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Warning: This would be a good time to check the story description and make sure that you're comfortable with all of the current story warnings. This is where things start getting serious and disturbing. I am not responsible for awkward laughter or bleeding eyeballs past this point.

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June 28, 2012 at 12 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

My head is pounding so hard I can't even focus my eyes and it takes a few seconds for me to figure out where I am. I'm in the back of an RV on a hard little bed and it's so dark I can only see like two feet around me. I don't know why I'm here or how I got here – all I know is it smells like sauerkraut and the stench's making my eyes tear up. I look around again and try to get up to figure out what's happening, but my arms won't move. They're tied up over my head to the cooling pipes behind me with thick rope and nothing I do makes them any looser. I'm trapped here and no amount of struggling is doing any good.

"Hello? What's going on? Can anyone hear me?" I say every word louder than the last but no one answers or comes to help. I pull at the ropes some more and every failed tug just makes my breathing faster and harder and noisier. Someone trapped me here and who knows what they're gonna do to me. I can't escape. I can't do anything but sit here and wait for them to come back. I try to kick at the side of the RV to get someone's attention, but all I manage to do is stub my toe hard enough to make myself whimper like a scared puppy. Who am I kidding? I am a scared puppy. "Hello?!" I hear heavy footsteps outside and someone turns a squeaky door handle down at the end of the trailer. The light's so bright they just look like a black, shapeless blob.

"Hey there, sweetheart. Did ya have yerself a nice nap?" My heart stops and it feels like my soul's trying to crawl out of my mouth and fly away. Why is this happening to me? What'd I do to deserve this? I inch myself up into the corner so my legs are as far away from him as possible, and he just chuckles and turns the overhead light on. He shuffles in in his cowboy boots with his greasy yellow-grey hair swinging behind him and he walks over to the little kitchen area right across from the bed. He digs around in the cupboard under the sink and comes back with a filthy hot plate. He plugs it into the little outlet next to the sink and switches it on before he turns to look at me. "We're gonna have us some fun, don't you think, darlin'?" I gather up all the spit in my mouth and hack it at him but he just laughs and starts walking back out. "You're a spirited one, now aren't ya? That's the best kind."

He shuts the light off and closes the door behind him and I'm stuck here listening to the hot plate whistle as it warms up. I can't see or hear anything else, and it's driving me insane. He's gonna come back and kill me. He's gonna come back and screw me and kill me and eat me, and there's nothing I can do about it but spit at him and scream. It already feels like someone's ripping my stomach out and it's making me sick. Maybe if he comes back soon I can puke on him. I pull at the rope some more but it isn't budging. It isn't long before I can hear his boots on the concrete again and I know he's coming back.

"Please! Somebody help me! You hafta help me!" I hear him jingling his keys outside the door and the door handle screams when he opens it. He's standing out there, smiling at me with a big bottle of cooking oil in one hand and a giant box of beer in the other. He slides his stuff in and throws the Walmart receipt on the ground so the wind blows it away. He lights up a cigarette and just stands there in the doorway, watching me try to pull my arms out of the ropes. He tied them so tight I can't feel the tips of my fingers now. I'm not getting out of this. He's really gonna kill me.

"Such a pretty little face. Your mama musta been so proud." He smirks and takes another puff, pushing the grey smoke out his nose. He's so dirty even his smoke can't be white. I watch in horror as someone else slowly walks up to the door of the RV, their shadow blocking out the rest of the sunlight. Are they gonna take turns torturing me until they get bored and decide to eat me? Oh God, please have mercy. What'd I do to deserve this? Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'll fix it. I'll be a better man. Please, please just save me from this monster. The hot plate starts shrieking like a tea kettle right next to my head and the lump in my throat is so big I can barely breathe. This's the end for me. I'm gone. "That's right, sweetheart. Dance for me. You're dancin' away with my heart."

"Burn in hell, psycho!" He laughs under his breath and crushes his cigarette out on the doorframe, stepping up into the RV and pulling the door shut behind him.

"There's that pretty little tongue of yers. I was wonderin' if the cat got it." The door's almost shut when he jerks back around and it flies open again. He gives a startled shout as he falls backwards and I hear him grunt when he lands on the ground. I thought he just lost his balance and fell until I hear a sickening squish and something splatter. Great, just my luck. The psycho just got killed by an even bigger psycho and now I hafta watch 'em eat both of us. They stand up and I can see it's definitely a guy, and he's using the corpse's shirt to wipe the dark red blood off his knife like he's got all the time in the world. I squeeze my eyes shut and I just hope he makes it quick, like he did with Creepy McCreeperson. Please God, let it be quick.

