tell, you could feel the brunt of it, in every single thrust. But you could also feel how this was more than sex, this was two bodies becoming one. For the duration you engage in this act, you and him are not separate beings, you are one. One body, your souls and your hearts connected.

You knew what this meant to him, you thought you did at least. This is what he has been wanting this whole time, to connect with you on another level, to be able to feel you, all of you. To feel your breath on his skin, to feel your heart beat alongside his. For your body to be moulded to his. He maintained eye contact with you the entire time, no matter how much you looked away, he was always looking at you. But what you couldn't see was the darkness that you thought was gone was still there, it just had taken a different form. His eyes were dark with hunger, hunger which even during this act could not be quenched. You could not see it, not when your head was foggy and your body was a victim to overwhelming pleasure, overriding your senses and your ability to know when something wasn't right.

He craved you. Not in the normal way, not in the acceptable way. He craved you in a way that was carnal, he wanted you in a way that was deep and all-consuming. But at the same time, it went far beyond just fleshly needs. He couldn't even put it into words, he was never good with words, he was better with actions. They were easier, they said more with less fluff in between. His mind was left violent, fragmented, incomplete. But you made it complete and he wanted more of it. He wanted it around him, in him, he wanted to consume you so that he would never feel incomplete again. He didn't want to feel like the broken shell which had come home to you.

The pace, the pleasure, the eye contact that he was determined to keep, all of it had you overwhelmed. He wanted you overwhelmed, you knew it, he knew it. Every moan, every time you said his name with your whiny voice, drawing out the syllables in his name, it just encouraged him. To move faster, to move deeper, to make sure you felt him in every part of you.

"Fuck- Bobby" Your hand slid from his cheek to his hair, gripping onto the blond strands. The tight grasp you had on the delicate strands earned a needy groan, slight pain mixed with pleasure making it more enjoyable. It was weird, how pain could feel so good when in the right mindset, when you felt safe enough with the other person. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, he was close and so were you. You could recognise the signs, you could feel the pressure building, the feeling becoming so intense like a rubber band that was about to burst.

His shoulder was right there, flesh velvety and unmarred. You don't know what possessed you in the moment, you still don't know. Your mind was lost in the haze of sex, of lust and yearning. But your jaw opened, clamping down on the skin and feeling the tender muscle under your teeth. You heard the groan that escaped him, loud and deep, unsuspecting but not displeased. Quite the opposite in fact from the response his body was giving you now, almost like he was waiting for you to sink your teeth into his flesh, to give him a matching set of teeth marks like the ones he had carved into your skin with his own.

It hit you then, the pressure was too much and the rubber band snapped with the intensity of a car crash. Your teeth clenched down even harder as you moaned into his skin, the sound muffled and wet. Something felt different about this, it was more intense, your body shuddering and squeezing him so tightly that he couldn't hold back, you cunt squeezing him like a vice.

"F-fuck!" You knew he was done before it even happened, before you felt him spill into you.

His body collapsed down besides you, his breathing loud and erratic like yours. You'd have to change the bedsheets later but right now, you didn't have to worry about that. No, right now, all that mattered was him. Lying there in the afterglow of it all, naked bodies covered by thin bedsheets, limbs tangled together. The smell of sex was heavy and comforting, grounding you in the moment. Evidence that the air knew what had taken place, that the environment around you remembered it, kept it in this moment. "Why do you keep staring at me?" You had found the words to ask after the moment of comfort, after the moment where you felt truly connected to him again for the first time since he came home.

"I need to know you're real" He replied, the sentence so simple but it hit you like a punch. "I would see you… sometimes, at first I thought it was you, that you had come for me but it… it was never you" He admitted, his voice quiet as if speaking too loud would make it too real. Bobby hated being vulnerable, always avoided it the best he could. It made being with him hard sometimes, his inability to convey his emotions in a proper way.

You reached out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer into you. You felt his body go lax in your hold, his arms wrapping around your mid-section while his head rested just above your chest. You noticed he liked lying like this, he could hear your heart beating away and feel your chest moving up and down. There was no question that you were alive, alive and breathing, and with him. That was the main thing, you were with him and you would never not be. Not now. Not ever.

