The man commented on how terrified he appeared. Chrys could really only imagine how he looked - red cheeks, with wide, teary eyes. It was no wonder that he looked scared. He cupped his hands together in a self-soothing gesture, squeezing his eyes closed in a grimace. The fleeting moment of kindness had passed, and Niegel had regressed right back into his state of psychopathy. For a moment Chrys feared that the man might continue his touching, and make another attempt of rape. But to his relief Niegel rose from his position, though not before petting him on the head like he were a puppy.<i>He... </i>Chrys thought.<i>He terrifies me. But not just because of what he plans to do to me, but how quickly he switches back and before between comfort and cruelty.</i><br/><br/>Niegel threatened to hang him from the closet, unless he remained still. Although Chrys didn't want to submit to the command, he followed it regardless; too soon ago had he experienced the hurt that the hanging could inflict, and he wasn't eager to dive back into the pain. The soldier placed his hands on the waistband of his pants, causing Chrys to jerk sharply; was he about to be raped? His question was answered swiftly as Niegel tugged upwards rather than downward, returning him to a state of modesty. Chrys let the tension from his shoulders drop in elation, curling inwards slightly like a drying leaf would.<i>Fuck. </i>His heart was thumping out of his chest.<i>I'm scared.  </i>He never had a reason to fear someone like this, had never been<i>given</i>one. All of his life he had felt safe; he lived in a good neighbourhood, surrounded by moral people. No one who would cause him malicious harm.<br/><br/>Tentatively, he sat at the edge of the bed, as Niegel sauntered away to the kitchen area of the RV.<i>Look for something. </i>His eyes scanned around the space, as he searched for anything he might be able to exploit to escape. The RV itself was rather well-decorated - surprisingly chic. His father had zero sense of decor, and the decor in their home was always left to his mother. It seemed that Niegel was different - or, he had bought the RV already furnished the way it was. With the tip of his index fingers he stroked the rope binding his arms together, caressing the rough fibers. The knot was tight, and he doubted that he would've been able to unravel it without Niegel taking notice. Across on the opposite side of the space was the door to the outside. At least, where he<i>thought</i>to be the door to the outside. There was a door near the bed, but based on the location it had to be the bathroom. As much as Chrys wanted to bolt for the door right away, he remained where he was.<br/><br/>He couldn't anticipate what would happen if he did. Niegel made threats and followed up on them. Chrys doubt that his captor would let his captive get away. And even if he managed to reach the door? What if it was locked? And even if it weren't locked, how could he open it? His hands were tied. This was assuming that he would even manage to make it to the door. In the small space, Chrys bet that Niegel could easily ram into him the moment he stood on two feet. He could almost hear the thump of his body hitting the floor if he tried an escape, followed by the sickening noise of a fist crunching into his face.<i>I can't move, can I? </i>He would have to wait for a better opportunity. But when that opportunity would come, he didn't know.<br/><br/>Chrys watched as Niegel pulled a can of cream of mushroom from one of the kitchen's cabinets. His kidnapper procured a bowl from one of the other cabinets, pouring the contents of the processed can into it. Then he stuck the bowl in the microwave, buttons beeping as he selected the number of seconds he wanted to heat the soup for. The microwave hummed for a half minute before letting out three pitched beeps, as Niegel opened the door and pulled out the bowl. Rummaging through yet another cabinet he pulled out a box of saltine crackers, taking out a handful of them from an open package, and setting them onto a plate. As promised, Niegel brought out a bottle of water.<br/><br/>He set down the food beside Chrys, while coming to seat himself right beside him. Niegel took hold of him and yanked him close, until their chests were touching. Deft hands worked at the knots until the rope slackened, falling to the bed. Chrys massaged his hands, rolling the joints of his wrists. "Thanks..." Chrys murmured, as the freedom of his limbs was returned to him. Chrys might've been more thankful had Niegel not threatened him. He took the bottle of water in hand, unscrewing the cap. Chrys downed a few deep gulps, acutely aware of how thirsty he was. Once his thirst was quenched he turned his attention to the bowl of soup. He cupped his right hand around the bowl, lifting it up and stirring the contents with the provided plastic spoon. Insipid and petite chunks of mushrooms floated to the top with his agitation of the soup.<i>Now I remember why I don't make this at home. </i>The bowl was lukewarm to the touch, and he had his doubts that the soup nestled inside was any warmer.<i>Could I use this to distract him? No. It's not hot enough. </i>If he threw the soup in Niegel's face, he was more likely to enrage the man than incapacitate him.<i>I'm not eating this. </i>He set the soup back on the bed, swiping his hand over the crackers and sticking a stale one in his mouth.<i>I trust these crackers more than I trust the man sitting beside me. </i>