It was just a moment after he had hidden his journal when the man entered his room. His voice didn't sound angry like previous, and Julian found it hard to read him. When he locked the door, however, he felt his heart sink. What was about to happen? There was no way he could fight off Allan, not in his current state. He just hoped if he did as he was told, he wouldn't be hurt. Maybe it was some fetish for the man, having a weak slave bound in his basement. Maybe Julian could get him to feel bad about kidnapping him? He bit his lip and got to his feet with a little bit of a struggle. His legs already felt like jelly from the exercise before and in front of Allan's hard stare. He avoided the man's eyes, staring at his feet.

Allan stepped forward, lifting the knife out of his belt loop and unlocking the collar around Julian's neck. "Look up." He said sharply, and when Julian did Allan smiled a little. The small form was shaking, shivering, really, and Allan blinked slowly before speaking. "Sweet little thing." He said simply, bringing up the knife and pressing it lightly against Julian's cheek. "I told you if you were good, you wouldn't be punished much. I know you remember that. I know you're not stupid." He pressed the blade against Julian's soft skin and bit back the urge to slide it down and cut in. "But you had to waste. And make a mess. I gave you such a nice place. But you ignored that. You ignored what I did." He dropped the knife to his side and his dark eyes grew darker.

With a single swift movement he slapped Julian and sent him stumbling into the wall, then grabbed his shirt and flung him onto the bed. In a moment Allan had pushed him back and was straddling him, pressing the knife against his nose. "You little bastard, you never appreciate anything." His voice was devoid of anything that made him human. It was as if something were controlling his actions, but his gaze was full of hate.

Julian trembled as he felt the knife against his skin, resisting the urge to try and run away. He whimpered and tried to apologise, but it only came out as a string of broken sounds like it always did. Shock radiated through him as he was slapped and flung onto the bed. He breathed heavily, staring into the dark eyes of his attacker, tears welling up in his own eyes. "No, no, no, pl... pl... pl... S... S... no, no, no," was all he managed to say, begging as the man brought the knife up to his nose.

He felt the tip dig into his flesh just a bit and cried out, trying to struggle, to fight back. "No, no, no, ge... go...'' he screamed, one of his flailing arms connecting with Allan's head as he struggled.

When something connected with his head Allan felt a flare of built-up rage explode, and he grabbed Julian's arms and pinned them over his head. "Stop! Stop it you little fuck or I swear I'll cut your throat right now!" His other hand wrapped tight around the knife and he pressed it hard against Julian's neck. He squeezed his legs, keeping Julian in place and pressing him down hard, one hand wrapped tightly around his thin wrists and the other controlling the knife, but just barely. He brought it away from the tender skin of the neck and brought it down along Julian's chest instead, cutting the shirt a few inches and digging the knife into his skin, just enough to leave a thin scratch and bring thin beads of blood to the surface.

Why couldn't he stop thinking back? Doing everything, everything in his power, then seeing it all go up in flames? The charred grass, the cruel, hateful laughter. The hiss. The hatred. Then the blood. He loved it now. He loved the blood, and when it bloomed, he took the knife away and pressed his finger to the stuff, smearing it and licking his finger. "And you thought I wouldn't find it." He hissed, grinning hatefully. "Thought I wouldn't see. You. Now. Not now." He laughed, digging his nails into Julian's wrists.

Julian had gone into a state of shock. He hadn't felt anything like it before, so that was what he guessed. It was as though he had left his body entirely and he was watching from a different angle, as though he was watching a horror movie. He felt the sting of the knife and the tell tale feeling of discomfort as he wet himself in terror. He tried to say something, anything, but no noises came from his mouth.

What was Allan talking about? Why was he acting like the way he was? The man was obviously mental, but his words confused him. Now, not now? He sobbed, feeling the weight of his body again. No. He wanted to leave again. He couldn't handle this. He screamed, swear words and curses filling his mind but none of them coming out as proper coherent words. "Ge... Y... Bas... F... C... T... Ge... off... No... Stop!"

Allan cracked a smile, lifting himself and bringing Julian with him. "So the little mute can talk after all, can he?" He asked, shifting a little so he didn't sit on the new wet spot from Julian's second bladder failure. "And all this time everyone thought you were a stupid little bastard, too afraid to talk. Who's laughing now?" He cackled, shaking his head and pressing the knife to Julian's cheek. "Who's laughing now? Not you. Not you, look at you. Shaking. Poor little thing. Can't even control your bodily functions. So sad." He pushed out his bottom lip as if pouting. "Stop? Stop what? I don't know what you want, you just won't talk." He grasped a handful of Julian's hair and pushed back, forcing him to look up and pressing his nose against the skin there. "Smells like real fear. Horror. Oh, are you afraid? I thought you wouldn't be afraid. Thought I didn't intimidate you... Guess you were wrong, you little shit. I guess you were wrong. Wrong, and all you needed was a knife to your throat."

