((A/N: This is a one shot inspired by a chat I had with Emolation_10 . Butters is their character and Mitchell is mine.))

((That's Butters))

((That's Mitchell))

((The puppy's name is Ash =^W^=))

[WARNING: RAPE / KIDNAPPING /VIOLENCE / CURSING] 

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Mitchell P.O.V

I'm running. I'm running as fast as I can, but it still seems like I'm getting nowhere. I can't escape. I fear that there is no escape.

He's chasing me. I know that he's close. I run as fast as my legs can carry me but it still doesn't seem like I'm moving. It's like I'm stuck in time.

Finally, he reaches me. I try to scream but he gags my mouth. I am silenced by him. I can't get away. I try to scream as he drags me back into his house, but no one is around. I'm trapped.

I wake up in a cold sweat. It was another nightmare. I can't allow myself to fall asleep anymore. The dreams are just as bad as reality, if not worse.

'I have to get out of here, but he won't let me leave. He's always home when he's not at work and when he leaves he locks the door from the outside. There's no way out because he's boarded the windows. The house is also in the middle of fucking NOWHERE.'

---

As Nick left the house for his shift at the Dairy Queen where he worked, I was planning my escape. I had been doing it for many days now, but still had come up with no actual plan.

Normally I would sleep while he was gone but now I can't even do that. The thought of him makes me sick and the nightmares make me scream. I no longer sleep anymore.

'I need a way out. He'll be home in six hours. I have six hours to plan a way out before he gets home and continues the never ending loop of my torture.'

I manage to untie the binds he uses on my wrists and crawl out of bed. He doesn't tie them tight enough so I can manage to slip out while he's not home. Of course he doesn't know this, otherwise, he would tie me up so tight that the blood would stop flowing into my hands.

I find my clothes scattered on the ground. They help conceal the bruises, scratches, hickeys, and other physical marks he leaves on me, but the pain I feel from them never goes away. It's more emotional pain that I will never be able to recover from. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.

I sneak some food out of the kitchen to please my begging stomach. I haven't eaten in days and it feels like it's finally starting to forgive me for my lack of nourishment. Although it's not my fault. Nick is the one who chooses to starve me.

'If he's going to treat me the way he does and do these horrible things the least he can do is feed me. Is that too much to ask? He gets his way with me in whatever situation he wants, whether I consent or not. A little food every now and again isn't asking for much.'

I don't eat very much because I know he'll notice if a lot of food is missing. I also know that starving after a full stomach is worse than starving on an empty one. My body never took in too much food, to begin with, but now it's like even a bit more than normal makes me feel sick. It makes me worry that my health is worse than I fear.

After a few crackers, a bit of cheese, and an orange I head back to the bedroom. If I'm seen anywhere else in the house he'll know that I've been able to escape. The only thing that changes is that I have my clothes on. He doesn't question that because he leaves them in a leg's length reach. He also knows how flexible I am and that I could manage to shimmy into the clothes if I wished.

The clock has become my enemy by this point in time. I dread its existence and cynical ticking sound. Every tick is a second closer to more torture. It makes me want to scream and smash it against the ground, but I know I can't. The clock is his ally and if something bad happens to it then something worse happens to me.

Everything is to remain the way Nick had it when he left for his job. He sees even one thing out of place and it becomes hell for me. I once knocked over a bottle of water that had accidentally been left open and I still have the scars on my back because of it. It's needless to say that he doesn't take much of anything lightly.

---

The front door squeals open; a sound that makes me cringe each day I hear it. Not only is it extremely high-pitched and uncomfortable, but it also means that my captor is home with more horrid plans of torture for me.

Loud footsteps echo through the relatively empty house. Each step got closer and closer, making my heart race until I thought it might explode. The sound those large and clunky size ten boots he wears makes me want to run and hide, but I know I can't. There is no hiding and there is no escape.

'I can't do this anymore. I need an actual plan. I can't just sit here and let him do these awful things to me, day after day until I scream and cry for him to kill me. I know that he won't no matter how much I beg. That also means that he wins. If I get to that point it means he's finally shattered my last shard of sanity. I can't let that happen. I can't give him the satisfaction. I have to get out of here.'

"Mitchell, I'm home~. Have you been good~?" asks Nick in his usual perverted and sickening voice.

He asks as if he expects me to answer even though he really doesn't care. He'll be able to see whether or not I've been "good."

I do my very best to cover my tracks and most of the time it works. Luckily today I did better and he didn't suspect I had moved at all, except to get my clothes. He doesn't know that I've eaten and that's a good thing. I wouldn't want him to beat me until I'm sick like he has in the past. I'm not sure I could take that again.

He straddles my waist and purrs close to my ear. My fingernails instinctively dig into my palms to refrain from making any sound of struggle. I know it will only be worse if I resist so I try my best not to. Of course, the pain in my face shows that I obviously do not consent, not like he actually cares. He never has before, why start now?

"Answer me, Baby~. Maybe I'll be nice tonight and make you feel good~." he purrs again, making me want to puke up all the food I consumed earlier.

This was one of the rare occasions where he actually wanted me to speak. Sometimes I think he wants me to talk to him on purpose because he secretly knows how uncomfortable it makes me. Unfortunately, I know what will happen if I don't answer, so I reluctantly do as he asks.

