Lawrence Oleander 🔪🩸

The pub was alive, a low hum of chatter filling the air as patrons nursed their drinks and exchanged stories. You sat quietly, tucked away in a corner, content to observe the world move around you without participating. The faint flicker of overhead lights cast a warm, amber glow across the room, and the clinking of glasses blended into the muffled conversations. You didn't order a drink. For some reason, you weren't in the mood for one. Instead, you found yourself slowly succumbing to the weight of your own eyelids, the world around you dissolving into a blur before you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke, the pub was eerily silent. The chatter had stopped, and the air felt thick with a kind of stillness that made your skin crawl. The room was empty, save for one figure seated a few tables away. He was tall, with long blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, his bangs obscuring much of his face. His gray jacket hung open over a red plaid shirt, and his fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a glass in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice you at first.

You blinked, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness, and stood up. The floorboards creaked under your feet as you approached him, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Something about the silence felt wrong, but you couldn't quite place it.

"Hey, excuse me," you asked, your voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. "Do you know what time it is?"

The man jumped slightly, his eyes widening in surprise as if he hadn't realized anyone else was there. He stared at you for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his voice soft but startled. "Uh... It's... almost closing time." He glanced at the clock on the far wall. "It's 1:45."

He seemed preoccupied, his gaze flickering to the side, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. Something about his demeanor felt off, like he was waiting for something—or someone.

"Are you okay?" you asked, noticing the tension in his posture.

He blinked, snapping back to the present, and gave a small, awkward smile. "I'm just waiting for a friend."

As if on cue, a much shorter, red-haired man emerged from the bathroom, his expression bright and cheerful. "Alright, Lawrence, let's—" His words faltered as his eyes landed on you, his face quickly changing from cheerful to startled.

"Ah! There's someone else here?" His voice carried a flicker of panic, but it was quickly masked by a forced smile. "I didn’t realize."

The redhead introduced himself, offering his hand with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Well... my name is Ren."

You introduced yourself, feeling a strange tension between the two men. Lawrence, the blonde man, blushed slightly at the sound of your name, whispering under his breath, "That's a really nice name."

Ren offered you a drink, trying to maintain a casual air, but there was an undercurrent of something darker between the two of them. They bickered softly, their words sharp but quiet, as if arguing over something they didn’t want you to hear. Ren eventually shrugged it off, his demeanor growing dismissive as he announced he was heading home.

Lawrence looked as though he wanted to say something, but Ren was already halfway out the door, leaving the pub without a glance back. You decided it was time for you to leave as well. The night air was cool as you stepped outside, but before you could take more than a few steps, Lawrence appeared behind you, his presence looming.

"Ren's path... split from mine," he muttered, his voice low.

You turned to face him, unsure of what he meant. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes distant as he stared at the ground.

"Ren was different," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness.

You offered a simple, "I'm sorry that happened," but before you could react, his fist flew toward you. Instinct kicked in, and you dodged, but Lawrence was faster than you expected. He chased after you, his movements quiet but swift. Panic surged through you as his hand connected with your head, and the world went black.

---

When you woke, the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of streetlights filtering through large windows that framed a breathtaking view of the city skyline. You were in some kind of studio apartment, surrounded by plants—ferns, potted flowers, and vines that crawled along the walls. The air was thick with the scent of soil and greenery. Your limbs felt heavy, and as you tried to move, you realized you couldn't. Your wrists and ankles were tightly bound to a wooden chair with thick, unforgiving tape.

Lawrence stood with his back to you, muttering softly to himself. He was pacing, his fingers fidgeting as he whispered, "It'll be easy... It won’t be like last time. J-Just stay calm..."

He turned around abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you were awake. "Ah! You’re awake!" His voice was awkward, his movements jittery as he approached you. "Uh... okay, you’re probably feeling a little..." His voice trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to proceed. He smiled awkwardly, his eyes darting around the room. "W-Well... Look... things got a little out of hand."

You shifted in the chair, testing the restraints, but they held tight. Lawrence noticed and quickly made eye contact, his voice soft but firm. "Hey, calm down. I... can explain this."

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his expression one of awkward thoughtfulness. "I’d been talking to Ren for a couple weeks. Y-You know, online. So I was nervous." His hands trembled slightly as he spoke, his voice wavering. "And then you showed up. And Ren left... And... and..."

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "And now you’re here. I couldn’t just leave you there."

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I should never leave. It’s not worth it... All I found was another problem." You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to figure out what to say. "I don’t have to be a problem," you offered, your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your chest.

Lawrence blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. "What?"

You took a breath and insisted, "I could be your friend."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, before looking away. "You’re... I don’t think that’s a good idea."

You glanced around the room, your eyes landing on the plants. "I see you like gardening," you said softly, trying to find common ground.

He glanced at the plants, his posture softening slightly. "I... guess..." His voice was hesitant, as if unsure whether to trust you.

"I like gardening too," you added, your voice gentle.

His eyes widened again, and for the first time, his lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "R-Really?" He looked at the plants again, a quiet pride in his voice. "It’s just something I do to keep busy. I mean, I need something to think about. And I like... taking care of them." His smile grew as he spoke, his tone softening. "They’re delicate. I like the way they need me."

