You struggled against the restraints you had been put into. Squirming didn’t help, not with wrists tied to the support beams of your house. The world seemed to slip away from you, as you dipped into what felt like a lethargic daydream. You were dying. And you were hungry.

“Sweetheart.” You heard a hum. Lazily, your head lolled to the side, a grunt passing through your lips. That’s all you could do. Grunt.

“Dinner.” John simply said, shaking a lumpy bag which blood dripped from.