"I've b-been good t-today," I answer, stuttering in a couple places.

I'm almost certain that he's hit my throat so hard that my vocal chords no longer work properly. I wouldn't be surprised. I never stuttered until he started doing these horrible things to me. I don't think I'll be able to talk without a stutter for as long as I live. It'll be a constant reminder of the hell I've been through. If I ever get out that is.

Nick's face slowly transforms into a sly grin; one that could make anyone get the chills. It sends shivers down my spine which catches his attention. He knows now that I am afraid. This isn't a good thing for me.

'Shit. Now things really won't be good. The more fear Nick sees the worse he'll make it for me. Quick! Act brave!'

I try to act confident but end up cringing as my captor bites my neck. It doesn't feel good to me, it feels horrible. I can't describe how it feels physically, but emotionally it makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.

Within minutes Nick strips me of my clothes all the way down to my boxers. I try to pull my knees up to my chest but he holds my legs down. Then my boxers are ripped away too. I know there is no way to stop him from having his way with me, but I can't help but try.

My rapist smacks me against the face, silencing any struggle I ever attempted. I feel my eyes burn with tears that slowly travel down my cheeks. I can tell that this pleases him. My pain has always given him some sick and twisted form of pleasure.

'I should have realized he was a masochist when I met him. Then I wouldn't be in the situation. If only I were smarter back then. I wish I had never met him.'

He strokes my member gently, getting rougher as he goes along. I don't allow myself to moan and I never once find it pleasurable. I never did find myself sexually attracted to Nick in the first place. Perhaps that's why he does this to me; the fact that I'm not turned on by him probably makes him angry.

He notices that I'm not getting aroused by his actions and brushes it off as he starts to undress himself. I shut my eyes tightly so I won't see his body, but I still feel my own shaking from terror.

I feel my body tense up as he shoves a good length of his member inside me. I don't make a sound, not even a whimper of discomfort. I simply keep my eyes closed as tight as possible and try to block it out. Of course, rape isn't something that's easy to block out. I'm not even entirely sure it's possible, but I still try my best. Being silent is much better than letting him hear my pain.

'I'm sure he'd like it if I screamed. When it first started it seemed like he used to. That's why I don't scream anymore. I can't give that sick fuck the satisfaction of my pain.'

I don't let out any sounds that even remotely resemble pleasure. It's not pleasurable. It's the most horrible experience I've had to go through in my life, and it's not surprising when it happens at least once a day; sometimes more if Nick feels frisky.

It seems like it's been a good ten minutes by now. That's when I feel him release inside me. I squirm in discomfort because in all honestly, it's not pleasant. It's something loathe, mostly because it's just a hygiene thing for me. It's just a no for me.

He smirks, knowing this is one of the things I hate most that he does to me. I have the urge to kick him off but he pulls out of me and starts getting dressed before I can even finish the thought.

I wish to get out of the bed and scrub myself until my skin is raw and irritated, but I know I can't. I also know that after this I'll probably want to live in a bath tub. I'll never feel fully clean again.

'I'm sure Nick thinks he's giving me pleasure. He always thinks that. It takes more than ten minutes to get me off. Maybe that's another reason he does it so often; he's never forced me to orgasm. Not once. It must make him feel insecure.'

I can hear the television in the living room turn on. It's so old that it turns on slowly and often blows out but Nick had always refused to buy a new one. I'm not sure what's so special about it, other than the many porn channels it receives from Cine-Max. That's the only reason I've heard at least. He keeps the volume pretty loud.

Nick most likely thinks I'm asleep. He doesn't know that I don't sleep anymore at all. It makes me look rough but there's not anything I can do about it. I'd rather stay awake for all eternity than sleep one more minute with him in this house.

---

Hours, that's how long it's been. I'm not sure how many because I refuse to look at the clock, but it's been at least three. I don't hear Nick shuffling around the house anymore. I hope he's asleep, but I'm not certain. As much as I want to I still don't risk moving around. The last thing I want to do is get caught.

'I can't take one more day of this. When he goes to work tomorrow I'm going to find a weapon or a way out. I'll break the damn door if I have to. I'm not going to take any more of this torture and abuse. My body will no longer allow me. I'm going to escape.'

Now all I have to do is think of a way to escape. All the windows in the house have been boarded up and the front door is locked from the outside. Nick takes the keys with him to work and all the phones besides his cellphone have been disconnected. It makes me think that he had been wanting to do this to someone for a long time. Unfortunately, I was the unlucky soul he chose to attack.

The shower is a good place to hide for a short time. Maybe I could have some sort of weapon or blunt object. Anything that I could use. Maybe if there were a gun in the house I could use that for an escape.

'Wait, Nick wouldn't leave a gun in the house with me. He may be stupid, but he isn't that stupid. Anyone with a brain would remove any weapon that could be used against them. There wouldn't be a gun in the house.'

Just the thought of carrying out such a plan makes my heart race. One wrong move could mean a very painful death for me. I can't mess up.

'Tomorrow will be the day I escape. Tomorrow will be the day I finally get my freedom back; the day I finally escape this hellhole.'