"Where's Kat?" You finally asked the question which had been on your mind since the police station. You had been too afraid to ask on the first few days, too scared of unsettling him, pushing him too far too quickly. But now, you need to know.

You watched as he froze for a second before his head slowly turned towards where you were standing in the room. The way he turned his head was agonisingly slow, eerily turning as his eyes studied you. He was looking at you as if you had said something wrong, like you had broken from the script. "I don't know. I already told the police everything I know" His voice was as stiff as a board, it wasn't his usual tone but nothing he had been doing was the 'usual'. His tone was usually light and carefree but now it was the complete opposite.

You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, your subconscious was telling you that something wasn't right, that he wasn't saying something. Whether that was on purpose or not, you aren't sure. What are you thinking? Of course Bobby wouldn't be hiding something, he doesn't have anything to hide. "I'm not the police" You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as normal as possible. You didn't want him to think you were questioning him or that you thought he wasn't telling the truth.

He stared at you for a moment, blue eyes scanning down your body and back up, reading you like a book. "Yeah, I know that. Why are you talking about Kat anyway? Thought you didn't like her, thought she got too 'close' or whatever" He spat, his voice was defensive like he was preparing for an attack. That wasn't what this was, it wasn't supposed to be an ambush. You were just worried for her, worried for the girl who you were pretty sure wanted to fuck your boyfriend. But you weren't the type to let such a petty thing override concern for a girl who was missing alongside Bobby.

Your mouth was dry, as dry as sandpaper. You didn't know why your body was acting like it was afraid of Bobby, like he was a threat. "I just…I wanted to know if she's alright" You mumbled, unsure of what else to say in response. He was agitated, you could see it clearly as day in the way his body had tightened, coiled like a snake about to strike.

"Well I don't know" He snapped, his lip curling up into a snarl. You had watched him go from a casual manner to one that was more akin to a wild animal, eyes sharp and angular as he stared at you like a threat. You weren't a threat, you didn't think you were anyway. But in this moment, you had strayed from the role you were supposed to play. You were the anchor but now you were questioning. To him, it was like you were loosening your grip on him. Like the anchor was dragging along the seabed, like it couldn't find something to latch onto, to dig into.

You could feel the palms of your hand become sweaty, you knew that you were pressing on a sensitive topic but he hadn't exactly been forth coming with any information. It had been over a month and a half since he came home. He barely even answered the questions the police asked him when they came to gather information from him, they were still as clueless as they were before Bobby was found. "I thought she was with you?"

"We got split up! I- I couldn't find my way back to her, it was like a maze in there" In there. That was the first time he had mentioned the location where he was held. You had asked him to describe it once, but it had been too early then, he just shook his head and told you he didn't want to talk about it. You listened.

"You… you never told me where you were" You started, "You left a note saying you were doing a research project with Kat and your boss. So where the fuck were you?" You couldn't help but feel the long buried anger at his disappearance, his 'research project' which gave no details as to where he ran off to. You didn't want to name the feeling you got when you thought about it, resentment didn't feel right but you struggled to find a better word. He ran off for a 'research project' after you two argued, gave you no information most likely to annoy you, it wouldn't have been the first time. Then ends up kidnapped, actually missing and not just off, smoking pot with his fellow potheads.

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes. A shimmer of light blue against the empty back drop you had become accustom to. "I don't know how to explain it. I don't even know if I can."

"Try. Try to explain it because I'm lost, Bobby, I'm so lost. I'm out of my depth here" You begged, you begged for him to tell you something, anything. Anything that can help you understand where he was, what happened to him, who did this to him. You hadn't even asked about his boss yet, you had only mentioned Kat due to their close relationship (much to your discomfort). You hadn't seen any missing posters of their boss though, at least not that you know of. You only met him once, he seemed a little strange but who isn't in Santa Clara. Maybe that means he's fine.

"I am trying!" He yelled.

He yelled.

