"I had to try to make him mad enough so that he wouldn't get handsy, but not so mad that he'd kill me. It... wasn't easy." She straightens up now, face flushed pink. She had to be brave. Clark was being brave, and she had to be brave, she had to stand tall. This was seven years ago. She's over it. She's mostly embarrassed that her best friends, and now her new friend, need to be in on this very private, terrible moment. She counts it a blessing that Ed isn't watching.

She continues in a hushed tone, "He was a telepath, so once he figured out that I was trying to control the situation, things got much worse for me."

The amount of cuts has reached six now, deep enough to make a person hazy. "It's not fun if you're not conscious," he mutters, and then there's something different about J. He's not J anymore.

"Victor?" he asks softly, voice a different voice, even his body language has changed. Not-J cares for her modesty enough to cover her up with his shirt before laying hands on her, and the bleeding wounds turn to pink scars. And, in response to what Victor says, "I love you too. We have to get you out of here before he takes over again." Hastily, he unties one wrist, his hands are shaking, he knows he can't hold him back much longer.

This could be Clark's chance, though in real life, Vic stayed for weeks.