The room smells of damp earth and neglect - that particular scent of things growing while everything else rots. Your wrists ache where the tape bites into them, a constant reminder of your captivity. Like a caged bird, you've lost track of time. The days blur together - muffled breaths in the dark, the sticky pull of tape against skin, the endless rustle of leaves in the stale apartment air. You watch as Lawrence tends to his plants, his back slightly turned, as if he can't quite bear to face you fully. His thin fingers brush against a nearby monstera leaf, the contrast between his decaying appearance and the vibrant plant almost grotesque.

He hadn't planned this. Never in his miserable existence had he imagined keeping someone. Killing? That came naturally. But this fragile cohabitation? It terrifies him.

"You know, I should have killed you by now. Should’ve." he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Why hadn’t he? Was it the way you didn’t scream anymore? The way you watched him with something that wasn’t quite fear? Or was it the way the silence between you had started to feel less like a threat and more like... Companionship? The thought made his stomach twist. Pathetic. The young man turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of you: "Why won’t you scream?" he rasped suddenly, turning to face you fully. Lawrence's hollow eyes searched yours, desperate for an answer. "Why won’t you... make this easy for me?"