---

Nick leaves the house yet again for his job. About twenty minutes after that I slip out of my binds. The clock is now my friend. It'll let me know when he is close to getting home. I set the alarm for ten minutes earlier than the awful time just to give myself a heads up to get whatever I'm doing done.

I sneak out to the kitchen and look for anything I can. He leaves no sharp knives out for me to find. The most dangerous thing I find is a pair of scissors. I take them and put them in my pocket, just for good measure. Having those is better than having nothing.

I continue my search in the bathroom to see if I can find anything of use there; which the only thing was a razor blade. It wasn't a razor, but it was like the blades in "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street." I'm not sure what the actual name is so I just call it a razor.

So as of now, I have a pair of scissors and a razor. I put one in each pocket of my pants. It's better to have weapons spread out so I have a higher chance of being successful. Now I just hope he doesn't notice that these things are missing.

The last place I search is the garage. The door is too heavy for my weakened body to lift; otherwise, I would have bolted from the place months ago. I wish that I could lift the door, but I cannot.

I search the car that Nick keeps in the garage. It's old and broken down; rusted and missing pieces. If there were an award for the most useless piece of scrap metal car, this would come in first. It didn't even run when I first met him two years ago. It's a bit ridiculous that he keeps it, but I search it anyway.

In the car, I find several old fast food wrappers and a lot of trash, but one thing does manage to catch my eye; a crowbar. A wide smile spreads across my face as I pick it up. It's heavy and dark. It will be easy to hide. This will be the real reason I escape.

As I make my way back inside I hide the crowbar in the closet where Nick keeps the umbrellas. It blends in just like camouflage. I decide to hide the scissors I've taken under the pillow where I spend a majority of the day. My head has left a permanent indent from the way I sleep but the scissors still remain hidden.

I glance at the clock and realize I still have a good three hours. I decide to turn off the alarm so it doesn't come back to bite me later. I then stay in the bed for a while. If I'm going to be alone the least I want is to be comfortable.

---

Now it's ten minutes until Nick gets home. The alarm would have originally gone off by now, alerting me to return to my space, but it has been off for hours. I bind myself again, leaving one arm free and bending it so it's under the pillow. I grip the scissors tightly as my heart races.

'This is my only chance. If I don't succeed then I will die. This is the most important life or death situation I have ever been in. If I fuck this up Nick will beat me until I'm dead. I have to do this right.'

I can tell I'm breathing heavily. I try to calm myself down by attempting to do a few moments of meditation, but all of that goes out the window when I hear the door open. My fight for survival has officially started.

His boots echo through the house again. I'm sick of hearing them. Today is the last day I will ever have to hear them. No more boots or ropes or anything else he used to torture me.

My heart is beating out of my chest as he opens the door. There again is his nauseating smirk. He knows what he wants to do to me and I'm going to use that to my advantage. If he thinks I want to have sex with him he'll let his guard down.

The only thing I worry about is him being able to feel my heart beating rapidly. Then he might realize something's up. I still try to calm down my heart by relaxing, but any relaxation is gone the minute his skin touches mine.

Now he's on top of me. I want to whimper, scream, or make any sound I can to show my discomfort, but I know I can't. That would give me away for sure. I just grip the scissors tighter under the pillow. I'm holding them so tightly I feel the blade pressing into my skin.

Nick kisses my neck and bites a few times, leaving more marks on my pale skin. I can feel his smirk on my flesh along with his hot breath. I'm getting closer to my freedom with each second until finally, the opportunity presents itself.

Nick sits up, a smirk being the most permanent feature of his face. He goes to lean forward again but before he can I reveal the scissors and stab him, point-blank in his left eye. He lets out a loud cry of agony but is in too much shock to get up and fight me.

I slip out of the other bind and dash through the house. This was my one and only chance and for the first time in months, I felt happy. I am escaping. I am actually doing it.

As I run through the house I notice the keys to Nick's work car sitting on the counter. I snatch them up quickly. His car was going to be my real ticket out of here.

I still hear him screaming and cursing. He's calling me horrible names and swearing from pain. I don't feel bad at when I say the bastard deserves it. It's nothing compared to what he's done to me in the past few months.

I reach the front door and retrieve the crowbar that I had hidden earlier. I use it to break through the door because it's always locked and Nick keeps the keys on him. But apparently, he's not smart enough to keep his car keys. The door finally gives way after a few moments of me using the crowbar. It was a pretty weak door.

As I'm about to leave I glance back and see Nick stumbling around in the bedroom, trying to regain himself as the scissors still hang from his eye socket. He's now covered in blood. I also got some blood on me, but not much. I can tell that there will be no recovery. His body is already in shock and I'm taking his car. The phones don't work and he won't be in a good enough state of mind to call on his cell phone. All these things put a smirk on my face. In my mind, he deserves all of this and a million times worse, but this is satisfying enough.

I jog out of the door and down to his car. It's the silver Dodge truck that I always hated, but now it's become my friend. It's the thing that will get me away from all this, for good.

I put the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. I put the vehicle in reverse before I floor it to get out of the driveway. I then take it off reverse and begin speeding down the road as fast as I can.

I haven't driven for months and I never particularly liked to either. I especially didn't like big vehicles like trucks. Now I'm driving one at over sixty miles per hour and have no idea where I'm going.