He nipped Julian's neck, laughing quietly so that it sounded more like a low growl.

"No... I..." I can't talk you bastard. Get off me and stop doing this now! What did I do to deserve this? I'm sorry OK! Sorry I soiled your floor, sorry I didn't eat your food! Just stop... Hurting me. If only the words forming in his mind could pass through his lips. As always they stopped in his throat and instead, a string of nonsense came out once again.

He had always been afraid of the man, ever since he had been kidnapped. What on Earth was he talking about? Maybe he was remembering someone else... Maybe Allan had mistaken Julian as someone else and that's why this all happened. But Julian had given him his ID papers. There was no way Allan could have thought Julian was someone else, someone he wanted to hurt. "I... S...S...So...Sorr...y," he managed to choke, tears blinding his vision.

Allan stood but kept close to Julian, and pushed the knife in between his shirt and chest. In one swift movement he ripped the blade down, tearing the front of the shirt in half down the front. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." Allan sneered in a mocking way. "Sorry you're here, most likely. Not sorry about any damn thing else. You want to go home, don't you? Back home so you can keep living your sad little life and die cold and alone in a sterile room and be shipped off to be buried in a public cemetery with a blank stone because no one cares about you in the first place." As Allan spoke, he weaved back and forth. "Then who's gonna be sad about you? No one. I won't let them. They won't find you. Never. Never find you. Never ever."

He gripped the knife handle hard and swung it at Julian, missing him by a fraction of an inch. "Shut up, you're not sorry, damn it. Sorry, sorry. Not sorry! Talk you little coward! You can say sorry, you can say stop, you can say something else! Write it... Tell me everything you hate about me. Never stopped you before... Post it all over. Show me..." He grabbed the collar and chain, strapping it back onto Julian and grabbing his wrist, pulling the blade down his skin and watching the blood come. "God, so beautiful. Watch. It falls. Little roses. They're only buds until they fall..." He pulled back, putting a hand to his head and stomping out of the room, locking the door behind him and breathing through his mouth. Calm. He had to calm down.

He screamed. He kicked his feet and cried, so loud he was sure it would piss Allan off more. His skin hurt, where the man had cut it and he could see the red leaking from his wounds. He was glad Alan had gone, but a mixture of emotions ran through him and he rolled of the bed and sobbed in a heap on the floor. Hurt, anger, sadness... Why did Allan think he could talk? Because a few simple words could make it through his throat? He had tried many times to speak, like a normal person. His throat always closed up and stopped the words from forming properly. He screamed in frustration again, a million words wanting to come out.

He crawled under the bed and hid, scared that Allan would return, to hurt him more. Maybe it had been his fault? No, how could it have been? He was reacting how any other would react when forced from their home and tortured by a lunatic. He wiped the blood from his skin onto his ruined shirt, and wrapped the rags around his wrist to try and stop the bleeding. Allan hadn't cut too deeply, but it still bled and hurt.

He bit his lip until that too bled and he covered his face, sobbing quietly as he laid in a foetal position. He begged God in his mind, begged Him to answer his prayers and help him, save him.

He managed to block everything out---noise, light, the weight of the door against his back. His heart was pounding hard against his ribcage and he sighed shakily, stepping away from the door and putting the knife on the lid of the kiln nearby. The taste of blood was in his mouth and he shifted his tongue a little, remembering just a little of what he did. He remembered blood. A cut. Was it more than one? Probably. He breathed out, looking at himself but finding no wounds that needed tending. So it was Julian that needed tending. He went upstairs, to the bathroom on the first floor, and retrieved the metal first aid kit in the large cabinet. Putting it under his arm, he returned downstairs and unlocked the door, then pushed it open.

The chain that led from the wall went under the bed, and he closed the door behind him. "Julian, come out, now. Come out or I'll pull you out, and sit on the end of the bed." He spoke carefully, swallowing as if it pushed down whatever rage fueled every horrible thing he ever did. "I'll count down from five and you'd better be out before I reach one." At that, he began counting.

