Chapter Text
In the far too rare moments that Arkin was left alone in his little room inside his little trunk, he would reopen the cuts on his arm. Originally, he did this to make sure they would leave scars, so he'd never forget the way back to this horrible place. He could lead the police right to him if he ever got out.
Later, it became a soothing ritual. No matter what had been done to him or what he was forced through or how badly he was hurt. It was strangely comforting to drag a fingernail over a cut and reopen it. As far as he knew the man didn't know about the cuts, he could keep them hidden under what was left of his shirt. He was always covered in layers of dirt and blood, what was a few more bloodstains on a black shirt?
As time went on, he found himself thinking about what he'd do if he escaped as he reopened the wounds. A hospital was a given but what would he do after that? His mind began to wander to the masked man. To thoughts of lashing out and hurting him.
He hissed through his teeth as a sudden and surprisingly pleasing image came to his mind. His fingernail dug in deeper in response. He would take the man and hang him by hooks just like he did to him. He'd tear his mask from him and make him look at him. Yes, he needed to know. He needed to know exactly how badly he hurt him and know the same thing will be done to him. And Arkin needed to see his face twisted in pain.
He moved to the next cut. The fingernail dug in deep and Arkin shuddered with the wave of dull pain. He'd make him scream. He'd find a way to make him beg. That asshole never speaks but he'll make him. He'll--
His stomach twisted as he realized he's gotten hard. He pulled his hand away from his arm as if he'd been burned.
Is this what he's become? He thumped against the confines of the trunk in frustration then again to slam all his body weight to one side. The trunk toppled obligingly to its side. Just as well, Arkin thought, it was easier to sleep when it wasn't upright.
A heavy thud came against the side of the trunk. No... he had been alone. He was alone in-- Another thud.
Arkin froze in place, an irrational feeling of shame washed over him. His heart racing, his mind invaded by thoughts of the man watching the red trunk while he was...
The darkness was penetrated by a sudden bright light of the trunk being opened. “No!” a pointless desperate plea as he was hauled from the trunk. Weight fell on his chest, the man's knee pinning him to the ground. He struggled with what strength he had left but fell still when he felt the cold metal of a knife pressed against his throat.
Maybe this was it? Maybe this is how he would kill him. Maybe it would all be over. He tilted his head back to bare his neck. “Do it,” Arkin dared in voice that sounded alien to his own ears. The knife shifted like the man was tempted but nothing happened. “Do it!” he demanded but was only met with a gentle shushing. When he dared to open his eyes seconds later the reflective eyes were startlingly close.
Arkin tried to reason out what was going on. What did he pull him from the trunk for? Did he know what he was doing in there?
The knife retreated from his neck to be replaced by a hand. The grip was firm, choking but not a complete cut off of his airway. It was enough to force him into gasping and struggling for what air he could get. The man shifted his weight forward, using his weight to force the remaining air out of Arkin's lungs.
His vision went dark as he tried to cling to consciousness. The last sound he was aware of was the gentle shushing sound from the man.