#after this one i literally have nothing more prepared soooo i better get writinggg

[skittishandi]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 12:

STARVATION

tags: @gala1981@hollowgast1(let me know if you'd like to be added or removed)

“Get the f-“ Elliot squirmed away, but Peter was stronger. Peter’s fingers dug painfully into his chin.

“Stay still.” He ordered.

“Fuck off.” Elliot spat directly into Peter's face, knowing there would be consequences. To be honest, he didn’t care —not one bit. He would spit on that idiot’s face all day if he could.

“Oh, that was not nice, Elliot.” Peter said, wiping his face.

“Don’t talk to me about nice, you freak.” Elliot spat again, trying to crawl away from Peter, who had him trapped, Peter’s first grabbed his shirt tightly. Elliot’s hand clawed at Peter’s wrist, trying to break free. “Let me go.”

“Sierra.” Peter barked at her direction, without looking back. She approached quickly, handing him a taser. 

“Can’t handle some words, Peter? Can’t handle me not being all polite and proper?” Elliot’s voice was taunting, challenging Peter. He yanked at Peter’s wrist again, but it didn’t budge. “You going to shock me to shut me up?”

“I’ve been so good to you, Elliot.” Peter said, pinning Elliot down, pressing his knee into Elliot’s chest. “So forgiving.” Peter said, jamming the taser down intoElliot’s ribs and flicked it on. 

Elliot’s whole body seized up, the electricity tearing through him. Elliot groaned as his muscles locked. His body instinctively tried to get away from the pain.

Peter switched the device off and handed it back to Sierra. Elliot’s body went limp for a second after the shock, too stunned to register what was happening. Peter didn’t waste the opportunity and finally took out the syringe and jabbed it into Elliot’s neck, pushing the plunger as he held Elliot down.

“That should help you calm down, Elliot. Calm your funny temper.” Peter cooed condescending, tapping Elliot’s cheek in a mocking way.

“You drugged me? That’s low.” Elliot muttered, spent due to the exchange, maybe already being under the effects of whatever he was injected with.

“Low was your behavior. Wild. Inappropriate.” Peter sat in front of him, a little sweaty himself. “Come on.” He said as he helped Elliot up to his feet.

Elliot frowned as he realized he had little control over his body. He could walk, he could— do somethings but— everything seemed off.

“I don't like this, Peter. I hate it.” He mumbled, why did he feel he so— so strange? 

Peter let him lie down on his bed. “It’ll get worse.” Peter announced with a light tone. He patted Elliot’s sides as he stood up from the bed. He walked to the drawer and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold.

“I knew you were a kinky freak.” Elliot said as he saw what Peter was holding. “Leave me out of this, you disgu-“

Elliot was interrupted by Peter’s hand on his neck, cutting his air supply almost immediately. 

“You talk so much, little Elliot.” Peter said as he tightened his grip.

“I’m-n- not little.” Elliot wheezed as disgust crawled inside him. He hated Peter.  “Fucking sick b-as-bastard.” He managed to say, trying to lift his head, to have some leeway and trying to get some air.

“That mouth of yours again.” Peter smile as he heard Elliot’s choked sounds. “You think I’m a sick bastard, huh Elliot? Do you think I’m sick in the head?”

Elliot coughed, his legs trashed. His vision began to tunnel.

“Peter—“ Sierra said, hesitant. 

Peter snapped his head on her direction. “Don’t start.“

Sierra bit her lip and dropped her gaze. Peter sighed as he let go of his throat and sat back on Elliot’s hips. Peter watched how Elliot’s hand went immediately to his sore neck, coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Drop it, it wasn’t that bad.” Peter said dismissively, patting his sides as if nothing had happened. 

Elliot couldn’t hold back the look of disbelief on his face. “Wasn’t — that bad?”

“No. Not at all. You spit in my face.” Peter reminded him. He reached back to his pocket and took out a pair of handcuffs. “Give me your hands.” He spat the order.

“The hell I will.” Elliot tried to resist, but Peter’s hands moved faster, an unfair race against Elliot’s sluggish movements.

The handcuffs clicked shut, locking his right wrist on the bed post. Elliot’s eyes followed Peter as his wrist instinctively pulled on the chain. “I get it,” Peter said, “we’re all on edge.” He hunched down with a groan and picked up a bucket from the closet. “So… I’ll give us all a few days to chill out.” He placed the bucket on the floor with a loud thud. Peter looked at Sierra and Elliot, his palms open and on his face an expectant look.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Elliot asked but cut himself off when Peter raised a finger.

“One more day for that.” He calmly said. 

Elliot gave him a puzzled look. He was either not following the conversation due to the drug, or Peter simply wasn’t making any sense. He didn’t have that much time to ponder on it before Peter gave a sharp head signal towards the door and him and Sierra left the room.

