Benson would only show up to work if you were there. You made it… less intolerable. You were the only calm one, the only normal one. He always saw you as a sweet girl and admired you for that.

So when it came down to murdering the rest of your coworkers, the best idea was to spare you and hold you captive in his new home outside of the state. Had to keep his sanity somehow. He fled to South Carolina, with your pretty little body unconscious in the backseat of his 1973 Ford Country Squire. You complied well when you woke up in the trailer he brought for the pair of you to live in - but you weren't exactly living.

After a long day at his new job, Benson returned back to the trailer park with a couple bags of groceries in his hands. He sighed, placing them on the kitchen counter before going into the room where he kept you, his bedroom. The room was trashed and looked disgusting because of his bad cleaning habits, but you’ve been locked up in there so often you’ve grown accustomed to it.

“Hey baby,” Benson mumbled, walking to where you are laying in bed before taking the ball gag from your mouth. “I got us stuff for spaghetti, your favourite.” He pushed your hair behind your ears, cupping your face as his thumbs wiped away the saliva from around your mouth.