Trapped (A Ticci Toby Story)

Chapter 11- In Time

I never understood why the world goes silent when the snow falls.
Stagnant and still.
I strain the hear past the consistent ringing in my right ear, a sound I've learned to ignore since the night E. G. fired his gun only inches from my head.
Now, compared to the silence around me, it was a deafening and unwavering shriek that snuffed out every last bit of my senses.
Feeling extremely disoriented, I shift only to hear the snow crunch under my bare feet.
I needed to know that I hadn't gone deaf, that it was possible that there was just no sound to be heard and I didn't just lose my ability to hear.
It was an irrational fear, maybe, but it was one of the only things I had left to rely on.
I am quickly falling apart.
Bitterly weary, dizzy, strained.
I know it will be soon, but as of right now, I'm still whole.
Tom has his back to me now.
Hes rummaging through the unorganized contents of his shed, but I stopped paying attention to him in the long stretch of time I've been standing here.
The droning ringing in my head, the over satiated snow, my breath becoming visible the moment it leaves my lips, were all the reason why I felt as if I was drifting so far away from where I stood.
My eyes to drift to the woods on the other side of the gate.
Snow and ice cling to every wiry twig and branch that surrounds us, leaving no room for imperfection to go unnoticed.
Still and a silver shine from the overcasted sky.
It was painfully obvious that there were no imperfections.
Masky and hoodie haven't disturbed the frozen brush.
They weren't here.
I let go of the breath I was holding and completely emptied my lungs.
I knew needed to be patient.
It had only been a day since I contacted masky.
I knew it was going to take time before they find me. That I hardly given them a clue where to start searching,
But... knowing that they were near, closer to finding me than they had been before, was an overbearing weight of anticipation and want that complicated everything in my head.
They were coming.
Soon, they will be here and then... And then... I didn't know.
I have no clue what they will do once they arrive.
Did they have a plan? Some unforeseen loophole that I've somehow missed all this time? Will they wait until Tom goes to sleep to get us out? Will they face him? Did they stand a chance?
I see Tom's arms bulge from the navy blue shirt he decided to wear today.
I see the seams stretch under his elbow, I see how they strain to hold together when he tosses something heavy and metal aside.
I worry for them.
I hadn't warned them about him. I haven't told masky about cheryl, how willing she was to do the insane.
They didn't know about Tom--I've watched him beat and hurt us over the last few months-day after day. He needed to be feared.
He was someone-something I feared.
I was so confident in the proxies's abilities that I haven't considered what will happen to them when they are forced to face him.
The thought of losing them to him too hit me like a blow.
Like my lungs have done so many times before, they shut down and betray me.
Refusing to move in my panic.
I can't lose them
They can't be here,
They can't leave me--
I--
Tom shoves something against my chest and I stumbled back with surprise.
Dumbly, my eyes drop down to the bundles of fabric in my arms.
They were clothes.
A heavy smell of age waft from the bundle in my arms.
I didn't recognize them.
I look up questioningly to find Tom locking the padlock that hung from the door.
My eyes drop back down the the bundle and found a pant leg. Carefully lifting it slightly, I allow my fingers to feel the rough fabric.
I couldn't feel the details of its material, but I felt the how the fabric had been worn down with overuse, much how mine were now.
These were acquired long before I arrived.
Why?
Tom turns to be and I instinctively take a step back.
I watch him intensely for the signs that mean I am in danger.
The way his nostrils flare, the veins that stick out and bulge on his neck, the dead and unhinged blood lust in his dull blue eyes, the way he carries himself with his muscles tense with unspent rage that I can only hope will be spent on me and only me.
I don't see any of that.
Now, he is the calm in the glow of embers left behind in a forest fire.
He walks past me and I follow him towards the cellar hatch in the back of the house.
Instead of stopping in front of the cellar hatch and pulling it open so I could join the others, he stops abruptly in front of the steps, causing me to stumble behind him and almost drop the materials in my arms.
I over correct myself and clutch them against me, smelling the strong scent of dust and death release from its threading.
I scowl at them smell is disgust and my eyes flick up and find him through the locks of hair that fell in my face.
Bitter disgust and dismay line the corners of his mouth.
I am aware of how he looks me over.
Noting down the mud, blood, and decay clinging to my skin.
I am the mess he made me be.
And because of this, I embrace it.
I smirk at him when he hesitates to touch me.
When he does, he shoves me onto the steps.
I, all but gracefully, fall on my back, wincing against at the reality that I wasn't able to catch myself.
I try to ignore the scolding shame I feel for allowing myself to be in this condition.
I use one arm to pull myself up to sit on the step digging into my lower back.
The clothes slip through my arms and I allow them to fall to the snow and quickly took mental notes of my body.
After I concluded that I wasn't damaged, I find him again and my smile widens when I realize how he is standing over me.