You nodded, your voice soft but steady. "That’s why I like them too."

Lawrence’s eyes lit up, his gaze meeting yours with a flicker of happiness. "You understand?" He shifted awkwardly, glancing off to the side as he held his arm. "Ah... it’s kind of nice to meet someone that... w-well... you know..." His voice trailed off, a soft blush dusting his cheeks.

For a moment, there was a strange, almost peaceful silence between you. But then his expression darkened again, and he began pacing, his fingers twitching nervously. "Ugh... what am I gonna do with you?" he whispered under his breath, glancing at you with a troubled look.

Before you could respond, he shook his head and muttered, "You must be tired. This’ll help you sleep better."

He disappeared into another room briefly, returning with a steaming cup of tea. He held it up to your lips, urging softly, "Drink. It’s fine."

Your heart raced, but you knew you didn’t have much choice. You drank the tea, the bitter liquid sliding down your throat. Almost immediately, your vision blurred, and the world around you faded into blackness.

---

You then awoke.

The dim light of the room flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, making the plants that lined the apartment seem like they were creeping toward you. Your body felt heavy, your limbs weighed down by both the drugs and the tight tape that bound you to the chair. You blinked, trying to focus, trying to think clearly. Lawrence was sitting across from you, his long blonde hair falling into his eyes as he watched you intently, his expression unreadable.

You had to escape. You didn’t know how long you’d been unconscious, but the growing sense of dread in the pit of your stomach told you that time was running out. You needed a way out—a distraction, an excuse. Your eyes flicked toward the door, but you quickly realized it was pointless. Lawrence was too close, too alert. He’d catch you before you could even stand.

Then, an idea.

You shifted slightly in the chair, the tape pulling at your skin, and let out a low groan, trying to sound as pitiful as possible. "I.. need to use the bathroom," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You hoped the vulnerability in your tone would appeal to whatever strange attachment he seemed to have to you. "Please."

For a second, you thought he wouldn’t respond. His blue eyes stared blankly at you, his fingers lightly drumming against the table. His face was still, as if he were trying to process your request, weighing something in his mind. Then, surprisingly, he nodded—slowly at first, as if unsure of his decision.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Your heart leapt in your chest, a surge of hope flooding your veins. But then, your stomach dropped as you saw his hand slide into his jacket, pulling out a small, sharp blade. The light caught the edge of the knife, making it gleam ominously.

For a moment, you froze, every muscle in your body tensing. Was he going to hurt you? Was this a trap? The fear was suffocating, pressing down on you like a physical weight. You clenched your fists behind your back, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come. But instead of lunging at you, Lawrence knelt beside the chair, his movements slow and deliberate. He brought the blade to the tape around your wrists, carefully cutting through it.

You let out a shaky breath, the tightness around your arms easing as the tape fell away. Lawrence repeated the process with your ankles, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked. Once you were free, he stood up, pocketing the knife.

"You can use the bathroom," he said, his voice soft but firm. "But..." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a strange intensity. "You have to come back and sit down. Okay?"

You nodded quickly, trying to hide the fear and anxiety bubbling inside of you. "Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Lawrence stepped back, giving you space to stand. You rose from the chair slowly, your legs stiff and weak from being tied up for so long. Your heart raced as you made your way to the bathroom, each step feeling like it was taking you closer to freedom—or disaster.

The door clicked shut behind you, and for the first time since you woke up in this nightmare, you were alone.

---

The bathroom was small, cramped, and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and plants. There were pots of greenery lining the windowsill, vines creeping up the walls, and a small, cracked mirror above the sink. You quickly scanned the room, looking for anything—anything—that could help you escape. Your hands were shaking as you opened the cabinet beneath the sink, but it was empty. There was nothing in the drawers except for a few toiletries—nothing sharp, nothing useful.

Your breath quickened as panic began to set in. The window was too small to crawl through, and even if you could, it led out into the alley several stories down. You ran your fingers along the edges of the mirror, hoping to find something loose, something you could break, but it was firmly attached to the wall.

You cursed under your breath, your mind racing. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

But there wasn’t.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face pale and drawn, your eyes wide with fear. For a brief moment, you considered not going back—just locking the door and barricading yourself inside the bathroom. But that would only delay the inevitable. Lawrence would find a way in, and then... you didn’t want to think about what would happen next.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. If you could keep him talking, keep him distracted, maybe you could find another opportunity to escape. But for now, you had no choice but to go back.

With one last glance around the room, you reluctantly opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the main room.

Lawrence was waiting for you, his face expressionless as you approached the chair. His eyes followed your every movement, but he didn’t say anything. You sat back down, your heart hammering in your chest, and he wordlessly began reapplying the tape to your wrists and ankles. His touch was careful, almost tender, but the restraint was firm.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until finally, Lawrence broke it. A conversation sparked.

He told you about his plants, about how each one was delicate, needing his care. You listened, nodding along, trying to keep him talking, anything to keep the situation from turning violent. Surprisingly, he seemed to open up, his words coming easier as he talked about life, about things that interested him. There was a strange, almost childlike passion in the way he spoke, as if he rarely had anyone to share these thoughts with.

