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“Leave,” the man commands, and soon the room is empty. I’ve collapsed on the ground, unable to keep myself standing, when I feel the toe of his boot push against my chin. My face turns, and I’m forced to meet the gaze of my executioner.
The man looms over me, and I’m able to study him. His rolled-up sleeves reveal scars all along his hands and arms. As I look up, I take in his stocky build. He wants to be intimidating, and he works for it. His face, though, is what chills me to the bone. His gaze is fixated on me.
“You know, I’m surprised. You’re prettier than Higley described.”
I stay silent. I have a feeling I’ll be getting a villain monologue soon.
“You look a lot like my wife when she was younger.”
That’s shocking to hear. The idea this man would be in a relationship? Doesn’t compute.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
I remain still, afraid of what his reaction would be to the slightest sound or movement.
“No, I’m guessing you probably don’t.”
Yup, here’s the monologue.
“You see, the club you’re working for? The man that runs it? He’s been stealing from me.” He says all this as if I will know what he’s talking about, but I have no idea how this has any connection to Bliss. “I have been having a problem with missing merchandise recently. It seems as though whenever I have something go missing, it ends up at that little club. Bliss, is it?”
Humor rings in his words but it can’t hide the malice underneath, reminding me this man is dangerous.
“You see, I work in a particular field. From what that idiot John told me, it seems your boyfriend has a side pet project of helping people, which really throws a wrench into my plan. The woman who came by, Diana, was it?” Does he mean Kelly? He has to, right? “Yes, she was a part of my operation, and when I found her missing, well… it’s unacceptable.”
The man struts like a peacock back to his desk.
“I sent Little John to go and retrieve her for me. Bring her back where she belongs. But it seems he was unable to do that. I doubt he tried very hard; the man has absolutely no intelligence. Really, I didn’t have high expectations to begin with. No harm done. But seeing as I’m a woman down, I need someone to replace her.
“I have an auction coming up she was supposed to be a part of, and I can’t afford the loss. I thought to have you take her place. But I think I have other plans for you now.”
This man is bitter and angry, although at what or whom I don’t know. Menacing is the only word to describe his expression. The measured tensing and relaxing of his hands hints at his need for violence. Vengeance.
“You look so much like her, you know. My wife, she left a few weeks ago on a trip with my son. They’re not back yet and I’ve been worried about her, but I can’t seem to locate her. I can’t help but wonder if they’re hiding out at that damn club.”
Kneeling before me as he sneers, he takes my face firmly in his hand to the point of pain.
“So while she’s away, I think a pretty stripper like you will do fine to keep me company.”
The human body is really a miraculous thing. Its ability to protect the mind is a marvel.
I can sense my hunger and thirst. There are parts of my body that ache, but I know it isn’t indicative of the full extent of whatever damage my body has endured. The miracle is that the only memories I have are from right before and right after. Those are the only moments I can’t distance myself from.
I remember the knives. The cuts, scrapes, and deeper wounds he leaves. I remember the punches to my ribs and the sounds of cracking bone. The clink of a belt unbuckling and zipper being drawn. My mouth is involuntarily opened, and my jaw locks in place. My legs are forced to spread out, and my hips sting with pain from hands that hold me too harshly.
These are the only moments I can recall.
Time blurs in and out, and my consciousness only lasts for brief periods. It’s impossible to tell whether I am dissociating, sleeping, or unconscious. I only have a cumulative sense of time from my more aware moments. There are no windows here. No way to keep track of the passing of time. But based on the dryness of my throat and hunger in my stomach, it must be days?
Hopes for rescue are pointless.
I resurface from the safe place in my mind to find myself chained in the middle of the room to one of the support beams. The man decided this would be part of his game. Me, trapped in the room with him, waiting for the violence I know is coming again.
Sometimes he looks up from whatever he is doing and smirks at me. As if seeing me like this brings him a sick form of pleasure. The memories of whatever he did to me turn him on. It’s shortly after those moments I find myself back in the recesses of my mind.
I’m at camp. The river runs between the lush grounds surrounded by steep hills, and it sparkles as moonlight dances across its waters. There’s faint music in the background. Melodies of campfire songs float towards me. There’s an awareness that all of this isn’t real, but I continue to live in the fantasy for as long as I can.
I hide in my dream because I don’t know how much longer I can handle reality.
I have survived a lot in my life, but I’ve never truly broken before—until now.
I wish for an end. However it may come.
Even if it’s my own ending.
