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OCTAVIA
I’ve been awake for what feels like hours, but Panda isn’t here. It feels like I’ve been here for days, but I have no idea how long it’s been. What I do know is I’m fucking covered in grime and dirt. It's so fucking gross. I’ve been bound every time he has let me go to the bathroom, but I haven’t been able to escape. He’s got the IV in my arm again, but I still haven’t eaten and I’m getting even weaker. The dizziness is almost unbearable.
Wherever I am has been dark and silent since I woke up. Not even the lamp in the corner is on. My eyes adjusted a little while ago, but that doesn’t help the fact that I really need to fucking pee.
He apparently moved me while I was out. I’m still cuffed, but I have some movement at least. Enough to scratch my nose, thank God, because that was a fucking nightmare earlier.
I keep going over everything in my mind, trying to distract myself from the fact that I need a bathroom, and trying to work through how the hell we ended up here. Panda’s behavior is completely out of character for the guy I knew. It’s almost as if he’s come unraveled. To my knowledge, he doesn’t have any history of mental illness, but this sudden and drastic change in him can’t be anything else.
It just doesn’t make sense.
But the fact that I’m kidnapped and tied to a bed tells me that something obviously happened.
Knowing that he’s a Knight explains some things, but he’s been a Knight the entire time I’ve known him. So it doesn’t make sense why everything would just change over the last eight or so months.
I can’t even remember when all of this started. That's how fucked up my world has been since Dad died. I’m trying not to focus on what P told me about Dad being killed, because well, I’ve been so angry at him for leaving me, and if he didn’t leave me, then the guilt is going to cripple me.
I can’t afford to be overwhelmed by that right now.
So I’m focusing on everything else he’s told me.
Another thing that doesn’t make sense to me is why the Knights sent him to watch me in the first place. He joined the tour about two years in. I can’t pinpoint anything that happened around then that would’ve sparked their interest, but then, I don’t know why they killed my dad either.
The creaking of the wooden boards above my head makes my heart race.
Is Panda here? Is it someone else?
As much as I don’t want it to be someone else, maybe if it's not P, they’ll let me go.
I can hope anyway, right?
I slow my breathing to try and pay attention to the footsteps, kicking myself mentally for not doing more training with Maverick, for not going back to my self-defense lessons, for everything I could’ve done to not end up here.
The steps move away from me, leaving me to scramble, and as I wave my right hand around, trying to grab the other handcuff, it's like a see-saw effect; the tension on the rope allowing me to move one arm at a time, but only if I sacrifice the motion of the other. If I want to scratch my nose with my right hand, the left one has to be stretched above my head in order to have enough range of motion to reach.
Refusing to get frustrated about how helpless I am, I go still again and close my eyes, focusing on the sounds from upstairs.
It’s gone quiet.
Shit. Fuck. Tits. Wank.
Silence has never felt more dangerous.
I try to steady my breathing, but it's all I can hear and that just makes my heart pound harder. It feels like it's too loud amid the quiet, like the beat of a drum. The footsteps start again and I hold my breath, trying to focus on them, when I realize there’s more than one person upstairs.
He’s working with someone else!
The murmur of voices reaches me as the steps grow louder, and it becomes apparent that whoever is here is coming down the stairs. Adrenaline rushes through me, my previously non-existent fight or flight response finally kicking in, but struggle as I might, I can’t get free of these stupid fucking cuffs.
I want to cry in anger and frustration.
I hate being this helpless. Weak. Being at someone else’s mercy.
It just feels wrong.
The door at the top of the stairs creaks as it opens a moment before the crack of wood echoes around me as one of the stairs breaks, followed by a fuck-ton of cursing.
I pretend to be asleep, but only one set of feet comes down the stairs.