My hands shake and my eyes fill with tears. The reality of the situation hits me. It didn't until this moment, but now it feels like a giant brick wall that surrounded me and kept me inside all those months has just toppled to the ground.

"I'm free... I'm alive," I realize slowly at first before getting louder, "I'm free and I'm alive!" I yell to myself.

I let out a scream that I've been dying for since the very beginning. Now I'm safe to let out all the pain I felt. I'm finally safe from him. I don't have to be beaten or raped anymore. I can finally go home.

My eyes fill with tears as I cry with joy. I'm holding the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles are white, but I don't care. All I care about is getting as far away from that house as possible. That is my one priority.

I cry as I drive, although I know that is dangerous. I simply can't stop my eyes. All the emotions I had been holding in all decided to come out so suddenly. I didn't want to keep my walls up, so I let them fall. I've been emotionless for far too long. I have to let it out before it eats away at me and I die.

I cry. I cry and cry until my eyes burn and my stomach aches. I'm no longer hungry, but rather sick. I speed down the road as fast as I can. Things start becoming doubled in my vision. I'm almost into town.

'Just a bit further... I'm so close... I didn't come this far to pass out on the side of the road...'

I force myself to keep driving but it just gets harder and harder. Every minute that passes feels like an hour. My eyes grow heavy and my muscles ache. I so desperately want to sleep, but I can't.

Any thought of sleeping jolts me awake. The things that Nick would do to me flood my mind each time. He's like a parasite that won't leave my brain. I'm never going to be okay and I know this. What he's done is never going to leave my life. I'm going to have to carry the weight of his actions on me for as long as I live.

The more I think about living the more I realize I don't want to. Of course, I don't want to die either. I didn't work so hard to escape his grasp just to give up and die. I just want the pain to stop. All the pain I've been through; the scratches, the beatings, the rape, the abuse, the bites, the bruises; I just want it all to end.

Something inside me makes me speed up the truck. I'm well over the speed limit now, but I don't care. I just keep driving.

---

I've been driving for a good two hours now. I forgot which way to town was so I'm lost. I don't know where I am anymore. My memories don't help because they're all groggy and hazy. I can't even remember my home address.

Nothing seems familiar anymore. Everything feels new. I can't tell where I am because it's just a long stretch of road. There are no signs anywhere to indicate where I am.

I simply just keep driving. I have no other choice. There are still no signs and I'm not familiar with the towns around mine. I must be so lost by now.

It's almost dark now and the road seems to only be one lane. I know it's two, but the line isn't very visible to me. Perhaps there isn't even a line and you just have to know what side to drive on. Right is forward left is backward and vice versa depending on which lane you're in. Right now I'm honestly not sure which I'm in.

I just keep driving because there isn't anything else to do. Eventually, I pass a gas station and small store. I decide to stop and eat a little food and get some gas when I realize I have no money. I'm all right on gas but not on food. There's none in the truck. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about that, so I move on and keep driving.

---

The night is pitch black. I can hardly see past the headlights of the truck. I wish I knew where I was, but I don't.

'I want to go home, but I don't know where home is. How do I get back to something when I don't know how? I can't even remember my address right now! I'm never getting home!'

The thoughts make my eyes fill with tears again. I know it dehydrates me but I can't stop them from coming down. It's impossible.

The fact that I'm crying because I can't find my way home makes me feel like a lost child. I wish for someone's help but there is no one around. I feel so helpless. I can't do anything to save myself in the middle of nowhere. I have no food, no water, and no money. I have no means of survival other than this

Crying makes me tired. I feel myself dozing and losing focus. I can tell that I'm crashing but refuse to stop. I need sleep but don't allow myself.

The thing that wakes me up is a blaring horn. I jolt up and swerve the truck, driving into a ditch. The truck flips several times, throwing me around in the driver's seat. After a moment the truck settles upside down but everything goes black.

---

Everything is black. I don't see anything or hear anything. I also don't remember anything. Everything is just darkness. But then something appears in the darkness.

I try to move closer to see what it is, but it's moving very quickly. It's hard to tell which way it is going because it's surrounded by darkness. There are no other features that can tell me.

The object moves closer. I can now tell it's two bright lights. It moves closer and closer and a horn blares, but it's too late for me to move. I let out a scream of terror and then everything stops.

I wake up in a white room, screaming my head off. I don't know where I am or how I got here but I continue to scream. I hear a beeping sound going off furiously and realize that's it's a heart rate monitor that's connected to me.

A nurse rushes into the room and tries to sooth me, but I am far from being calm. There is no way I could calm down right now.

'Where am I!? What happened!?I can't remember what happened! How did I get here!?'

"Honey, calm down, it's okay, you're in the hospital. You swerved off the road around four this morning and a young man found you and brought you here. You're safe here," she explains, rubbing my shoulders as an attempt to calm me down.

I take a few deep breaths as everything comes back. I remember driving for hours and being so incredibly tired. Then everything goes black. I don't remember much after that.

"We treated all your wounds and put you on sedation because you refused to sleep. Do you remember any of this?" she asks me, having a soft and relaxing tone in her voice.

I slowly shake my head no. I don't remember any of the events that have taken place in the past few hours. I remember the truck crashing into the ditch and that's it.

