[b]Floyd - House - Jess[/b]

His heart was pounding in his gash as the sizzling knife was being applied. The sound itself was horrific, but the pain was even worse. Floyd's head turned in every direction, the shirt still between his teeth. He grunted loudly, but had to force himself to endure that agony. His nails scratched at the lumber beneath him intensely, looking for something to hold, but finding nothing. At times he felt himself pounding the floor trying to transfer the pain to his palms, but was deemed useless. 

Throughout the first round of sealing, Floyd could hear Jess' sobs over his own screams. He desired to pull away from his shirt and tell her everything would be alright, but couldn't. He himself wasn't sure what was going to happen, nor did he know if the wound would cauterize. In addition to that, if he pulled away from biting down on his shirt, he might completely pass out. Biting down on the shirt was an scapegoat from the pain. He focused on one thing rather than the other. 

His hand suddenly clashed against Jess' leg, holding on to her thigh for dear life. But as he felt he was hurting her, he let go and held onto her clothing, his shut eyes facing in her direction as he continued to struggle against the pain. Now that the front side was shut, it was time to move onto the other side. With that continuing pain, Floyd turned so that Jess could place the knife on the opposite side. The wound looked nearly identical, just a bit smaller in radius. His hand had to move to support his backside, the hand that was holding on to his protector. It may be ironic, but Floyd saw Jess as his protector, not the other way around. In his eyes, she was the one who saved him. She helped him open up and become the person he should have been for years. She opened his eyes to reality, revealing to him the monster he was hiding within. But now he finally became the person he so long desired to be, and it was all thanks to her tolerance of his uttering rage. She stayed with him throughout hard times and more. She was willing to see beyond his wrathful nature, seeing the little things that made him good. She was definitely one of a kind. 

But suddenly, those thoughts faded as everything followed. All his thoughts, all his feelings just turned to pitch black as the blade was pressed against his back. Floyd's muscles just turned completely off, allowing his body parts to crash against the hard floor. His wounds just smoked as his body lay motionless on the ground. He looked like a manikin for a second, hopeless, weak. But even in this dark situation, this helpless remedy for cries, there was still light. Before passing out, Floyd had reached his hand out once again. Even with his eyes closed he was able to find the hand of his savior. His grip was stronger than ever before.