The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 14

14

Marcus couldn't pin-point the moment when the dynamic between him and Roman changed. It had happened gradually, sometimes at a snail's pace, sometimes in the blink of an eye. The day's in which he was forced to stay here at the cabin were spent sleeping, eating, and reading.

He would sleep when he was tired in the bed and when he was awake, he took residence in the large comfy chair that almost swallowed him in the cushions. He'd gone through five novels, one each day, so he knew he'd been here a total of a week. At least. He didn't know the exact number of days since he'd been out when Roman had brought him here.

But it was long enough that someone must have realized he was missing. He wondered if anyone knew of the rapist/murderer at the end of the block and if anyone in the FBI knew the copycat killer was the one who'd kidnapped him.

All of that was up in the air. The only thing he could be sure about was that Roman was true to his word. Marcus wasn't going to die. Not until Roman got what he wanted.

It was still unclear what that was and while Marcus wanted to know, he was oddly content in waiting for the big news. The days in the cabin didn't seem to be waning. It felt like the snow would never stop falling and that the days spent here would only grow.

And he was going insane.

He slammed the book he'd been reading, The Lost Voyager, closed and threw it onto the shelf beside the chair. He tossed the blanket off him and onto the bed as he made his way to his feet.

As much as he wanted to complain to Roman, his broken leg was healing better than before. It wasn't crooked and while it still caused him some discomfort, the pills Roman gave him each night helped.

He still struggled to move around the cabin and he wasn't going to ask Roman for help. Not for anything. He didn't even care he was starting to smell like shit. Roman would just have to deal with it.

He made his way to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. There wasn't much, but there were the essentials at least. Rice was his go-to meal because it was the easiest thing to prepare when he could really only use one hand. He had to use the other one to stabilize himself.

He eye-balled half a cup of rice and poured it into the one small pot. He rinsed the rice with a leisure pace. He thought of the stack of papers surely getting higher each day on at his desk. He snorted as he thought about how the other cops on the force had to actually do their job. He also thought about Blevins and how he was probably going mad without his punching bag. Without Marcus there, who was he going to pick on all the time?

After the fourth rinse which was probably unnecessary, he also eye-balled the water and placed the pot on the two-burner hot plate.

He rummaged under the cabinet to find the small collection of spices. He'd been mixing a variety together each time he made his rice because that was all the flavor he was going to get. He plucked a few at random he thought would go together.

Now, he only had to wait.

He turned and almost jumped out of his skin when Roman was standing right behind him.

"Jesus, fuck!" He slapped a hand over his chest as he caught his breath.

He glared at the man. "Why the fuck are you creeping behind me?"

Roman moved toward him. He reached around to grab something on the counter. He got so close to Marcus that he caged him in. Marcus held still as he slowly turned his head to see what Roman was reaching for.

It was a small paring knife he hadn't noticed. Roman grabbed it, but he didn't step back. Marcus's heart picked up pace as he wondered why Roman needed the damn thing so bad he had to get up into his space.

"I can make you something to eat."

He said it as if it wasn't a bother at all. Or that he was being nice about the offer . As if the offer didn't come with a string attached.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I don't need your help."

He turned around because he couldn't stand to face Roman. But that meant he was leaving his back exposed. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he sensed danger.

Roman placed both hands on the counter on either side of Marcus. His left hand still held the paring knife.

Marcus tensed as he felt Roman's body heat. He was so close that if Marcus even moved a centimeter back, they would touch.

"I can tell you're getting lonely."

Marcus's eyes widened. He stared at the pot of rice. It was starting to simmer.

Roman inched closer. His chest touched Marcus's back. His warmth spread like a virus. "It's going to drive you mad."

Marcus couldn't speak. He couldn't even begin to think what Roman meant. Was this about the game? Was Roman angry Marcus was ignoring him? That must be it.

"I'm fine," Marcus bit out. The truth was that he was almost at his breaking point. There was only so much reading he could do to escape. He was used to being busy. Being trapped here might have well been his own personal hell.