"You really have a knack for getting in trouble, Preston." My eyes fly back open at the sound of his voice and I've never been happier to see him in my entire life.

"And you're really good at always gettin' me out of it." Rob steps up into the RV and pulls the door shut with that cheesy grin he always gets when he thinks he made a good joke. He doesn't have a single spot of blood on his dumb blue sweater, like he's done this a thousand times before and knows the ropes. "How'd you find me?"

"I can't tell you all of my secrets, now can I?" He crawls up on the bed with me and grabs my wrists to start cutting the rope off, but he thinks better of it and tosses the long knife down on the floor next to the bed. He looks down at me with his crooked smile and messy hair and all I can do is smile back. It sounds weird but I'm not even mad at him for keeping me tied up here.

"I can keep a secret. Tell me."

"Well, first of all, you're awfully cute."

"You, too." His trolly grin turns into a soft smile and he reaches down and brushes my hair to the side so it's out of my eyes. His fingers are cold like always, but the rest of him is so warm and inviting... He moves closer so he's basically sitting on my lap with his knees on either side of my hips. I've never been this close to someone before but it isn't uncomfortable like I thought it'd be. Nothing about Rob makes me uncomfortable.

"I don't think I can let you go – not when you look like this." One hand holds my right shoulder down on the bed and the other moves up to cup my left cheek. He strokes my face with his thumb and pauses for a second before he slowly moves down to close the gap between us.

His lips are warm and gentle against mine and his beard gently scratches against my skin. It isn't pointy or rough like I imagined it. The kiss is really jerky and awkward for a few seconds until I get the hang of it, and our mouths move in perfect harmony. I don't ever want this moment to end, but if it does, I just want him to cut the rope so I can pull him in for another kiss.

I've been waiting for this for so long. He runs his hand through my hair and he gently bites down on my lower lip and makes me sigh in contentment. He always knows just what I need. I move my face even closer to his and I hear the soft click of our teeth bumping together. I can feel the light brush of his tongue against my bottom lip and a whole new world of possibilities just opened up before my eyes. I move down to meet him and-

"Goddammit." The tower of empty Monster cans sounds like a musical avalanche as it collapses right next to Jerome's microphone and it goes on forever. He looks more disappointed than angry and he just sits there and watches his collection flow down on the floor like a big shiny river. It scares the frick outta me and I wake up at the stupid little wooden table in my hotel room with a big red crease on my face where I fell asleep on my arm. It's the same dream as last time, except I didn't wake up before Rob showed up to save me. Does that mean it's gonna go further every time? I throw that thought right back outta my mind but my face still turns bright red. I immediately look over at Skype and Rob's still working on whatever he's been doing all day with a little smile on his face. I check Mitch's camera feed and he's still squinting at something on his screen with his chin on his arm. So he's keeping an eye on Rob. Everything's fine. Sorta.

It feels like someone put a ten-pound weight on my lap while I was sleeping and it takes a second for me to realize what happened. Holy crap. I have to still be sleeping. This can't be real. I pretend to stretch and the movement just rearranges things and makes it even worse. I've never been so uncomfortable in pajama pants in my life. It feels like they're three sizes too small and they're really, really rough and scratchy. I need to take care of this before someone else notices and turns it into a big joke I'll never, ever live down. I get teased enough already without letting the Bac see me saluting. Thank the Lord I turned my mic off when the BenjandBac were recording earlier or I'd be so... screwed. I can't say that right now. It's too soon for that, Preston. I tilt the screen of the laptop back as far as I can so the camera's pointed upwards away from my lap and I slowly stand up, trying not to make any weird faces even though it really freakin' hurts and it's disturbingly wet. I leave my headset on the table and do the most awkward walk imaginable over to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I turn on the light and look at myself in the mirror and I can see the waistband of my pants lifting up on the left side. That coulda been really, really, really bad.

"Why'd it hafta be him?" I mutter as I waddle over to sit on the side of the bath tub so I can get rid of my problem. I can't even look my reflection in the eye and I can't tell which part of my body's redder or more painful.

Does dreaming about it still make me a sinner?