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I shiver as fear glides through my soul like a whisper of damnation. ‘Foolish girl. You never could do anything right.’
I grit my teeth against the demons that live inside me, wondering if dying may be the only way I’ll ever get rid of them.
The bastards didn’t even take the bag off my head, but there are holes to breathe through, even though my world is now darker than Satan’s damaged heart.
I kind of think I’m not with the cops. That’s pretty obvious unless we’ve fallen into the third world and treat our prisoners like torture victims.
Fuck. I never even thought of that. I’m kind of protective of my body parts and this is screaming thriller and mafia shit like that. I should prepare myself to lose a finger, a hand, or an eye. Perhaps take an acid bath. At least my ending would be quick.
I have all the time in the world to dance a tango with death while I’m left alone with my thoughts. Contemplating my ending as if I have a choice in the matter. I nearly killed a man in cold blood. I wish I had, but I even failed at that.
My thoughts turn to Reggie, and I bite back a sob. Was she afraid for her life when that bastard took her out to play, as he called it?
He broke her. I saw it in her eyes when she came home, minus her soul. It kind of got discarded somewhere along the way as she stumbled headfirst into hell.
She tried so hard to paste a smile on her face, but I saw the defeat in her eyes. They were stripped of life and even when I questioned her, she painted on a brave smile and told me she had fun tonight.
Fun. It was obviously anything but fun and I realized deep down in that moment she was painting over the cracks in her soul.
I try not to think about life after Carter Lamont. The days that passed when everything changed. The tortured looks and whispered conversations. The hush that fell on the room when I walked into it.
The way Reggie couldn’t meet my eye and the sound of her retching in the bathroom we shared. I tried not to see the razor cuts to her body and the glassy eyes of someone who was trying hard to forget.
Her vacant expression and the nightmares that plagued her sleep at night.
I tried to talk to her about it. To get her to confide in me, but she merely smiled and told me she was fine and not to worry. To concentrate on my studies and make something of myself.
A noise alerts me that I’m not alone when I hear the squealing of tires from somewhere. When you lose the power of movement and sight, it’s incredible how the body compensates for that. My hearing is tuned into everything around me, and I detect distant voices that appear to be far away. I strain to listen, and they get louder. A door opens and there’s a squealing sound, as if a hinge is obstructed and metal gates are dragging against it.
The voices are louder, and I hear footsteps and I swear my pulse is racing to critical levels. My face is wet. Am I crying? It takes a moment for my mind to process this information and then I taste blood. Lots of blood.
I gag as it slides across my tongue and runs down my throat. What is happening to me?
I try to focus on my situation, and I feel no pain except the chafing at my wrists and ankles.
Then why the fuck am I bleeding?
I sniff and the liquid pours down my throat and my heart sinks. This is not the best time for a nosebleed, even my body is betraying me now.
I can’t even wipe it away and because I’m wearing a hood, it’s just soaking into the fabric and smearing across my face.
Great timing, body.
I begin to feel lightheaded. I’m losing blood and I’m not happy to be drowning in it either and coupled with the approaching footsteps, my mind is beginning to shut down with terror.
I attempt to struggle, to loosen the tight bonds, but they merely rub against my skin, making an extremely uncomfortable situation even worse.
I don’t understand what the voices are saying. Am I delirious? Have I lost my mind? How long have I been here for? Minutes, hours or days, weeks even.
I start to cough as the blood coats my throat and I detect voices speaking as if they are a million miles away. I don’t understand a word they are saying and as they approach, I open my mouth to plead for some water, anything to wash the metallic taste of my own blood away.
A rough hand grips the back of the hood and shakes me, and I yelp as I receive a sharp kick to the ankle. The voice mutters something incomprehensible, and then I sense them moving away.
They’re leaving.
I could drown in my own blood, and they wouldn’t give a fuck. What kind of people are they?
I call out in the hope they understand and my voice cracks as I whisper, “Please, water.”
