When Jack came back to the room, you didn't dare move from your position, but you could tell that something was off. He was breathing heavily, almost grunting with every exhale, when usually you could only hear rasps and the occasional cough. He moved past your sightline to the dresser and grabbed what looked like an exact replica of what he was already wearing – how many hoodies does this guy own? – but you looked away when you saw his posture. He was hunched over, stalking around like some kind of animal. You could still hear him, though – he stayed still for a long moment, and it didn't seem like he even turned to look at you. He just breathed.

It was somehow even more terrifying than him being in your face.

You waited until you heard the grunting inhales become more like rasps before you looked back at him. You had been right – he was in the exact same position in which he'd been before. There wasn't much else to do but watch him – which you did. He didn't notice – or didn't seem to, until he turned his head. It was only a slight movement, just enough to be able to regard you over his shoulder, but you jumped all the same.

"Relax," he growled at you. "It's been a couple of days. I need to clean you up."

"...okay." You were hesitant to let him touch you, but you knew from his voice and his phrasing that you had no other choice. You'd never seen him in this state, though, and though you knew it was risky to say more than was necessary, you didn't care enough.

"Where were you?" You spoke slowly, trying to keep your voice as steady and quiet as possible, but you weren't as successful as you'd hoped.

"Out. Getting food."

You didn't feel the need to respond.

His breathing was slowly calming, and though you didn't know why, you were grateful.

He turned his head back around and started to strip out of his clothing. You looked away for a moment, but morbid curiosity took over – you knew that at least some of his skin was gray and scarred, but you were left hoping for some trace of humanity somewhere. You knew he had to have been human at some point.

He wasn't wearing anything under his black sweatshirt, and you wondered why until you saw that his entire abdomen was covered in faded bloodstains. He didn't look injured, save for a few marks on his shoulders – they look like they're from fingernails, how hard is it to steal snacks from someone's house? – and then you stopped that thought in its tracks, because Jack had taken off his mask and let it clatter to the floor.

His body was entirely gray. It was uneven, in some places, like someone had taken to him with a black watercolor and let themselves go nuts. You could only see his back, but you could tell that he was completely covered in scars; some were longer or thicker than others, some more jagged, some still a little puffy. He was long and lean, with somewhat of a runner's build – not surprising, given his occupation.

His shoulders began rising and falling rapidly, again, and you looked away in panic after his breathing was audible. You tried to tune it out, but it was the only sound in the room, and it was impossible not to listen once it turned into growling, raspy whispers.

"Shut up, shut up, little fucker, how long will it take you to figure out I'm the one in charge, here?" It was quiet, but clear. You almost responded to try and defend yourself, but Jack's voice interrupted you – this time quieter, and begging.

"Just kill me, you already have the body, just let me die, please, God, just let me die –" The response was almost immediate: "There's no God that will love you now. Get over it. This is how it works."

With that, Jack went quiet. He was shuddering, and still breathing quickly, but he fell to his knees and grabbed his mask with quaking hands nonetheless. He slipped it on, and then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room in which you'd been trapped. He came back after a few minute with a basin of water, a brown plastic bottle, vodka, two towels, and some sponges.

he soaked one of the sponges in whatever was in the bottle and began to scrub off his chest. The blood came off quickly, so you assumed it was hydrogen peroxide. He dropped the sponge onto the floor when he was done, then unscrewed the vodka bottle and poured a small amount of it over each of his shoulders. when he was done, he set the bottle on the ground without putting the cap back on and turned to you.

He grabbed a towel, a second sponge, and the basin of water and took them over to where you lay in the bed. You stayed completely still, not wanting a repeat of whatever that episode had been, and let him clean you until he was satisfied.

You didn't want to admit it, but it was the best you'd felt since you'd arrived.

A/N

School's almost over and I am blissfully free. Sorry for inactivity. Comments are appreciated.