Prompt ~ You wake up with a weird injury you don't remember getting.

Wordcount ~ 1918

fandombeforeblood0 :) sorry it's late and honestly not my best work...

~~~

Mason was bored.

He was standing behind the counter of his local gas station, leaning on the plywood countertop and drumming his fingers against it. His hazel eyes scanned the room, surveying the store. There was absolutely nobody else in there but him.

Sighing, he looked at the small digital clock beside him. It was 9:57, meaning he only had three minutes left in his shift. His boss wouldn't be too mad if he started wrapping up early, would he?

Hoping for the best, Mason walked over to the tiny locker room out back. He pulled off his apron and nametag and shoved them in his locker. After checking that he had his phone, wallet, and keys, he sped through the store and out the front door. He hastily locked it before turning on his heel and beginning the long walk home.

Mason was seventeen, so technically he could - and should, he thought irritably - have a car. But, with his mom abandoning the family when he was only four and his dad wasting all their spare cash on alcohol and scratch tickets, there was no way that he could get a car anytime soon. That was why he picked up his job at the gas station - so that he could eventually buy himself a car.

An eery feeling crept up Mason's spine and over his shoulders. He swiveled his head, looking  around for any other people. He couldn't decipher many shapes in the dusky atmosphere with flickering street lights, but he could tell that the was alone. There weren't even any cars driving by. It was just him.

Still, he felt an odd coolness against his skin during the warm August night. It felt like someone was watching him. But that was impossible. He was the only one around.

He shook his head and pulled out his phone. After plugging in his headphones and putting them into his ears, he turned on his favorite playlist and continued walking home. The familiar beat of one of his favorite songs helped soothe his nerves a little.

About ten minutes later - a little quicker than usual, he noted - Mason hiked up the ricketty stairs attached to their trailer. He narrowed his eyes at the welcome mat - Welcome To Our Home Sweet Home! Ugh, how cheesy could you possibly be? Rolling his eyes, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it roughly behind him.

Kicking off his beat up Reeboks, Mason walked into the kitchen to grab a snack. Taped on the fridge door was a messily scrawled note from his dad, explaining that he was out doing business for the night and not to wait up for him. Mason scoffed and tore the paper off of the fridge. 

Crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash, he muttered under his breath, "How stupid does he think I am?"

Whenever Mason's father implied he was "doing business" it really meant that he was out at the local bar, chugging alcohol until he forgot everything about his life. Until he forgot where he lived, with who he lived, and why he lived there. He drank to forget about his terrible life and terrible circumstances. 

Mason, being underage, didn't have this capability. Sure, there were kids in his school who went out drinking or smoking, but he didn't have the heart. He could easily break the law and get off his face at a party, but he never did. 

He liked to think it was because he wanted to be a good person and get through his troubles without being under the influence, but deep down he felt differently. Deep down, he felt as though he deserved everything he got in life and he deserved to feel it all fully, without being hindered with beer or marijuana.

He pushed his messy auburn hair out of his eyes and opened the fridge. Doing a quick scan, he noted that it was pretty empty and he'd have to nag his dad to go shopping soon. He grabbed a Tupperware of old macaroni and set it in the microwave. After setting the timer, he leaned against the counter and scrolled through his phone.

The strange feeling hadn't faded during his walk home hadn't faded. In fact, it had increased. Everytime he looked around, though, he couldn't spot a single other person. He convinced himself that he was just being paranoid and tried to ignore it.

But, standing in the middle of his trailer, enclosed with four walls, he still felt like he was being watched. It was so bizarre. Mason wasn't usually one to be spooked by scary movies or feel creeped out when he was alone. Actually, he preferred to be the only one around a lot of the time. This feeling - being scared - was generally new to him.

The monotone beeping of the microwave jolted him out of his thoughts. He blinked and opened the door, pulling out his dinner. He poked the noodles with a fork and ate up the pasta ravenously.

After quickly finishing up his food, he washed up the dish and set it in the drying rack. Then, he gathered his things and walked down to his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of raggedy basketball shorts and a tee-shirt before heading to the bathroom and hopping in the shower.

The hot water relaxed his muscles and washed away the anxious thoughts in his mind. Once he was thoroughly clean, he shut the water off and dried off, feeling much less tense.

Pulling on his pajamas, he dried his hair and brushed his teeth. Then he walked back to his room and collapsed on the lumpy twin mattress.

Mason was still spooked and nervous, but his body was so tired that he quickly slipped into a deep sleep.

~~~

Black. 