Now that I look at myself I realized that I'm covered in scratches from the crash and Nick, my leg is broken, and bandages litter my body. I'm not at all okay, but it could be worse. I could be dead. Then everything I worked so hard to achieve would be for nothing.

'Teenage boy who escaped insane rapist tragically dies in car crash; that would be a top headline in the newspaper for sure.'

"My name is Sandra. What's your name, Hun?" asks Sandra, checking my vitals and writing on her clipboard. "If you can remember," she adds, probably having past experience with patients who had no idea who they were.

"My n-name is Mitchell Cario," I tell her.

That was one of the few things I could actually remember. I don't remember my address or phone number but I do remember my name. At least I have a small piece of my identity still.

"Okay Mitchell, do you remember where you were going when you crashed?"

'Of course, I remember. I was getting away from Nick. I had been trapped in that God forsaken house for months. The second I got out was the second I never looked back.'

"I was r-running away," I answer softly.

I don't want to talk about this subject, but if I don't they might find evidence later that can be traced back to me. I wouldn't want to be blamed for his murder and go to jail for doing something I had to for survival.

"And what were you running from?" she continues, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I look down at the sheets for a moment. They're clean and white, practically brand new. The ones Nick made me sleep on were dirty and very off-white. I don't think they had been cleaned for many years, if ever.

"W-Well, I, um, I was k-kidnapped by my e-ex boyf-friend, N-Nick. He had me h-hidden for s-several months. He b-beat me, starved me and," I pause, "and he r-raped me."

I look up at Sandra to see her reaction and see that her face has gone pale and her eyes show sympathy. It's obvious that she can sense how much pain I'm in.

I glance back down at the sheets as the room seems to be silent. The only sounds in the room right now are the heart rate monitor I was connected to and when either of us inhaled or exhaled. Other than that it seemed completely silent.

"Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry that happened to you. I can't imagine how painful that must be to experience," she says as he puts a hand gently on my leg that isn't broken.

I move my leg away because I don't feel comfortable with being touched at all at this point. Just the thought of physical contact with someone makes me cringe. I'll probably never have another physical relationship again.

'It's nearly impossible to find someone to love if you refuse to be physical. Normally that's a must for a "successful" relationship. No one is going to want to love me. I'm too fucked up now anyway.'

Sandra sees that physical touch makes me uncomfortable and stops. She must understand or have dealt with patients like me before. Nurses do deal with a lot of different people after all. I can't be the first rape victim she's treated.

"How did you get out? Surely he didn't let you go?"

She most likely wants information to know how to treat me. She might even call the police as well. Unfortunately, I don't remember much about where the house was except that it's in the middle of nowhere and it's very run down with boarded up windows.

"N-No," I shake my head, "I-I was there for so long. I-I had to get out. So, I st-stabbed him i-in the eye," I explain softly, realizing how weird it sounds to say out loud.

I had never told anyone because I never had the opportunity to. Now that I do those sentences just don't sound right. I sound insane in my opinion.

Sandra goes quiet once again. I'm sure that hearing that I just murdered someone, even if he was a rapist, was a bit much. I try to read her expression but she has a rather good poker face.

"You said you stabbed him in the eye?" she asks again for verification, to which I nod.

She stands and excuses herself after that. It seemed like an odd time for her to leave but it gave me time to think. I had the room to myself for just a little bit.

'I'm finally out. I don't have to deal with Nick anymore. He's dead. He's out of my life forever and now I don't have to see him ever again. I'm so glad.'

'The only real question I have is who found me? Sandra said it was a young man. I wonder if he's still here. I would like to thank him for finding me. If he hadn't I don't think anyone else would. After all, it's not a very populated area. I didn't see one house while I was driving. Although the grass could have been acres of farmland with a barn and house on the other end. It still wasn't populated to the eye.'

I sit up and grab Sandra's clipboard and read it over. The truck must have done more damage than I first thought because on the paper is a list of my many injuries; broken leg, lacerations all over my body, internal bruising, severe undernourishment, and PTSD? She has it written with a question mark herself. She must not be sure.

'PTSD; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That's one thing I don't want, but I'll be surprised if I don't already have it. I can't sleep from nightmares so I probably already have insomnia. After what happened in the horrible run down house I don't think I'll ever really function properly again. '

I don't feel like talking to Sandra about this because I don't know if I actually have it, although I probably do. I also just don't feel like talking about it in general.

The more time I'm alone the more I think about who brought me to the hospital. I was on an abandoned stretch of road with no signs of human life for miles. Who could have possibly found me?

'If I knew who found me I would like to thank them. Unfortunately, they've probably already left and I'll never see them again. It makes me a bit sad. Someone finally does something polite for me and I don't even get the chance to talk to them.'

I decide that I should probably get some rest before I leave the hospital. I'm not exactly sure when that will be, but I hope it's soon. I don't want to stay here longer than I have to. I don't think I could take being trapped in another place ever again.

---

I'm driving down the road, well above the sixty miles per hour speed limit. I'm doing almost ninety. I don't know where I'm going at all, but I want to get there fast.

The only thing around the road is trees; thick forests that I'm sure I would never be able to find my way through. I don't even bother with the woods and keep driving, getting faster and faster. I don't stop no matter what.

