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ROSY

He tugs the leash, ensuring I follow him as he walks, not that I pay attention to where he’s leading me, too caught on the familiar weight around my neck.

I’d hoped it would never happen again, but it’s all my mind can fixate on.

That I’m back to being owned by him in whatever twisted, distorted way he enforces.

Everything I’ve been scared of these past couple of months, everything I’ve had nightmares about, terrified to leave the house for. It’s happening. And I don’t know how to process that.

How do you even process when your worst fear comes to life?

He comes to a stop, and my head knocks into the side of his leg. He pats my hair. Bile rises up my throat to think he might assume I did it for affection.

“There are some things I need to finalise before we leave,” he informs. “You can wait here, then I’ll feed you before the journey.”

A tight pressure pushes against my neck, and I shuffle backwards until something hard smacks into my butt cheek. Still the pressure doesn’t let up, and he pulls me upwards until I sit back on my heels. I hear a click, then he steps away.

Something cold and solid runs up the back of my spine, and I tilt my head to look up. A long metal pole runs up to the ceiling. One that I appear to be attached to. I shuffle forward to test it, but I only make it a couple of inches before the pressure around my neck holds me in place.

It’s harder to swallow; the thick band around my throat is too constricting. Or perhaps it’s just my mind making it feel as if I can’t swallow or breathe properly.

The first time he took me, it was hard to imagine getting out of there. My mind had taken so many dark spirals during the captivity. I wasn’t sure I would make it out, or if anyone would find me.

But a second time? Can I be lucky enough to be found in time?

A twisted suggestion slithers its way into my thoughts, presenting itself as a better option, an easy way out. My eyes fall closed as I consider it. Ending it here, now, at my own hands would put a stop to whatever plans he has for me.

And it would rid me of this life; a life filled with a harder uphill battle to heal. Assuming I survive it. Being taken and hurt by his hands changed me irrevocably the first time. I don’t know what it will do to me the second time.

I don’t know if there’ll be any of me left.

Although…Noah, Max, Nate, and Bry have all given me something that’s worth fighting for.

Tears slip down my cheeks as I think of them, of staying strong to make it back to them.

They’ve all shown me what it’s like to be loved. No matter how hard it’s been or will be, there has been a lightness in it because of them.

My back slumps against the pole, and I awkwardly manoeuvre my legs in front of me, tucking my knees up and pulling them into my chest as I sniff as quietly as I can.

I need to keep going so I can find my way back to them. It’s my only option.

“Unsurprisingly, that big oaf is struggling with your disappearance,” he tells me, turning the laptop to show me the screen. “A little clip from earlier.”

Something sharp slices through me as I watch Nate storm through my old flat. The camera only shows the main living space, and it takes a moment for him to reappear before he drops to his knees, face contorted as he bellows something. There’s no sound, but it doesn’t matter. I can hear his desperation and panic in my mind, and I hate that he’s having to relive this too.

His fists hit the ground; I flinch and bite back a sob when he rests his head on the floor. It’s only for a moment, then he shoots to his feet and leaves. My heart races, desperate to follow him, needing to comfort him, but also to beg him not to leave me here.

He chuckles. “Yes, I’ve been watching, pet. I wasn’t happy to see you’ve left the home I gave you and moved in with them,” he spits, however I’m distracted staring at the empty screen, trying to figure out how he managed to get the camera in. The detective searched everywhere the first time, and they didn’t find any cameras before.

“You look confused, kitten. Why?”

I hesitate, too used to him wanting me quiet to immediately answer. But his lips purse, and his need for obedience has me replying. “How did you get the camera in there?”

At that, his face lights up, and he sits back in the chair, obviously pleased at my line of questioning.

“Ah well, pet. When you own the property, it’s easy to gain access,” he reveals. I shake my head in denial. “Yes, it’s true. Well, it might not be the name you know me by or a company you’re familiar with. But ultimately, it’s mine. So not only did I house you, but I kept you fed and looked after with the money I paid you. Even before you realised you were mine, I was looking after you, kitten.”

Both his words and his smirk fill me with a heavy, cloying dread.