bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter sixteen, part one. ?

I could use it on Sir. For a fleeting moment, Case pictured himself blindsiding Sir. He'd learned from the toilet seat incident: he needed to intimidate or threaten Sir into giving him the second door codes. Like last time, Case would hide behind the door, waiting to strike. When Sir finally came in, Case would jump out and hold the plastic shiv to Sir's throat. Open the door! he'd demand, no need for smartass one-liners. If Sir resisted or hesitated, Case would dig the sharp point into his jugular or that carotid artery-thing. Sir would be so scared, too scared to fight back. He'd cower and obey, letting Case run through an open door to freedom.

What a stupid, childish fantasy.

Even without the voice telling him so, Case knew he wasn't able to overpower Sir. He was too small, too weak. A hand-sized piece of plastic wasn't going to change that.

What am I going to do?

Six-hundred people. Surely, out of 600 Facebook friends someone would notice his account had been active. There was still the chance that someone would swoop in to save him. Right?

No, the voice whispered against the silence. No-one is coming. Nobody likes you.

Case didn't argue, not because he agreed nobody liked him enough to notice the strange activity on his account; in his gut, he knew no-one was coming. He'd been stuck in Sir's basement for a month, and his fool's hope for a miraculous rescue was waning thin. He couldn't waste another month doing nothing, but he didn't have the smarts or resources for an escape.

What am I going to do?

He ran his tongue over his front teeth, reassuring himself they weren't broken. Solid, smooth, slimy with saliva. His tongue brushed against the inside of his split lip. If left unprovoked, his mouth was numb to the point he could fool himself into believing he was fine. But the slight contact from his tongue triggered sparks of pain as if he were lighting a firework fuse. Case winced at the stinging throbs but couldn't resist probing the wound. The tip of his tongue slid through loose skin and met the rough, wet fabric pressed to his closed mouth.

Oh. That's not good.

Sir was pissed. He's slipped up, and now Case was a liability, expendable. If Sir was capable of smashing Case's mouth open with a kick of his boot, then what would he do next? Case stopped his imagination from wandering. Knowing his fate didn't change anything, didn't knock him off course. Why was he resisting the inevitable? All he was doing was getting hurt and wrecking his bond with Sir; yes, there was a bond. They could get along, if Case behaved.

Case was powerless. Hopeless. And, honestly, he was getting tired of fighting. So, so tired . . .

The metal door creaked open. Case frowned, watching Sir's feet descend the staircase. This couldn't be right. Sir hadn't been gone long. An hour, two maybe. Way too soon for him to be back already.

But Case watched as feet, then legs, then a body came into view. It wasn't until he saw the first aid kit in Sir's hand that he registered the jostling sound of metal-on-metal with each heavy footstep.

I was supposed to clean up. Empty bottles of mouthwash and cardboard toilet paper rolls were still scattered across the floor.

Sir didn't say anything as he sat on the bed. His upper thigh settled against Case's toes, and Case wondered if the proximity was intentional.

Sir snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. "Let me see." He didn't wait for permission before reaching over and removing the damp, blood soiled shirt from Case's mouth.

Case inhaled sharply; bits of fabric dried and crusted to his skin peeled away with scabby resistance.

Sir remained coldly composed. Unaffected even when he removed the shirt and exposed the damage he'd inflicted. "Does this hurt?" He tapped the tender area around Case's upper lip as if mapping out the area for pain or numbed nerves.