Then suddenly a bright light appears. It's small at first but then gets progressively larger. I keep driving towards it even when my instincts tell me to slam on the breaks. I want to know what it is.

I make out that the light is actually headlights to a car. The car is moving just as fast as I am. I try to make out who's driving it, but I'm too far away. The only thing I can tell from this distance is that the person has a rather masculine figure.

The car continues to speed up, getting closer and closer until I can see the only distinct detail I need to; a gaping bloody hole where someone's eye would belong. I know all too well who this is and scream as I switch the car into reverse. The last thing I want to do is drive towards the person I've been trying to get away from.

I'm driving backward as fast as I can. I don't have time to make a U-turn so I'm just flooring it in reverse. Although the wind is blaring loudly past my ears I still manage to hear the one thing he screams in a demented and deep voice.

"I'M COMING FOR YOU, MITCHELL!"

I scream out of fear and wake up in a cold sweat. I had fallen asleep in the hospital bed, which I now realize was a horrible idea. My heart is racing and I can hear it on the monitor. By this time I'm surprised that I haven't had a heart attack with all the poor organ has to go through.

Sandra must hear me scream because she comes in the room and instantly tries to calm me down. I can't take anymore so I break down and sob in her arms. She soothes me and pets my hair, sharing soft words of reassurance. I'm sure that this must be against some sort of protocol of hers but I feel so terrible that I don't want her to stop. She's the only person I've seen besides Nick in months.

I miss being around people so much, but at the same time, I want to go home and curl up on the couch for days on end. I don't want my bed because I honestly never want to sleep in another again. A hospital bed is different. It's clean and relatively new. Nick's bed was filthy and well over ten years old. I just don't see myself getting in a bed anytime soon.

---

Today I get released from the hospital. I was told how to get home from here while avoiding the road to Nick's home. That was my only request. The drive will take me a few hours, but it will be worth it if I don't have to deal with that hell-hole.

I drive down the road at the proper speed this time. I'm not driving Nick's truck anymore because it was totaled when I crashed. This is a rental that I can return once I get to town.

Luckily the hospital was able to contact my insurance so they could cover my injuries. I was also able to regain the information I had forgotten, like my address. So now I can go home.

I continue to drive until small things start to look familiar. I'm right outside of town now. Unfortunately not even being home can make me smile. I may never smile again. After what happened to me how could I possibly manage to smile, or even be happy?

I drive the car back to the rental place and then walk home. I don't look at anyone as I walk. All I do is keep my head down until I reach my apartment building. I'm so close to home and there's still not even a shred of happiness in my body.

I walk up several flights of stairs until I reach my floor. The door has been unlocked which is probably the way I left it. My landlord probably came in and looked around when I didn't pay rent and saw I was missing. The police however probably gave up when they reached the edge of town.

I send my landlord a text saying that I'm finally home and that I can get her any rent I've missed but she texts back that I don't have to and that she's glad I'm home. She's an older woman named Margret and she's more a friend than a landlord.

I figure most everyone in town knows I was kidnapped. I'm certain I don't have a job anymore either. After being gone for several months it's safe to assume they found someone to replace me.

It was only a fast food job to make a bit of money before I started school so it's not it's a big deal if I'm replaced. Anyone can do that really. I'll find a new job soon.

I walk into my apartment slowly, seeing it's pretty much just as I left it. It's nice to be home. I can be comfortable now without worry of anyone else.

I lay on my oversized bean bag chair and sigh. I don't turn on the television or eat anything. I just lay there and stare at the ceiling.

'I'm finally home. It feels strange to be here but good at the same time. It's like I never want to leave because I feel safe. Of course, I know that my apartment is far from safe. It's where Nick stole me from.'

I shut my eyes tightly from the negativity filling my mind. I try not to think about what happened but now that I'm home it's hard not to. I shouldn't have ever let Nick into my apartment that night, but I was just so naive and didn't see it coming.

'Everyone told me he was bad news. I didn't listen to them. Now I realize that I should have. If I hadn't let him in my life then none of this would have happened. I shouldn't have been so stupid.'

I put on some music as my phone charges. All my stuff was the same as when I left it. My phone was still charging, which probably wasn't good for the battery. I play some mellow music instead of songs that are really fast.

I doze on the bean bag which conforms to my body shape. It's comfortable and makes me sleepy. Unfortunately, I don't even doze for very long until I'm scared awake. I may never be able to sleep again.

---

Several weeks have passed since then. I haven't been able to sleep much at all and it shows in my face. There are bags under my eyes and I yawn constantly when trying to speak to anyone. I've tried over the counter sleep aids but those only seem to wake me up.

Now that I'm going to a therapist about my dreams and panic attacks I hope she'll give me some prescription sleeping pills. I would be very grateful for a peaceful night's rest. I would give anything to fall asleep and never wake up if it meant I didn't have to deal with the pain of the real world.

I don't drive to my therapist, one because I don't have a car and two, I'd be too tired to drive it safely anyway. So I walk. I walk to most places just because I like to. Plus her office isn't far from my apartment so it doesn't take me very long to get there.

