\\\KEITH'S POV\\\

    Keith was scared. He was trembling as the van sped away from Lance, from the team. Lance stood there in shock as they sped away. He noticed he put a tracking device?? Probably from Pidge, on the van. He tried to calm down. 

    'The team will come get me. Don't be scared.' But another voice, more harsh came into his head,

   'What if they forget you. What if they give up. What if they don't care enough to come get you. What if-' 

    Keith's thoughts were interrupted when the van came to a stop, and Keith was flung forwards from the abrupt stop from the back of the van.

    "We're home Keithy baby!"

Bitch this ain't my home, you fucking crackhead.

    Ew, I almost forgot, I'm stuck with this sad excuse of a human being. Keith groaned. He glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of a shithole, or should I say shithouse. It looked like a crackhead lived there. Oh wait, Lotor lived there, his assumptions were right.  

    The back hatch of the van opened and Keith was pulled out. He clawed onto the door to try to stay latched on. He caught a side glance at the tracker Lance put on the van. Bingo. He grabbed the tracker without Lotor seeing and took it in his pocket. Lotor dragged him into the house and had a tight grip on Keith.

     Lotor shoved Keith in a bedroom and locked him in. Keith stuck the tracker under the bed. With a sigh, Keith dropped onto the bed. At least it was just him in the bedroom. Keith sat up. He looked around himself. A dresser, windows, closet. Everything a normal bedroom should have. Wait- Windows. Keith ran to the window and tried to open it up. Locked. He was going to break it but he didn't have enough strength. Curse my weak spaghett noodle arms! (SOMEBODY TOUCHED MY SPAGHETT. #1 spaghett boi always in my heart. AnYWayS) 

    Keith looked around the room. His eyes caught glimpse of the dresser. He opened the first drawer. His eyes widened. What the fuck. Keith felt his stomach lurch as he pulled out a maid costume. What the actual fuck. Please tell me he's not making me wear it. He shoved it back in the drawer and closed it, disgusted. 

    He moved onto the second out of four drawers. He opened it to see thigh highs and panties. Keith was flipping out. God damn I might as well kill myself. Luckily, if it came down to it, for him in the third drawer were ropes and handcuffs. Well, I'm fucked. Literally. He was scared to look in the last drawer. He pulled out the last drawer.

    Keith gasped, his eyes widening. WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK. I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE. He thought wile staring at a ball gag, chains, duck tape, a blindfold, and last but definitely not least, a fucking knife. What kind of kinky shit is this. Is this some Killing Stalking shit?! (a manwha.) He slammed the drawer shut and trembled. 

    He opened the closet door with a creak. He pulled the string to the light. Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, he gasped. He was staring at a wall of whips. He put his hand over his mouth. He wondered why one room creeped him out so much. 

    Keith suddenly thought of an idea. He grabbed the knife from the dresser drawer. His eyes scanned the room, looking for somewhere to put it. He couldn't put it in his boots or clothes because those were most likely going to be taken off. He thought hard. He heard footsteps approaching the door. Damnit. He jumped onto the bed and hid it between the headboard and the mattress. He plopped on the bed normally just as the door opened.

    Lotor walked in with a grin. 'Fuck yourself with a cactus.'  Keith thought, while glaring at him. Lotor slowly walked over to Keith. He put his hand on the bed, in between Keith's legs. Keith looked down at his hand, his heart racing. And not in a good way. Keith closed his eyes and exhaled.

I'm praying to all the gods out there that he PLEASE will move his hand. Keith thought, but as he thought that, Lotor's hand moved to his thigh. "Don't fucking touch me you asshat!" Keith blurted. Oh shit I said that out loud.  His hand flew up to his own mouth, regretting what he just said. "God fucking damnit." Keith mumbled through his hand. Lotor grinned, testing Keith he moved his hand to his inner thigh. Keith flinched away. GET YOUR SAUSAGE FINGERS OFF ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. Keith crawled backwards, away from Lotor. Lotor crawled onto the bed, over to Keith. "Please! Don't!" Keith said on the verge of tears. He backed up as far as he could, his skull touching the headboard. He could grab the knife, but he was saving it for the right moment. If he grabbed it now, Lotor would take it and use it against him. He didn't grab it. 

    Lotor pounced onto Keith, straddling him on the bed. Keith squirmed and thrashed. "LET ME GO!! LET ME GO!!!" Keith screamed. It was no use. It was the same as last time. When he was 8. No use. Lotor put a hand over Keith's mouth. Keith heard ringing. Was that a siren? No. Of course not. It was the sound of Keith not being able to breathe. His breathing issues have gotten worse over the months, but he never got it checked out. He was pretty sure it was developing into asthma. But, he didn't have an inhaler. Of course.

    956 WORDS WOWIE. ALSo thanks sm for all the support, like the comments, votes, reads, everything. IT MaKes me so ha ppy. KeEp it up fAm. love ya little shits. bYe