Bobby rarely yelled. Not in a serious manner, he'd yell your name to get your attention and to get you moving faster depending on why and where you were going. But in every argument you've ever had, every disagreement no matter how severe, he was always dismissive and avoidant. He'd roll his eyes at your arguments, say 'whatever' and go back to tinkering with his camera or he'd get up and leave, stay the night at a friend's place. Arguments were never explosive between the two of you, no, they were quiet. So quiet that if you listened hard enough, you'd be able to hear the blood boiling in your veins after he tells you how he 'doesn't have time for this' when you are expressing valid concerns.

"I know… I know, Bobby" You didn't want him to think that you thought he wasn't trying, you knew that he was. Every day was a new challenge for him, you knew that, he had to live with the constant memories, the marks upon his skin which reminded him everyday that what happened was real, that it wasn't a bad trip. You would never understand what that was like for him, but you wanted him to tell you something, anything. You just wanted to help, to be someone he could confide in. You had already mentioned therapy and that got you a sharp steel glare from across the room. If he wasn't going to talk to a therapist, you needed him to talk to you.

He couldn't just allow these memories and feelings to fester, to grow in the dark like black mould, to seep through the cracks every once in a while because his body can no longer contain it, the stress too high, the fear too severe. You could see it in his eyes, in his posture, when the memories got too much, too loud, too all-encompassing. The way he would curl up, hands covering his ears and eyes squeezed shut as if that position could protect him from whatever he was seeing.

He let out a loud groan, a groan which was filled with the notes of exhaustion. His hands ran down his face, an attempt to keep his composure, to keep up the facade that he was fine. That what happened to him hadn't changed something, something so deep in him that it was almost to the molecular level. Something so deep that not even he, himself, could uncover what it was, not without stripping away every layer of protection he had up, every wall which had been built to serve the purpose of protecting his mind, his heart, his soul, his very being. "I'm sorry" He muttered, his voice low, "I just can't, I can't think of that place. I can't go back there, I can't. Please don't make me, I don't want to relive it, I don't want to remember" His voice sounded so broken, so hurt. The crack was there, a crack in the foundation that was always there, it has been there since he got back but he refused to acknowledge it. He pretended it didn't exist, if he ignored it then it would disappear. But the crack only got worse, bigger and more violent, growing beneath the surface and lack of attention.

You nodded at his words, understanding his reservations of talking about what happened. Talking about what happened meant admitting that it was real, that something truly so horrific happened to you. You don't think that Bobby can handle that, not right now, he was still too fragile, still too recently home. He was still processing, or so you think anyway.

You never truly knew what was going on in the head of Robert Franklin, you never had and never will.

It had been a quiet afternoon. Normalcy had slowly started to come back. Not completely, you don't think he will truly ever be the same again, who is after that. But he was staring less and that was a win in your book. It was the beginning of September, the air had begun to cool, the leaves had begun to change colour, and the start of the next uni semester was approaching.

You were lying down on the loveseat in your living room, curtains drawn closed even though it was the middle of the day. Bobby's head was resting against your stomach, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling as he thought about something. You didn't need to ask, you could practically feel his mental processes. You were playing with his hair, running the tips of your nails across his scalp in a comforting manner, making him shiver in delight every few seconds. You could feel the tension leaving his body in waves, becoming more comfortable by the second, sinking his body into yours once again.

"In the fridge."

Your head perks up at his voice, confusion filling your mind as you were both laying in complete silence. "Huh?" You were beyond confused at what he was talking about. If he was talking about your fridge in the kitchen, he would be talking about a lack of food, neither of you had managed to get off the couch to go shopping for sustenance. Both of you too comfortable in each other's embrace.

He was silent for a moment, debating whether or not he should continue what he had started, if he should continue opening the door he has just cracked open with a crowbar. "You wanted to know where Kat was. She was in the fridge."

Your hands stilled.

You feel everything just stop. At that moment, the humming of the fridge, the sound of cars outside, the sound of your neighbours, the sound of breathing, and house settling noises. Everything just fades into nothing. Instead, replacing the natural sounds of your environment was this ringing in your ears, in your head, loud and harsh, demanding your attention so loudly that it hurt.

"What?"