He needed chaos and orders to follow to function.

But he wasn't going to fall for whatever mind games this was. Roman could go fuck himself if he thought Marcus was going to break so easily.

The rice water bubbled and boiled until there was barely any left.

"Can you move? I need to season my rice and I can't do it with you breathing down my neck." He glared at the rice, chanting in his head for Roman to get the fuck away from him.

Roman didn't move at first. His hot breath billowed against Marcus's neck, but he refused to let it affect him. He ignored Roman, acting as if the man wasn't there at all.

But it was a relief when Roman finally listened. He stepped back, taking the knife with him for whatever purpose that Marcus didn't want to know.

Marcus's tense shoulders dropped. He seasoned his rice with a little more peace than before. He hurried though because he didn't want Roman getting into his space again. Or worse, trying to convince him to play or tolerate his presence.

It seemed more like Roman was the one going crazy in this shit-hole without human interaction.

He laughed to himself at the thought of Roman going insane enough for Marcus to escape. That would be ironic.

He hobbled back to the chair with his food and had every intention of sitting in it, but that was quickly dashed when Roman slumped into the chair Marcus had started to refer to his in his head.

Marcus came to a halt.

Roman looked up from his book—the one Marcus had been reading.

Roman put on an oblivious look, but there was a tinge of a smirk that was unmistakeable. Marcus's hand tightened on the bowl.

He turned to the bed that smelled like death and sat on the edge, facing away from Roman. He ate his food slowly, savoring it even though it didn't taste good at all. He pretended he was eating his favorite curry, however, there was only so much suspended disbelief could do in this situation.

He was halfway through his bowl when Roman interrupted the serene silence with his annoying voice.

"I'll set up the tub. You stink."

Marcus gritted his teeth. His hand clenched on the spoon. He knew he stank. He didn't feel good about it either. His hair was greasy and his clothes smelled like death. That was all well and fine, but Roman pointing it out made him not want to take a bath even though he desperately wanted to.

Instead of arguing, he talked back to Roman in his head as he finished his rice. He shoveled each bite in more aggressively than what was necessary. He probably looked crazy the way he glared at the bed and chomped on the rice like it had personally offended him.

Roman got up and put on a large pot of water. Marcus had no idea where this "tub" Roman spoke of was. He glanced around the room, searching for the thing, but he didn't see how there could be more stuff stored away in this small cabin.

As the water boiled, Roman left outside. He didn't bundle up like he usually did and he wasn't gone for more than a couple minutes.

He came back with the infamous tub. He dragged it in though it wasn't that big. It was only wide enough for someone to stand or crouch in it.

Marcus slowly chewed the food in his mouth as he watched Roman dump the now boiling water into the tub. He topped the water off with cold water before leaving the pot on the stove. He gathered a towel and a change of clothes from the chest behind the sitting chair.

He looked at Marcus expectantly.

"I'm not getting in there." He made a disgusted face at the tub.

"So you're fine pissing off the porch but not bathing?"

Marcus threw the bowl onto the ground. It shattered and bits of rice flew all over the ground. The spoon clattered and landed somewhere he couldn't see. Roman raised a brow as he looked at the broken bowl.

"You're cleaning that up after we're done."

"I'm not fucking getting in that thing!" He didn't care if he pissed off the porch or that Roman had seen his junk. He was sick of Roman acting like this was all normal.

If this was some twisted way to get inside Marcus's head, to inflict Stockholm Syndrome on him, it wasn't going to work.

The almost normal look on Roman's face fell away. His eyes darkened and the corners of his mouth dipped down. Those few actions changed his face drastically. He dropped the clothes onto the chair and moved toward the bed.

"No. No!" Marcus scrambled back as Roman came after him.

He jumped off the bed on the opposite side.

Roman went around as Marcus looked for an escape. He was too slow as he climbed over the mattress again. Roman grabbed his good leg and yanked him back. Marcus flipped on his back and punched blindly. Roman slapped his arms away like they were annoying flies and nothing more. When that didn't work, Marcus flipped onto his belly and grabbed onto the bed.