Mason couldn't see anything. 

Air. 

Mason couldn't breathe. 

Fire. 

Mason's ribcage was burning with pain. 

He clawed at his throat and felt a large hand clamping his windpipe shut. He tried to wrench it off of him but the other person was much stronger and Mason was in too much shock.

"Stop," he wheezed out, "please, stop. I can't - I need air."

A deep chuckle filled his left ear, sending shivers up his body. "You'll be fine."

Blood rushed to Mason's head and pumped in his ears. His body was in full panic mode. Still, he couldn't help but think, this person is choking me and told me I'm going to be fine? Who does he think I am?!

"Please," he spat out breathlessly. Then, he passed out.

~~~

Mason slowly regained consciousness and opened his eyes. Looking around, it was obvious he wasn't in his house anymore. He was in a large room with high ceilings with wide but short windows lining the walls. There was a set of double doors on the wall across from him. 

Looking down, he saw that he was tied to a wooden chair. He also saw that his white shirt was drenched in a red liquid that sourced from a burning wound on the left side of his torso. He gulped and looked away, trying not to get nauseous.

Scanning the room again, he saw nothing new. The room appeared absolutely empty except for him.

Then, the echoy sound of footsteps perked up his ears. 

"Who's there?" Mason ordered, attempting to sound strong.

The steps got louder, creeping up behind him.

Mason sucked in a breath. "I'm serious, who are you?"

A familiar deep chuckle - the same one present when he had woken up earlier - sounded. It rebounded across the walls, filling the scared teen's ears. "I'm Edward Nichols, if you must know."

"Okay," Mason said, his voice wavering, "and what do you want from me? Why...why are you hurting me?"

"Well, Mason," Edward stated, his deep voice steady and sure, "I don't want anything from you."

"Then why am I here?"

The man walked in front of Mason and looked just as scary as he sounded. "You are here because your daddy owes us money."

He gulped. "I don't have any money, man, I swear."

Edward smirked callously. "I'm sure you do, but I don't want it. I have no desire for your money, I want Hank's. Your father owes me money, and I want money from him." He began pacing back and forth, left to right. " We've been watching your family for months now. The only person Hank cares about anymore is you. So, you're the only way to lure him here."

"So I'm the bait to your sick trap?" Mason asked.

"You could put it that way, yes."

With that, the two large doors in front of Mason creaked and the one on the right swung open. Another large man hauled in a guy slightly shorter but much wider.

"You've finally arrived, Hank," Edward announced slowly. "After months, and months, and months of avoiding us, we've finally tracked you down and managed to get you here. I certainly hope you brought cash. Sadly, we don't accept credit or debit."

The large man shoved the shorter guy forward and he stepped into the light, revealing the face of Mason's father. His lips was split and bleeding and his eyes were bloodshot. "Listen, Eddie, I don't have any money."

Edward cackled. "But you did at the start of the evening, no? And last Friday night, and the Friday before?"

Mason's dad opened his mouth before shutting it and looking down wordlessly.

Edward crossed his arms across his chest. "I know it, Hank, and so does Mason here, as does our friend Jay who kindly escorted you here. We all know you waste every spare bit of cash you find on alcohol every single week and that the only punishment you recieve for abandoning your son is a hangover the next morning. Well, it's finally time you pay."

Mason tried to still his bouncing knees and calm his racing heart with a few deep breaths, but it didn't work. The big buy who brought his dad to the warehouse, Jay, stomped over and stood behind him. Mason heard a clicking sound and then felt something cold and solid press against his skull.

Edward continued to speak. "You say you don't have money, yet you always manage to scrape up some for a few beers each week. Maybe, if you saved up all of that, you could have paid me back for my generosity and we wouldn't be in this situation."

Mason's dad held his hands up. "Listen, Eddie, I'll get the money. I'll stop going out and save up. I promise. Please, don't hurt my son. He's - he's all I have left."

"It's too late, Hank. You failed. And, besides, do you really think I believe that you could quit your addiction just like that? No, I don't. Jay, fire when you're ready."

Mason looked at his father. There was fear in his eyes that reflected his own. His dad was scared. He didn't want to lose his son. Maybe he really did care.

But clearly not enough.

"I love you, Mason. I - I'm so sorry," he choked out.

Mason closed his eyes. Jay pulled the trigger.

The boy felt pain like nothing he'd ever felt before. His skull was on fire, burning from the inside out. Then, all of a sudden, he felt nothing. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, he thought of nothing.

He was at peace.