Alone, Elliot shifted on the bed, scooting himself back up until he was sitting. He inspected the cuff almost cutting into his wrist, Peter had closed it way too tight, again. He tested the chain out of habit, he already knew Peter wouldn't buy cheap shit.

Elliot’s hand went to his sore neck, rubbing it in slow soothing motions. What a bastard, he almost chocked me out.

Elliot stared at the door, wondering when Peter would be back, and what he would do next. As much as he hated to admit, he was feeling anxious, scared even. He’d never spit on Peter’s face, Elliot didn’t need to be a genius to know that’d piss everyone off —crazy or not. Elliot knew he was difficult but he couldn’t help to be slightly proud of it. If Peter wanted a perfect little prisoner for his sick fantasy, he’d have to look elsewhere.

Rage filled him when he realized he was trying to make sense of Peter’s psychotic behavior. Peter was insane, and Elliot needed to get out.

—- —- —- —-

Elliot woke up when he tried to roll over, only to have his arm yanked back by the chain. He groaned, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. The room was dark. Dread settled in his stomach as eyes snapped toward the other side of the bed. No sight of Peter. He exhaled.

His eyes landed on the nightstand. A clock. He reached for it. 10:28 PM. He’d slept all day. He frowned as he felt the need to go to the bathroom. A feeling of uneasiness crept deep inside him. He’d never been left unattended for that long. His eyes found on the bucket Peter had left next to the bed when realization hit him.

Delaying the inevitable would only give him an UTI. With a groan he got out of the bed and knelt to reach for the bucket. He huffed when his fingers were a good feet too far, he cursed under his breath as he reached his leg, sliding the bucket on the carpet with tiny kicks.

He tried to ignore how humiliating it felt to be doing this, the echoey sound was impossibly loud in the dead of night. He couldn’t only partly see what he was doing and to be honest, doing all that one handed was frustrating. He put his pants back up and threw himself on the bed again, scooting to the other side— Peter’s side. It did’t matter, he wanted to be as far away from the bucket as possible.

He felt filthy. His hands felt dirty, as if a thick layer of filth and grime coated his skin. Making everything he touched dirty. He longed for a shower, or at least for some water to wash his hands.

He turned, his back on the bed, not a flick of tiredness. Stupid drugs. Did that mean he’d be up all night? A fucked-up sleep schedule is the last thing he needed right now.

—- —- —- —- —- 

Noise coming from the kitchen downstairs woke him up. He knew he had sleep terrible, drifting in and out of a very light sleep. His hand landed on top of his stomach as it growled. His eyes switched to the clock on the nightstand 9:03 AM. Breakfast time. He closed his eyes as the aroma of Sierra’s coffee creeped into the room. The smell of bacon followed shortly. 

The door opened. Elliot’s eyes snapped open. Peter entered the room, his silver hair was dripping wet.

“Morning, Elliot” Peter said politely before rummaging through his haircare products. He made a celebrating wohoo after he found the product, tossing into the air and catching it.

Peter walked to the bucket, tilting it with his foot to check its contents. He nodded to himself. “Pretty much empty.” He mumbled to before turning around and walking out the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” He quickly got up from the bed and was stopped by the handcuffs. He cursed as he shot an annoyed glare at the metal chain. His eyes returned to Peter, who stopped at the door and gave him an inquisitive look. “I don’t have any food here. None I can reach. I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s breakfast.” Elliot licked his lips, trying not to sound too desperate. “I need to eat, in case you forgot.”

“Oh? No, I haven’t forgotten.” Peter smiled, “So, that’s it?” He asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before giving Elliot a thumbs up. “Marvelous. Great.” He clapped enthusiastically before walking out.

Elliot stared at the door, dumbfounded. He let himself go on the edge of bed. He could hear movement in the kitchen. More importantly, he could smell all the food being prepared. He licked his dry lips.

He’d come back. Peter had never made him go hungry. He’d beat him. He’d tase him. He’d keep him restrained 24/7. He’d choke him. He’d hit him. But everyday, like clockwork, he’d get fed. At least once a day, a big meal if Peter had gone busy with him and lost track of time.

The thing is, he didn’t come back.

After a while, no sounds were coming out of the kitchen. The aroma of food slowly faded. The house fell into its usual silence. Elliot heard Peter leave for work, shortly after, he heard Sierra leave, too.

He was alone now, for the next eight or nine hours. He was hungry. No— starving. His eyes focus on the night stand. He has to find something, anything. He rummaged through the drawers, his movements frantic. A piece of gum, or some mints. He wasn’t sure what was he looking for, just anything.

Just useless papers, cables, an old bible. He moved on to the next nightstand. That one was empty. He stood up, the restricting chain rattled, it was getting on his nerves. He grabbed a hold of the bed’s bottom frame and pulled, dragging it across the floor to the other side of the bedroom.

Elliot had never imagined he could be grateful for anything ever, not anymore, but now he was thankful that Peter was a loser with zero sense of interior design. That meant no obstacles on his path as he shifted the massive bed around. He stopped for a second to catch his breath. He was feeling weak already due to the lack of substance. 