Julian didn't want to come out from under the bed. He was terrified and frozen in place. Sobbing, he reluctantly left his hiding place and sat where he had been instructed. Please don't hurt me again. I did what you asked. Please... he begged silently in his mind, slowly looking up at the man. He was holding a first aid kit and this confused Julian slightly. He had hurt him and now he was going to fix the wounds he had created? He started to shake and stared down at the floor, flinching slightly as the man came closer.

Allan half-closed his eyes, breathing in and approaching, then kneeling in front of Julian. "Don't flinch away from me." He said sternly. Opening the kit, Allan grasped Julian's wrist and studied the cut. Then the cut on his chest. There were two, then. He looked down, gathering rubbing alcohol and pouring some onto a cotton ball, rubbing it down the wound and keeping Julian calm as the stinging sensation spread through his arm. Then he covered it, and used gauze to wrap the soft covering tightly against the injury and cinch it. He used a small patch and medical tape to do the same thing with the scratch on his chest.

"Don't mess with either." Allan said. Then he took out some plastic covering. "Use this when you bathe, cover the areas I just took care of. And change your pants, you've wet them again as you can probably tell." He wrinkled his nose and pushed himself up. He closed the kit, staring at Julian and pausing. He put a hand on the young man's head, roughing his hair as if studying it, then pulling back and walking out of the room backward. He turned the light off this time, locking the door behind him.

Julian whimpered when the alcohol hit his open cuts, but the stinging was good and he knew that from experience. What he didn't understand was why the man had come in to dress the very wounds he had inflicted. He hated Allan for it. Showing such meanness and then turning the coin to show compassion. He froze when the man turned out the lights, stumbling in the dark until he found the bathroom.

He turned on the light, thankful for the tiny bulb that sat on the ceiling. He covered his bandages with the plastic, taking his pants off and stepping into the bath once he had run one for himself. He had no soap yet, so he cleaned his body with the water, soaking the cuts and bruises in hot water helped him clear his mind.

Now he had a plan devised in his head. He would exercise every day to remain active and strong. He might even get good enough to try and fight Allan and escape. He would record his days in his journal, to keep his mind active and prevent mental illness. And he would practice talking. Pronouncing words properly, so Allan would have no reason to mock him, to get mad at him. From now on he had to listen to his captor, if he wanted to get out alive.

While he painted he thought. His job let him think far too much and he didn't mind that. He thought about Julian. Alone. Chained. He was human. He would think. He would think, like Allan thought. Think about ways to escape. Think about weapons to make. Think about fighting. Think about begging, at the very least, to be let go. He paused in filling in the dog's eye to fight off the urge to shake, and let out a breath. No. He couldn't. He would be careful. This time he would be careful. He would give Julian what he needed but no excess. And for the next two days, no food. He would search the room every evening. he would make sure not a single thing was lost on him. Weapons would be seen, escape plans. Surely Julian, a smart young man, would have written something down.

He shook his head, focusing hard on the smallest details. The smallest hairs, the glimmer in the deep eyes of the dog. The pillow he laid on. The out-of-focus fireplace behind him. He shifted to the side and studied his creation, but found it lacking. The fur needed shine that he just couldn't add while the rest was still wet. So he capped his paints and washed his brushes, passing the door as he went upstairs and pausing to slam his hand into the wood. Whether or not Julian heard it was up to the alertness of the young man. Then he headed upstairs, and opened his laptop to check his email. Two new ones were there. A spam mail which he deleted immediately, and one from a new client. He smiled a little, opening it.

Julian had heard the noise, but ignored it. He sat on the bed, a thing he didn't intend sleeping on after what had happened on it earlier. He was busy writing in his journal, deciding to keep his entries as vague and harmless as possible, just in case the man found it and read it. He wrote about what had happened, how he had been cut and hurt. He wrote about his feelings of hopelessness and sadness. What Alan had said still resonated through his mind. How he would die alone and no one would care. Maybe if he wrote these journals and they were found by someone, he wouldn't die forgotten.

He then ripped out a blank piece of paper and wrote a note to Allan. Nothing that would make the man mad, just items he was allergic to and other things that were important. He hoped the man would read it and take it to heart, and not overly ignore it or get mad.

'Allan.
I am allergic to seafood and peanuts, which will both put me in anaphylactic shock, and can threaten my life. This includes any nuts/seafood in my food or anything that I put on my skin (such as shampoo/soaps).

I have minor skin irritation with certain soaps/shampoos/washing powders. It is best to get hypo-allergenic anything when it comes to things I clean myself with, unless you want me to be sick.' He paused to think of more to write, not wanting to truly tell the man what he thought. That Allan was a monster and should die in a hole. 'I would like some coloured pencils sometime. I can draw pretty well and it would be a nice thing for you to do to me - but only when you think I have been good enough.' he sighed and crossed the last part out, replacing it with 'I saw you are an artist of some type. I'd like to see your work sometime, as I can paint as well.'