Like he is trying to overshadow he with his dominance.
Look who's boss.
"Oh Tommy, this is sudden." I mock in foe bashfulness "aren't you going to treat a man and take him to dinner first?" I adjust myself to sit correctly onto the step to regain some of my full hight. "You know I'm starving."
To my disappointment, he ignores me and kneels down at the base of the steps and digs the material from the snow and shoves them against my chest, not even bothering to brush them off.
He doesn't drop his arm from the clothes on my chest.
He stares me down, waiting for me to screw up.
I couldn't control the fear that leaked into my consciousness, even if I wanted to push it away and burry it deep within.
He was closer to me than I could handle.
His oversized body blocked out the tinted glow of the sun and loomed over me in the overcasted sky.
I feel claustrophobic and suffocated in the nearness of him, but what unsettled me the most was the closed off expression of his face.
I needed to know what he was feeling at all times.
He was too unpredictable.
Unhinged.
I couldn't handle not knowing what he was going to do next.
I fight to keep my breathing sound and my gaze directly on him when I push on.
"I'm worth it, don't you think?"
His expression doesn't change.
His deadly eyes are looking me over again.
Always sizing me up for something I don't know.
I grow desperate.
Angry.
I never handled being ignored well, but from him, it pisses me off more than anything masky could do.
"Your wife thinks so." I say coldly, remembering how she touched me and cooed over me.
His expression hardens with dark hatred and I relax with satisfaction.
There we go.
I don't try to hide my satisfied smile.
When he strikes me, hard, my head is jerked away from him, but my smile only widens.
If I only had one success.
He grabs me by the hair and forces me to look at him. His hand shakes violently with rage and his eyes burn into me.
His knuckles crack in his fist.
"Do it." I hiss "Do it again."
If he was going to get another hit on me it was going to be on my terms.
Not his.
But he doesn't hit me.
Instead he pulls me up by the locks of my hair and drags me up the steps and through the back door.
I struggle to keep up with him, stumbling and fighting to stay on my feet as he pulls me through his house.
Before I have a chance to register what was going on, I realize I am on the floor again and he is shutting me into a room that is much smaller than my own.
I am on my feet in a matter of seconds, my muddy fingers clawing at the white paneled door, missing it only a moment after it slammed shut.
I thrust my body into its surface as clicks and clacks from the other side can be heard.
It doesn't move.
I am trapped.
No! No! No!
My breathing tears out of me frantically as I pull on the door handle.
Twist,
turn,
push,
pull. 
Its stuck.
Not again! Please not again!
I throw myself into again, I beat and yell until my my energy quickly drains and darkness drapes over my vision.
I stumble back and fall to the floor. I watch the darkness swirl in front of my eyes.
Slowly,
Hypnotically,
It begins to fade and I can finally see the bathroom sink in front of me.
One of those things I haven't seen since I was brought here, intentionally left out of the bathroom in the cellar.
We are filthy like animals.
I swallow dryly and prepare myself for the journey to my feet.
Lifting my head, I gasp with surprise at how aggressively everything spins and drop my head back against the floor.
I need something to hold ont-what am I supposed to do now? It'll stop soon. Just wait-water.
My thoughts bleed together past the sound of my blood pulsing in my ears.
Just wait-wait. Slow down-just stop moving! You're making it wors-water. I'm so thirsty.
I lift my hand and rest my hand on the smooth porcelain.
On the count of three-breathing to loud-he'll hear my pulse-1,-he'll know what I'm doing-hurry-where are they-need more time-2,-To much-
I cling to the sink and slide my feet under neath me before I have a chance to feel my bodies resistance.
The next thing I know I am blindly drinking from the faucet, my vision dark and the world shifting and swaying around me. My body lays against the sink, it being the only thing keeping my body from falling onto the floor.
The water flows over my face, down the back of my neck and behind my ears as I desperately gulp the water as quickly as it falls into my mouth.
I feel it run down my neck, onto my chest and fall onto the floor.
I didn't care.
I drink well after my vertigo clears and my shirt is soaked against my chest.
I drink until my stomach threatens to dispose of it all if I take one more sip.
I drink until I no longer feel the compulsive need to swallow it when it falls over my lips.
I lift my hand and find the knob.
After I shut the water off, I am gasping in the bowl.
I think of ways I could steal the water and bring it back to the others.
Ridiculous scenarios cross my mind like soaking myself in it so i can ring it out of my clothes, holding it my hands, or in my mouth until I can make it back to them, but I instantly dismiss these thoughts.
Pull yourself together.
I scold myself.
I knew I need to search for a solution and I knew that it wasn't going to happen if I don't think.
Sighing, I peal myself off of the sink and stop when I am greeted with a pair of brown eyes directly in front of me.
I jump back before I realize,