I walk in through the front door and see that there is no one there in the waiting room. Normally there are one or two other people waiting. There's a young man, a little older than me maybe, with pink hair who's always scribbling in a notepad and a young woman with long blonde hair who's with him.

I have talked to them on occasion and learned that they are actually very close friends. The man's name is Fin and the woman is Christian. Fin was kidnapped and raped, similar to me, but his husband found him within a couple days and beat his attacker real good. Christian has been abused by past boyfriends and is trying to cope with that. Neither story is easy to hear when mine is a mixture of both.

Perhaps if I talked to them more I could be friends with them. Unfortunately, neither of them were here today so I was sitting alone. I didn't mind sitting alone because it gave me time to my thoughts, but my thoughts are not always good ones. Sometimes I wish they were in the room just so I have something to distract myself.

My therapist called me back into her office. Her name is Elizabeth Ginnings and she specializes in rape and abuse victims. Her goal is to help people move on and try to live a normal life again. That's the whole reason I come to her. I'm hoping she can really help me after a bit of time.

"Hello Mitchell," she greets, standing when I enter the room.

I share a small smile as I sit down. She is very kind when it comes to treatment of her patients. She has never pressured me or made me uncomfortable.

"How have you been since our last session?" asks Dr. Ginnings, taking out her clipboard.

"I've b-been trying to sl-sleep but... I keep having h-horrible nightmares... I can't sleep at a-all," I explain softly, watching her scribble down all that I'm saying.

She writes so fast that it's almost hypnotizing to watch. I can write at a pretty good pace, but hers puts even the fastest writer to shame.

"Have you tried music or white noise? That seems to help a lot of people who suffer from insomnia," Elizabeth suggests, her pencil stopping right before she spoke.

"I've tr-tried both, neither work. No matter what I either can't sl-sleep or have horrible n-nightmares."

She nods and continues to scribble down on her paper. I don't know what she's writing because I don't get to see, but I assume it's notes and ideas about my sleep.

She finally stops writing and bites the top of her pen. I've seen her do it a lot and just assume that it's a habit of hers. It's not really unusual either. There are worse things she could chew on.

"We could try a low dosage sleeping pill, but I'm not sure that will help... I think the real reason you can't sleep is that you don't feel safe. You need a companion, a pet," explains Elizabeth.

'I used to have a few fish before I was kidnapped but they were long dead when I got home. I don't think my landlord knew I had them.'

"W-What kind of a-animal would you suggest?" I ask, knowing small animals like fish and lizards probably wouldn't do any good.

"Well, some people like cats because it'll always be home when you are and normally cats are pretty protective of their territory, however, a dog would be able to go with you in most places in case you have an episode outside of your home. In this case, it is your decision, but I personally recommend a dog," she replies, writing a few more things down on her clipboard.

She tears off the paper and hands it to me and now I see that it's a prescription for sleeping pills and a recommendation for a therapy animal. I already know I'm going to get a dog because it'll be able to help even when I'm not at home.

I've seen people train their cats to walk on leashes and stuff like that but I think getting a dog will be easier. I don't mind dogs and if it's something small then my landlord probably won't mind.

---

As I wait for my prescription to be filled I decide to go look at the local pet store to see if there are any dogs I'm interested in. If there wasn't one there I would check the animal shelter. Surely between the two, there would be one dog I like.

I enter through the front door and I see several dogs perk up in their kennels. They're all cute, but rather big. I'm not sure a big dog would be best. I prefer smaller animals and my landlord may not be okay with a big dog in her building, even if she likes me.

"Hello, can I help you?" a young man, no older than myself asks.

"Um, I-I'm looking to g-get a therapy dog?" I reply, being a bit unsure with my tone.

"Okay, therapy animals are kept in the back. Please, follow me."

I do as he says and we go to the back of the store. The therapy animals are kept separate so regular people don't adopt them when they don't need them, I suppose. If you just want a dog then there's no point in buying a therapy dog that could help someone else.

"What type of dog are you looking for?" he asks, gesturing to a few kennels.

"S-Something small a-and quiet."

The boy nods and looks through a few kennels before opening one. He pulls out what looks to be a clump of fluffy black fur. It takes me a few moments to realize that the clump is actually a small sleeping dog.

The dog pokes its head up and lets out a tiny and very adorable yawn, followed by an even more adorable sneeze. It was obviously sleepy.

"We've had this little guy for a few months... He's trained and all, loves people too... No one will adopt him because they think he's too young or small, but he's a great dog... Unfortunately, the owner of the store said that if no one adopts him by the end of next month that he'll have to be put down," he explains, making me want the dog even more.

'Damn, he's good at his job. I want the puppy now more than ever. And he's very cute and small. He could be just what I need.'

"I'll take him," I say with a small smile.

The boy nods and leads me back out of the room. I get the puppy along with a bag of food the boy told me he likes and a small bed. The puppy also comes with a collar and a panic button for me. The worker said that if I ever feel worried or start having an attack of some sort that I just push the button. It plays a noise in his collar that alerts him to come and find me.

"So, now that this little guy has a home, what are you going to name him?" The boy asks as I'm about to leave.

I hadn't really thought of that. Plus most shelters give their animals names while caring for them. Of course, the new owner can always change it, but the way the boy spoke made it seem like this dog doesn't have a name.