---

And then night fell.

Lawrence’s eyes grew heavier with sleep, and soon enough, his head began to droop. He mumbled something under his breath, curling up in a corner of the room, his shirt discarded, leaving his pale, shirtless form vulnerable in the dim light. You watched him for a moment, your mind racing. He wasn’t interested in hurting you. Not yet.

As the minutes ticked by, you began to work at the restraints. They were looser than before, and with enough patience, you managed to free yourself. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through you. The door was right there. Freedom was just a few steps away.

But your feet didn’t move.

Instead, you found yourself walking toward Lawrence, your breath shallow as you knelt beside his sleeping form. His face was peaceful, his long blonde hair spilling across the pillow. You hesitated, unsure of what you were doing, but something compelled you to lie beside him. Maybe it was the strange connection you’d felt earlier, or maybe it was the fear of what might happen if you did leave. But in that moment, all you wanted was to understand him—to figure out why he’d brought you here, why he hadn’t killed you.

The warmth of his body against yours was unsettling. You lay there for what felt like hours, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Eventually, your exhaustion caught up with you, and you drifted into an uneasy sleep.

“Nn..? Uwah!”

You jolted awake to the sound of Lawrence’s startled voice. He scrambled backward, grabbing the blanket and pulling it tightly around himself, his mouth agape in disbelief.

"Y-You’re..." His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. "W-What are you doing?!"

You blinked, groggy and disoriented, unsure of how to explain yourself. "I... I don’t know." Your voice was soft, apologetic.

Lawrence stared at you for a long moment, his face still bright red. “You… crawled next to me,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He shook his head, clearly flustered, before quickly regaining his composure.

---

Before you knew it, you were back in the chair, the restraints tighter this time. Lawrence stood in front of you, his shirt disheveled, the top buttons undone, exposing a sliver of his chest. His eyes darted nervously around the room, his mind clearly racing.

"I... I don’t know what to do with you," he muttered, his voice shaky. He began pacing again, running a hand through his hair, his face troubled. "There’s something about you... Something I can’t..."

He trailed off, biting his lip, his hands trembling at his sides. His eyes flickered toward you, and for a moment, it looked like he might cry. But then, his expression hardened.

"Everyone I’ve met... I wish they’d just die faster," he said, his voice low, almost mournful. "But you..."

He fell silent again, his eyes darkening as he turned to face you fully.

"Have you heard of soulmates?" he asked, his tone suddenly softer, almost dreamy. "The idea that there’s someone out there... meant for you. It’s comforting, isn’t it?"

You didn’t respond, but Lawrence didn’t seem to need you to. He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes as he continued.

"Someone who’d love you, no matter what," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet longing. "I think it’s a beautiful fantasy."

But then, the softness in his expression vanished. His eyes grew cold, his jaw clenched, and his voice took on a harder edge.

"But fantasies aren’t real," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "You know it doesn’t work like that, don’t you?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something dangerous in the way he was looking at you now—something that made the room feel smaller, the air thicker.

"People are temporary," he continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "Just threads passing each other. There’s no force in this world that will hold you close to me."

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared off into the distance. Then, in a softer voice, he added, "But now that I’ve met you... I know I need you."

He smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "And... I have to hold you close myself. Do you understand?"

The air around you seemed to grow colder, and your stomach twisted with fear. Lawrence’s eyes gleamed with a dark intensity, his smile widening into something almost predatory.

"One last drink," he said softly, holding up another cup of tea. "Okay?"

Before you could respond, he pressed the cup to your lips, forcing the bitter liquid down your throat. You choked, but it was too late. The world around you spun, and you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness once more.

---

When you awoke again, the room was bathed in a sickly red light. The smell of copper filled the air, thick and nauseating. Your head throbbed, and your body felt... wrong. Heavy. Numb.

Lawrence was above you, his face twisted into a sickening grin, his hands and clothes stained with blood. Your blood.

"I’m not done yet," he whispered, his voice dripping with a twisted sort of glee.

You tried to move, but nothing happened. Panic surged through you as you looked down at your body—or what was left of it. Your limbs... they were gone. Jagged, bloodied stumps where your arms and legs had once been.

A strangled whimper escaped your throat, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

"Shh, shh," Lawrence cooed, his voice soft and soothing, as if he were comforting a child. "Calm down, okay?"

He reached for a cup of tea, the same bitter liquid that had knocked you out before. He lifted it to your lips, forcing you to drink.

The drugs hit you fast, your vision blurring, the pain dulling as you slipped into unconsciousness once more.

When you woke again, Lawrence was there, sitting beside you, his hands still stained with your blood. His eyes were soft, almost... loving, as he smiled down at you. "There you are!" he said, his voice filled with warmth. "It’s all right... It’s all okay."

He gently stroked your hair, his touch tender, as if you weren’t lying there, mutilated and broken.

"I fixed our problem," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "Now nothing can take you from me."

His smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted joy. "And I’ll take care of you... forever."

You stared up at him, your mind numb with shock, your body weak and broken, as the reality of your situation settled over you like a suffocating blanket.

You were his now.

And there was no escape.