He folded the paper up and set it to a side, lying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The light from the bathroom cut through the darkness and made him feel a little calm. He began to try to speak, deciding he had to practice saying Allan's name.

His new client had recently been to China and visited several museums. He wanted a replica of a Chinese vase and had attached several ideas along with the concept and size. They were a traditional form, white base and blue coloration, and Allan liked the concept. He wrote it down, printing the reference pictures and sizes and stapled them together, then closed the laptop and brought them along with him. He only had a little left to do in his painting, but it certainly wasn't done drying yet. Setting the papers on one of his workstations, Allan went to the usually hidden door and opened it, finding Julian lying on the bed, and he seemed to be speaking. But he fell silent when Allan entered.

"There you are." Allan said simply. "Stand up, please." He directed Julian to stand in the corner of the room, and studied the room. He had decorated it, and knew it well. He passed through, looking into the bathroom, searching the bed, under the bed, and the basket. He picked the basket up, bringing it along with him and spying a folded paper on the table by the bed. "What's this?" He picked it up. "For me?" He raised a brow at Julian.

Julian did as was instructed, watching as Allan searched his room. Of course he would be looking for any evidence of escape, or even weapons. Allan found his journal and flipped through the pages but didn't seem to find anything of interest. When he saw the piece of paper on his way out, and asked if it was for him, Julian nodded.

"Y...e...ssss.... All..aa...nnn" he struggled to speak, not looking the man in the eye.

Allan smiled, putting the paper in the basket and the basket under his arm, and approached Julian. "Keep practicing." He said, and ran a hand through his hair. "Keep practicing and maybe you'll be speaking fine in no time. And maybe you'll get a reward." He stroked Julian's cheek, then slid away, closing and locking the door again. He pulled away from the door and set the basket down, then unfolded the paper and read through. Well, it was good Julian hadn't eaten at all. But he kept that in mind. Nuts and seafood. And hyop-allergenic soaps and such, too? Quite a bother, but he did have soft skin. No doubt the young man would have sensitive skin as well.

Julian was an artist too? Allan was curious now, but he shook his head and sat at one of his workstations. Pulling a scrap of paper-backed velvet to him, he brought a pen out and wrote a reply:

'Julian.
Two days without food.
Four without colored pencils.
If you behave maybe I'll accept three days.
Tomorrow you'll have soap, toothpaste, and supplies for keeping clean.'

He went back to the door and rolled the velvet up, sliding it under the tiny crack and knocking to gather Julian's attention. It was better to keep him relatively isolated, and going in just to deliver a small note was foolish.

Julian shuddered at Allan's touch, and hated how he spoke to him. He was glad to be left alone and crawled under the bed, dragging a blanket with him. He decided he felt the safest under it, and the carpet made it somewhat comfortable. He started when he heard the knock and crawled over to the door, barely being able to reach the small note Allan had written for him.

He went over to the bathroom light so he could read better. When he had finished reading, he screwed the paper up and threw it into a nearby dustbin. He hated his situation. He no longer felt sad. He was angry that a man such as Allan could exist and treat him the way he did. He growled to himself as he crawled back under the bed with a book he had found on the shelf next to the journals. Just a dusty Atlas, but it would keep him entertained for awhile at least.

He pressed his forehead against the door and wondered how Julian fared. Did he hate Allan? No doubt. Did he want to see Allan dead? No doubt. But Allan really didn't care. He hadn't connected to Julian for nothing. He wanted to keep the young man for himself. He wanted the young man. Didn't want to kill him like he'd had to do before. Even if he had to brainwash the man Julian would never leave. Never. Allan sighed. Why couldn't he remember but a bit of what he'd done?

He grimaced, going back. What had he said? He remembered something painful, like an ice pick to the heart. Julian. Darren. Darren? The name meant something to him but Allan couldn't remember. He stomped away, pulling clay out of the plastic barrel in the corner and taking it to the wheel, sitting down and pressing the pedal down, forcing the wheel to begin and forming the clay, adding water from the nearby sink to keep it malleable. Darren. Who was Darren? He had fire. He commanded---no, he was a pyromaniac. That had to be it. It was the only reason Allan would associate fire with the man. Why did he matter? Did he make Allan harm the man he had now? No... That was Allan. He almost wanted to do it again, but he focused hard on his work, pausing from time to time to fetch more clay and keep it right. A thick base. A curved neck. Tall. It had to be fired immediately. Then Julian... No, later. He shook his head.