I take a few moments to think before coming up with a name for the adorable pup.

"His name is Ash," I reply, picking Ash up and scratching behind his ears.

I can tell that he likes it because he's completely relaxed and looks like he's falling asleep. He really is an adorable dog.

I carry him back to my apartment and set up his bed near my bean bag chair. Unfortunately, he completely ignores it and jumps up to the bean bag instead. The cutest part is that he's so small that he's almost swallowed up in the huge thing. But I know he's happy.

I pick him up and lay him on my chest. He curls up on instinct and stares at me with his dark brown eyes. They're big and adorable and could make anyone's heart melt. I already feel better with him around.

I finally feel safe in my own apartment. From the minute I got back I didn't feel safe. I know that Nick is dead, but I still feel as though he could come back to finish me off some day. Ash helps tame those feelings just by being around. I have something to focus on.

Ash yawns and curls up on my chest. He uses his front paws to pull my hand close. I can't help but smile. He's the most adorable dog I've ever seen. I can't imagine anyone turning down such a cute pup. And the person who would have had to put him down would've had an extremely hard job.

---

Unfortunately, even with Ash in my life I still can't sleep. Nightmares wake me up with horrid screams of terror which scare him as well. It makes me feel bad that I scare my dog the way I do, but I can't help it. I can't control the nightmares. Not even the sleeping pills I take help. I fall asleep but don't stay that way.

Every few days if I don't sleep I'll crash and fall asleep for a few hours before waking up from a nightmare. Those nights aren't as bad as the ones where I actually try to sleep. The nightmares are worse then. But I suppose it's good I sleep. Not getting enough sleep isn't healthy. I know that all too well now.

I got up from my makeshift bed and whistle for Ash. He comes running towards his food bowl and almost crashes into it, but swerves at the last second. He's quite the energetic dog. 

Later in the afternoon, I take him for a walk. I don't have a leash so I'm constantly whistling for him to hang back. It's like everything he sees excites him as if he's never encountered it before, and perhaps he hasn't. I'm not too sure how long he was in the pet store, although the boy said a few months. Maybe he didn't get to experience much of the outside world them. Maybe that's why he's so ecstatic now. It would make sense.

We walk to the park and then relax for a little while. There's a playground for children and a pond for ducks. Both, of course, make Ash curious. Everything in the park makes his face light up with joy. Even a jogger strolling by catches his nearly undivided attention.

I don't know where he was before the store. He might have been in a puppy mill or something where he never got to go outside. The thought makes me sad. It isn't right when people treat animals with cruelty. It just isn't fair to the animal that did nothing wrong.

Ash sits at my feet and watches the world go by happily. He's so innocent and doesn't realize the horror of the planet we call home.

'He's the lucky one. Ash is just a puppy. There is no worry for him. He can live happily with me and not even realize that I have problems. He probably considers me to be normal; that humans wake up every night screaming in terror. Oh, how lucky he is.'

I sigh softly and then look down. I begin to worry when I don't see Ash at my feet anymore. I quickly get up and look around, only to realize that he ran off about a hundred feet away.

I walk over quickly and see that a young man around my age with pink hair is petting him. He's not being rough with him, but actually rather gentle. He then looks up and sees me, stopping his actions.

"Is this your dog?" he asks, probably already knowing that the answer was yes.

"Y-Yes, I'm sorry, he l-likes to run when I'm n-not looking," I apologize, scooping up my dog and holding him in my arms.

Ash pants happily as he glances between the boy who was petting him and myself. I'm not sure what he's thinking at the moment. He could be thinking about anything, even when he'll get to go home and eat.

"That's alright, he didn't bother me at all. He's a very cute dog and I've grown up with a really big dog my entire life," he explains, scratching behind Ash's ears.

I can tell that Ash likes this because he leans his head back to get more attention. He really does love people.

"M-My name is Mitchell a-and this is Ash."

"Cool, everyone calls me Butters," Butters, as he says he's called, replies while continuing to pet my dog.

"Butters?" I ask, never having heard such a nickname for anyone.

He nods and stops, staying silent for a moment. I try to guess what he's thinking, but my mind comes up blank.

"Yeah, that's what everyone has called me since I was little. I'm not even really sure if it counts as a nickname anymore because I can't remember my real name," he explains.

I shrug it off. Everyone has always called me Mitchell and never anything else. Knowing someone with a unique nickname is a change. It's nice.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Butters."

He nods and looks back for a moment. There's a large dog that looks similar to a wolf that's playing with the children. I've never noticed it being here before, but it could have shown up while I was gone. It seems to be gentle with the kids, but it puts terror in the eyes of their parents.

"Oh, that's my dog. He loves to play with the kids. He may look tough but he's a total cinnamon roll," Butters explains.

Ash jumps out of my arms and runs over, yapping the entire time. I've never had him play with another dog before so I can see his enthusiasm.

He runs around the larger dog and they play together. Now I see that he really is a gentle giant. It eases my mind about the kids.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" Butters asks, surprising me a bit at first.

"S-Sure."

((A/N: NO NO, IT'S NOT OVER!!! I'M JUST BREAKING IT UP BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS OVER 10,000 WORDS!!! PART TWO COMING SOON!!!))