Hot water fell upon her bare hands as she turned on the sink faucet. A sponge in one hand, and a dirty plate in the other, she started her chores.

Not wanting to cover herself in blood, and not being a good cook left her with dishes and laundry, as well as helping Luda Mae clean around the house.

She didn't complain when the family set her up for chores immediately. It's the most normal thing she's done since her kidnapping. If she closed her eyes, she could be back in her own kitchen, washing her own dishes as Laura gossipped behind her.

Laura.

She hasn't thought about her in a few days, and a new wave of home sickness spread through her like nausea. Hopefully Laura had gone home to her parents, where she was most safe.

Y/n's eyes trail up to the window above the sink. It faces out to the back feild, where Thomas works in a shed, sharpening some tools.

The night of the wedding, she invited him into bed with her out of fear. He was the only thing protecting her from this unpredictable family. She krinkles her nose at the memory of Hoyt's rancid breathe near her face.

Although the invitation wasn't one out of longing for him specifically, she found herself delighted by the warmth of his massive body. Without meaning to, she had curled up against him, her face buried in his dark curls.

It was the best sleep she had in a while. And he's been sleeping in the same bed as her ever since.

Y/n's eyes trail to his beefy arms, sweat glistening on his scarred skin,

Moving a butcher's knife slowly across a spinning wheel. Sparks fly from it, but he doesn't flinch. His hair falls into his face, but she catches a glimpse of his dark eyes, focused and calculating.

Despite her better judgement, her heartbeat starts to rise, and her face reddens.

She's suddenly reminded of a time several years ago, in which Laura and her were exchanging celebrity crushes at a sleepover. Laura had said someone along the lines of "Leonardo DeCaprio". Y/n didn't quite get the theme, and said "Zangeif " from Street Fighter.

That earned several months of bullying from her dear friend. The two didn't exactly have the same taste in guys.

A hand on her shoulder shakes her from her reminiscing.

"How are you doing, Dear?" Luda asks, looking out the window to where Y/n was so transfixed.

"Good." She says, turning back to the dishes.

Luda chuckles.

"He's very good with those knives. Takes good care of them, too. Look at him, such a hardworking young man."

She nods, uncomfortable by how close the old lady was to her. The hand on her arm slides up and to her back.

Luda leans in and whispers:

"So, when are my grandchildren coming?"

"I don't feel so well."

She drops the dish in the sink, drying off and leaving Luda alone in the kitchen.

Nope nope nope nope

As she passes by a lamp table in the living room, she recalls something she found inside when dusting yesterday. Pausing for brief moment, assessing the burning itch in her throat, she goes against her better judgement again.

She steals the pack of cigarettes and lighter from inside the table, brushing past a questioning Luda and onto the back porch.

Her hands shake, desperation in her voice as the lighter struggles to light. After hitting it against the wooden railing, it finally works. She sighs with relief as the cigarette fits between her lips perfectly, sitting there and taking a good, long drawl.

"Do you always steal people's shit?"

Y/n jumps, turning to see Monty in the doorway, wheeling out onto the back porch.

"Sorry. I found them yesterday." She says.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, just give me one."

Y/n complies, passing him a cigarette. He lights it, setting it in his mouth.

"Aren't you supposed to stay inside?" He asks.

"Thomas is out there. It's fine."

They smoke there in silence for a bit, smoke curling up into the bright Texas sky.

"Luda hates these things. I've been hiding those things for years. It's good to have 'em back."

Y/n nods, kicking some pebbles off of the porch.

"How'd your hands get like that?"

She feels her jaw clench. He was the only one to ask in the family. Maybe talking about it wouldn't be so bad.

"Back in California, during Summer break, me and a friend went to a party to light some fireworks. I wasn't much for partying, being a focused student and all, but my friends insisted.

My firework set wasn't set up properly, and it fired off on the ground instead."

"And it only got yer' hands?" Monty asks.

Y/n shakes her head, taking a draw off her cigarette, before lifting her shirt up, revealing a pink, leathery scar running up her torso.

Monty frowns at it.

"This is easier to hide then the hands. I spent three weeks in the hospital. It was pretty brutal."

"And how did that effect ya'?"

"Not well."

"Well, it could be worse." Monty says, throwing his cigerette butt into the grass, before wheeling off into the house.

She physically slaps herself on the forehead. That was pretty rude of her.

She puts that thought to the side, though, when she remembers he's a cannibal. Maybe loosing his legs was karma.