Once he had dragged the bed far enough, he opened Peter’s drawer. Underwear in the first one. Shirts in the second one. Sweatpants in the third.

Nothing. He exhaled as he looked around, mentally checking off every place he had searched. His head throbbed, and he was getting dizzy.

Fuck Peter. Fuck him.

And fuck Sierra, too.

—- —- —- —- 

The hours dragged on. Elliot’s stomach twisted and turned, trying to digest something that wasn’t there. The emptiness in his gut was painful. The build up of yet another hunger pang was agonizing. He pressed his hand to his stomach, hoping to ease the pain, but it only made it worse. Every growl was louder than the last one. 

His head perks up as he hear a car pulled into the driveway. He quickly mustered all the energy he had left to set the bed back into place. The last thing he needed was to give Peter yet another reason to get pissed off. Elliot might not want to be all good and proper, but he wasn’t an idiot either.

His stomach complained again, growling, sounding angry. Elliot placed a hand on his middle, pressing down to muffle the sound. Peter’s heavy steps could be heard climbing up the stairs. Elliot’s eyes fixed on the door.

Peter opened the door, barely throwing him a glance. “Hey, handsome.” He greeted casually, unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt.

Elliot gulps, his throat suddenly felt parched dry.

“God, I almost forgot. Hold on a sec,” He said, sprinting out of the room.

Peter comes back a few minutes later with a glass of cold water. “Here you go. I bet you’re thirsty.”

Elliot stared at the glass of water, shaking his head slightly. “Peter— I’m hungry. I-”

“You don’t want it?” Peter interrupted. Elliot looked at him with wide eyes, he started to shake his head.

“I do. I do.” Elliot’s tone was frantic, desperate. He hated himself in that moment. “I’m just… I’m so hungry, Peter.”

“You can have this water,” Peter talked slowly, enunciating every word, Elliot huffed at the patronizing tone. His head was throbbing. “Or not.”

“You’re sick.” Elliot said, but still reached for the glass. 

Peter chuckled.

—- —- —- —- 

The glass of water helped with the dizziness and the throbbing headache, but the emptiness in Elliot’s stomach was present as ever. Elliot curled into a fetal position on the bed, the hunger pangs were getting more and more painful. His gut still trying to digest air, nothing. It wasn’t getting the memo that it was not getting any food.

Two days. It had been two days since he’d eaten anything. Peter came regularly to give him water. Elliot accepted reluctantly, it dulled his aching hunger for a while. Peter’s visits were brief, always rushed. Before Elliot had gathered himself enough to speak, Peter was already gone.

The smell of steak and roasted vegetables filled the entire house, creeping in and surrounding him, a cruel reminder of everything he couldn’t have. His eyes watered in frustration. His stomach tightened with each breath he took, his mouth painfully watered. 

He closed his eyes and hugged his middle. His mind can’t help but imagine the flavors, how it’d feel to have the juicy meat on his mouth, he fantasizes about the crunchy veggies. He could smell soy source too. He swallows. 

The door opens. Peter entered, carrying two plates of food. Elliot’s eyes widen and are glued to the food, he pulled himself up. His stomach growled loudly, he placed a hand on his hollow gut, as if to silence it.

Peter watched the action with a knowing smile.

“Guys like you shrink down quick, huh?” Peter said with a teasing voice, eyeing him up and down. “You look bony already.”

Elliot no reply. He knew Peter was right. He had noticed the changes on his body. The concave gut. He wasn’t sure if he looked bony but he felt weak. He felt lighter, not in a good way.

“I’m guessing that’s not for me.” Elliot said, swallowing thick as his eyes could not pry away from the food.

Peter laughs. “Oh this? Yeah, this is my lunch.” He sat on his desk, he crossed his legs as he takes a bite, moaning as he chewed. “Oh, so tender.”

Elliot’s stomach growled again, louder this time, he winced. He must look so desperate —he felt desperate. Every fiber of his body wanted to grab the plate, swallow the food, leave no crumbs behind. 

“I’ll leave this here.” Peter shrugged innocently as he pointed at the second plate, he stood up, bringing his own plate along. “For you to think about.”

“No.” Elliot’s eyes met Peter’s. This didn’t count, he wasn’t begging, he thought. He would go crazy if he left the food there, so close but so far. “Take it, please.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t ask if you wanted it or not.” He left his empty plate on his desk, took another pair of handcuffs and, before Elliot could protest, his left wrist was shackled to the other side of the bed frame. Elliot felt his stomach drop. His big mouth had him lose the little freedom he had.

Without another word, Peter exited the bedroom. Elliot slumped back against the bed, he forced his eyes to remain on the ceiling, not the food. His stomach growled again, a hunger pang twisting inside of him. In this position, he was unable to rub his aching stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain, the hunger, the thought of the food warm, waiting for him.