Another cracker parted his lips, as Niegel returned to the kitchen. Chrys enjoyed the crackers little; they were tasteless and bland, lacking any distinct flavor save for the few grainy particles of salt to be found on its surface. But he needed food inside his stomach, lest he starve to death. If he couldn't run, he would be stuck with Niegel — only God knew how long he would be trapped. There was no certainty with how often the man would end up feeding him. Perhaps he might be granted a mercy of a three meals a day. Or even one. Maybe the man loathed his father so much, he would feed him only measly scraps, just enough to not keel over and fade away.<br/><br/><i>Enough, </i>he thought.<i>I will get out of this. </i>Chrys just had to bide his time, until the opportunity sprung. All he had to do was watch out for it, so that it wouldn't slip from between his fingers.  He was hellbent on getting out of the situation alive, if not unharmed. But he had a feeling that he might have to lower his expectations. His neck was sore, from the choking some time ago. Tenderly, he stroked his trachea.<i>Will this bruise? </i>Niegel had squeezed hard. The flesh of his neck was tender and bruised easily. A warm throbbing came from his torso, where he had been dealt a beating.<i>But no permanent harm. Nothing is broken. But that can quickly change; I need out. <br/>
</i><br/>It seemed that the can hadn't been entirely drained of its contents, as another bowl materialized and his abductor dumped the remaining soup into the bowl. Again, he heated it up. Once it was warm enough to his liking, Niegel took the soup out and began to wolf it down. He ate quickly, but not with the mannerisms of someone who was eating heaven. There was no relishing of the things going down his throat, Chrys could tell. Niegel ate like he were a soulless automaton, made to seek out the vital objects of survival it required but without the incentive of pleasure. There was no joy to be had in eating for his captor, it seemed.<br/><br/>The man asked him why he wasn't eating. "I'm not very fond of Cream of Mushroom soup. Homemade tends to taste like straight butter. I guess I can see why people like it, but it's my thing. Canned is worse. Somehow it tastes like watered milk, with chunks of bland mushroom floating in it. You might as well be drinking water," Chrys replied. His voice was steady, contrary to his puffy eyes from crying earlier.<i>I have to lull him into security.</i>"You eat quickly, but not because you love cream of mushroom soup. You eat like you're never going to eat ever again."<br/><br/>Another question. Was he allergic to anything? As far as he knew, nothing. And even if he was allergic to anything, Chrys didn't plan on willingly sharing the knowledge. In any other situation, it might be better to have everyone informed. Better to miss out on a meal than to die to your own body. But said by Niegel, the seemingly well-intended question became a veiled threat.<i>"You should tell me now. If you have some sort of episode you won't be rushed to the hospital if that's what you're hopeful for."  </i>If he had to assume anything about Niegel, Chrys had to assume that the man would use every bit of information he had available to him to hurt him. Trying to inducing an allergic reaction to him was in the realm of possibility, if not highly likely. "We never had poppyseed bagels in my house growing up, so I don't know. I have no allergies, as far as I know," Chrys informed.<br/><br/>The mood of their semblance of a conversation took a steep dive, as Niegel steered them right back onto the track of rape. The door near the bed was finally opened, revealing the room behind it; the bathroom. From what he could see the room was like the rest of the trailer; well furnished, compact, and immaculate. Underneath his right hand the blanket he sat upon was scrunched up, a pitiful handful that he held in comfort. "I don't need to go at all. I'm fine, thanks." He felt a faint urge to go, but it wasn't enough to warrant exposing himself to someone keen on having him drop the soap.<br/><br/>Niegel's fixation on his father rose again without warning. "Mr. Reyes. Of course he has been terrified...<i> vulnerable. </i>He's no God. He's only a human," Chrys protested. No one was without fear. Not even his father. His father had exposed himself to his mother that day a month ago, in tears. If that wasn't sincere, he didn't know what was. Ronald Collins could've gone on silent, but he hadn't.<i>“You'll find out more about yourself than you could ever have hoped. Some things you aren't going to want to know. Ron is going to find out more about himself as well. I'm going to push that man to his limits. This is going to break him.” </i>He balked at the idea. It was easy to hear the words and understand them logically, but emotionally he couldn't handle those words. "It won't be just me and my dad, it will be<i>you</i>too," Chrys warned. "Begging isn't what you want.." His words came out apprehensive.<br/><i><br/>
“Get up Chrys. Lets take a shower together. Ron liked it back when we used to wait until everyone was asleep to do that.” </i><br/><br/>A hefty hand wrapped itself around his wrist as he was yanked from the bed, nearly tripping as he was shoved into the washroom. Chrys fell to the floor from the sudden jerk into the room, scrambling backwards. His fingers rested against the edge of the porcelain shower's tub. A electric pulse ran through his body, and Chrys<i>froze</i>instantly. He was already shirtless; the only thing left to take off was his pants and boxers. Niegel wasn't likely going to let him shower in his clothes. And if he were naked, then the man would be able to...<br/><br/>"Think about what you're doing," Chrys urged, pleading to the man to go no further. His breathing had quickened in ample terror. "Why do you want to do this? Why do you have to do this?" He gripped his hand around the edge of the tub, as if holding it would prevent him from being dragged into the shower. "This isn't going to make my father beg. This is going to make<i>me</i>beg."