Julian closed the book, his stomach grumbling loudly. What time was it? It felt like years since Allan had come in last. He had taken the soiled clothes out to be washed. He was taking care of Julian. He shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that. The man had kidnapped him. Tortured him. God knows what else he had in store. Julian regretted writing him the note, trying to talk to him.

He crawled from his hiding spot to drink some more water, finding it a bit easier to walk after much rest. He returned to his bed under the bed after only a few seconds, closing his eyes and nearly falling asleep. He felt lonely. He missed Allan's company. No, he couldn't think like that. The longer he was left alone, the better.

After the base form was made he began firing the pot in the kiln. It took long enough that Allan was able to take the clothes, along with his own, and put them in a wash. While that worked, he went to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of dietary suppliments. He usually took them when he accidentally missed a meal or wasn't feeling as strong as he might have been otherwise, and thought Julian would need them if he were to keep even the small amount of strength he had. Filling a plastic glass with water, he took the glass and the bottle with him and returned downstairs, pausing to check the timer he'd set. Just a little while longer. He unlocked the door, opening it and spying Julian underneath the bed. "Come out." He said simply.

A flash of anger. He wanted to hurt him again, but gritted his teeth and set the water down, shaking out several caplets and lying them on the desk. "Take these. It'll keep you somewhat healthy." Staring Julian down, Allan backed away and pocketed the bottle, closing the door and locking it again, and hearing a beep. he nearly ran, shutting off the kiln and opening it so the heat dispersed. While that happened, he went to his painting room. So much to do, but he liked to keep busy. And forget about Darren. Whoever Darren was. He hated Darren. Hated Julian. Hated Darren.

Julian gingerly picked up the pills given to him and sniffed them. He was convinced by now that Allan wouldn't do anything to poison him or hurt him, and he wanted to avoid anything that would make the man angry at him again. Though he saw his eyes change and was convinced the man was completely psychotic, easy to fly into uncontrollable rages. Julian began to wonder why, but shook himself. He didn't need to know. All he needed to know was how to prevent the torture from happening again.

He took the pills and crawled back under the bed, suddenly feeling sleepy. He closed his eyes and drifted off, not knowing what time it was or even if Allan was going to come back into his room to hurt him again. He was sure someone would have missed him by now. The police would be searching. He was bound to be rescued soon.

What he didn't know was the home he had lived in was so embarrassed and ashamed at letting one of their patients be lost, they covered it up. Julian didn't exist.

He used a towel to bring out the cooling pot and set it on a ceramic tabletop. Closing the kiln door, Allan turned to the pot and stared at it. He had to sand it down carefully, make it smooth but artificially aged. But he didn't want to. He sighed. Darren. Why wouldn't he go away? Darren. Darren burned his paintings. Burned his clothes. Presents. Things Allan bought for him. Laughed about it. Why had he laughed about it? Did he hate Allan? No. No. He'd loved Allan. He thought he had. Allan thought he had. He pulled his hands through his hair, ripping at his hair and punching the wall. Why? Why did he burn all Allan's hard work? Cruel bastard. Cruel, horrible bastard. It hurt.

He went to the door he'd locked and opened it. Darren. Julian. He was hated. He slammed the door and locked it, and yanked the chain, pulling Julian out from under the bed. "Why do you hide from me?" He demanded, shaking the young man. "You hate me! Bastard... Why do you hate me? Hide from me? Why do you hide from me? You're not supposed to hide. Hiding. Is. Bad." He shook Julian hard with every word. "Bad!"

He threw Julian back, onto the bed, and pinned him there. He pulled the string from his hair and pushed it against Julian's neck, barely enough for him to breathe. "No. No. No. NO." He gritted his teeth, shuddering, then released Julian and bent forward carefully. "Will you hide from me again? Will you? Will you hide?" He was so close to Julian's ear that his lips were nearly touching.

Julian choked slightly as he was suddenly pulled from under the bed. He tried to scramble away from Allan, but was held and shaken before being pinned to the bed. Hide? No... He didn't even know Allan had come into the room, he had been asleep. He tried to beg him, but saw the darkness in his eyes. He wasn't there. This wasn't Allan. This was the demon that had hurt him before. He closed his eyes and tried to remain calm, tried not to wet himself again. "N... No... H... Bad... No... Hi...de..." he shook his head, tears running down his cheeks.