Roman put his hands on Marcus's waist and tugged. Marcus clenched his fingers onto the metal frame. With each tug, Roman pulled both Marcus and the bed to the side. Roman grunted and gave one last yank that almost pulled Marcus's arms out of their sockets. His knuckles went white with how hard he was clenching, but he still didn't let go.

Roman dropped him with a heave. He grunted as he was let go on the bed. He still held onto the frame.

He glanced behind to see if Roman had given up completely. He should have known better.

Roman attacked him with wiggling fingers that slid under his shirt. The fingers tickled his sides and ran up and down his sensitive flesh.

Marcus's couldn't stop the abrupt laughter the fingers pulled out of him. He wiggled on the bed to get away from the hands giving him as much pain as breaking his leg had done.

In his struggle, he let go of the bed frame. That was all Roman needed to pull him toward him and haul him up from the mattress. Marcus's laughter abruptly died as he realized he was now being shoved toward the tub of water.

He threw elbows as Roman pushed him, but Roman had a good hold on him that was helped by Marcus's bad leg. He eventually had no choice but to go along with the man. He glared at the steaming water though he hated to admit that it looked nice. If Roman wasn't here and wasn't forcing him into it, he would have gone on his own volition.

He did smell like shit and he didn't feel good because of it.

"Strip."

Marcus's anger swelled up again at the command. He stood there even when Roman let him go. He crossed his arms over his chest, still glaring at the water.

"Stop pouting." Roman hit him lightly on the back of the head.

He seethed as he turned his glare at Roman who stood close by in case he decided to run away again. Marcus thought about it. He was already tired though and he really didn't want to hurt his leg anymore than it was.

He thought horrible things as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head. He let it drop to the floor beside his feet. His chest heaved as he stared at the water, trying his best to ignore Roman's eyes that were focused on him. He didn't dare think about what the man was thinking. His thoughts fought to show him gruesome details of his own looming death, but he closed his eyes and shook his head when they started to come on.

He kept his eyes closed as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his thighs. He stepped out of them. The cold air of the room brushed against his heated skin from wrestling Roman. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Roman's gaze on his almost naked body made him feel sick.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

It's like jumping headfirst into a pool. Once it's over, it isn't so bad.

His soothing words didn't really help. Still, his stomach tightened with this anxiety that was worse than fear and worse than the irritation Roman brought out in him.

But he took the plunge. He grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pushed those down too. He kicked them to the side, opening his eyes again to watch them land between him and Roman.

Don'tlookinhiseyes. Don'tlookinhiseyes.

He looked up and locked eyes with Roman.

He looked away just as fast. He took a step into the tub. The second his toes touched the hot water, he felt like melting. The soothing warmth of the water made him wish the tub was big enough to hold more liquid and support him. He also wished he was back home to have his own bath in peace.

He pushed that thought aside and tried to look on the bright side. He inwardly cringed at the idea, but even though he wasn't an optimistic person, he didn't want to give up. The worst thing he could do was give up on himself.

He cringed again, this time it showed on his face, but he pretended it was just his muscles hurting from having to lower himself to his knees.

He submerged himself as far as he could. The water stopped above his lap. It was too clear to hide his privates, but he figured it didn't matter. They were both guys and it wasn't like this was a normal occurrence that demanded any kind of decency.

He watched the water ripple. His reflection was distorted. He didn't want to see it anyway. There was a dark mass to the side he recognized to be Roman. It was even more distorted than his own reflection.

He scooped his hand through the water and splashed it up his chest. The warmth lasted for a second before it cooled to an uncomfortable temperature. He shivered as goosebumps rose over his skin.

He was very much aware of Roman watching him, but he tried his best to pretend he was alone. Though kneeling in the tub with his sore leg wasn't the most comfortable position, he did enjoy the water on his skin. He lowered more, wishing the tub was bigger not just for his body's sake but also because he wanted to submerge in it completely.

