You clutched and clawed at your stomach while Jack swatted your hands away and all but dragged you back to the room. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, namely anger and grief, but you couldn't move a muscle. You were numb and weak and all you were able to do was sit there and cry.

Jack pulled you up gently to him, turned you around, and placed you onto the bed and positioned you as he had before: on your back with your arms at your sides. You were completely at his mercy now, and he knew that you knew it. You almost hated that he was so careful with you now, like he had started to care as soon as you were useful to him and wouldn't become a burden.

You didn't move as he laid down next to you. His back faced you again, and he removed his mask, but you didn't care to look anymore. You only stared up at the ceiling and hoped that it was all a terrible nightmare; that you'd wake up in just a few seconds to your mother kissing you goodbye and your father smiling at you as he walked out the door.

There were no tears. You hardly cared enough to cry anymore; he had taken everything from you for some sick kind of pleasure, like he owned you. You were becoming his pet, in the most literal sense – you'd been spayed, you realized. You just sighed.

You moved to turn yourself away from Jack – your anger had given you enough energy, and you couldn't bear the thought of him next to you. As you moved your torso, though, Jack's hand shot out and grabbed your shoulder. You flinched away from him, but he held strong – as usual.

"Don't move. You'll tear the stitches or hurt yourself."

You looked at him incredulously – you already hurt me, are you serious? – but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.

His face was out.

He'd taken off his mask to go to sleep, and when you'd moved he'd acted too quickly to get it back on. He turned away from you and growled a quick "Go to sleep, you'll need it," but you were stuck staring at the back of his head. Even in the dim light, you'd seen enough of his face to be mesmerized.

He was human-shaped, yes, but you knew now for sure that he was anything but. His skin was gray all over – it wasn't just some kind of soot stain, as you'd been reasoning with yourself earlier – it was just gray. His cheekbones were prominent, but almost malformed, like they'd been broken and then healed incorrectly. His mouth was a bit large; it was torn at the edges, like someone had ripped his mouth open to fit something inside of it. His teeth, which you hadn't seen much of, were yellowed, jagged, and sharp, and it looked like there were too many in his mouth. You hadn't focused much on his mouth, though. You were glued to his eyes – or lack thereof. In their places were a pair of black eye sockets. You couldn't see inside of them, but you assumed there was nothing there at all, besides whatever black stuff was leaking out of his eye sockets and leaking down his cheeks like thick black tears. If you didn't know better, you'd say it was tar.

Given, you probably didn't know better. Jack was an enigma of yours, just something that you'd never figure out no matter how badly you wanted to. You couldn't ask him any questions, at his personal request. You could hardly speak without some kind of outburst from him.

You managed to look away from the back of his head and toward the ceiling. You thought that maybe it would be worth it to stare at the lightbulb again and try to blind yourself, so that maybe you'd run out of things to ask questions about, but exhaustion overwhelmed you. You struggled to keep your eyes open, or even blink. You decided that it was best to catch up on your rest anyway – it had been a very long day.

--

A/N

early morning update; sorry it's so short. I still plan to write on sunday, but who cares about schedules?