He gazed down into the water, watching the ripples as he scrubbed over his arms.

He jerked back when something touched his hair. He slammed his arm into Roman's and knocked the bottle he'd been holding onto the ground.

Roman gave Marcus a dull look.

Marcus growled. "Don't touch me."

Roman picked up the soap bottle. The liquid had spilled onto the wood floor. Roman wiped it up with his fingers and held the soap on them as he raised his hand to Marcus.

Marcus moved back as the hand came closer to his hair.

"You need soap if you're going to be fully clean."

Marcus looked at the soap bottle. He glared up at Roman and held out his own hand. "I can do it myself."

Roman slowly handed the bottle over to him. Marcus clutched it with shaking hands as he squirted some soap in his palm. He let the bottle fall on the ground outside of the tub. He hissed as he raised his arms above his head to wash his hair. He barely got any soap on the strands before he had to clutch the side of the tub.

He panted as he waited for the pain to subside. "Are you getting off on this, freak?"

Roman picked up the bottle once more. He squirted a good amount into his hand, sat the bottle down, and started to wash Marcus's hair. He got no complaint from Marcus as he did so only because Marcus knew he wouldn't be able to do it on his own like he said he could.

His cheeks burned as Roman's firm massage felt good on his scalp. He gripped the edge of the tub with a tight grip.

"Tilt your head back," Roman coaxed.

Marcus bit the inside of his bottom lip as he followed the order. The softness of Roman's voice made him angry. He had to fight this urge to fight. He'd never had this problem in his life—controlling his emotions. He was good at being the docile dog that let people kick it down.

It wasn't even the situation that made him want to act out. Something about Roman, even if he ignored Roman was a serial killer and his kidnapper, drove him to the brink of insanity.

Roman was gentle as he washed Marcus's hair. Carding his fingers through the thick strands, he quietly hummed.

Marcus scrunched his mouth as he glared harder at the wall. As if he knew he was driving Marcus crazy, Roman's humming got louder. He got unnecessarily close.

Marcus turned and splashed water. The water landed on Roman's shirt. He jumped back with his arms up in the air, soap on his hands, and looked at his now wet shirt.

He slowly looked at Marcus. His easy-going demeanor was wiped completely off his face. The hardening in his eyes caused a ball of nervousness to grow in Marcus's throat. He pretended he wasn't affected by the change in Roman's attitude.

Roman shoved his hands into the water to wash the soap off. "Stand up."

Marcus's brows furrowed. "Wha?—"

"Stand. Up. "

Marcus's heart beat firmly in his chest. He took a deep breath as he rose onto his shaky legs. The water rolled off his body and dripped into the tub. He curled his toes. The warmth of the water disappeared—a safety blanket yanked off and exposed him to the cold cabin air.

Roman stood and grabbed Marcus's by the nape of his neck.

"Ow!" Marcus went to shove Roman off of him, but Roman shoved his head down so he was forced to double over.

He stilled when Roman's thumb pressed painfully into his jugular.

"I'm not going to say this again," he said in a deepening accent. "I will not tolerate disrespect. I will make this easy for you or I can make it very, very hard. Got it?"

His grip tightened. Marcus sucked in a sharp breath.

"Got it."

Roman removed his hand. It felt like a snake slowly retreating, pulling its fangs from its paralyzed prey.

"Rinse your hair off. You can finish by yourself."

Roman couldn't slam his curtain like a door, but Marcus could infer. But it was more chilling to see him walk away so calmly after threatening violence.

It furthered the point that this was just another day for Roman. It was no sweat off his back as to what happened to Marcus—especially after he got what he wanted from him.

Marcus rinsed his hair in the now lukewarm water. He toweled off after, hopping around on his good leg as his other started to ache badly. He only wished he hadn't pissed Roman off so he had someone to help him walk to the chair.

That was it. That was the only reason for why he felt guilty about upsetting Roman. Because there was no possible reason why he should feel bad about being rude to a fucking serial killer.