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I try to open the window but it’s locked.What the hell did you expect? Even if it was open, how were you going to get out with your hand in a cuff?
“Shut up!” I yell into the empty room, wishing my brain would shut the hell up. I start to pace the room and the clinking sound follows me around. It’s annoying as hell and I’m becoming more frustrated.
I plop down onto the floor and sit there for a few minutes before I start tugging at the cuff on my left wrist. Obviously, nothing happens. I scoot toward the bed and prop my foot against the frame and start yanking on my hand, trying to get these stupid things off.
It hurts but I keep going. I can feel the area around where the cuffs are starting to sting but I don’t pay attention to it. The only thing I’m focused on is trying to get out of these things so I can somehow manage to escape this place.
A few minutes later, when I’ve exerted all the strength I have, I start to pull my hair in frustration as I scream the entire room down. The edge of my mind is starting to fray and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic just being locked away in here.
“Stop fucking doing that! You’re hurting yourself,” I hear coming from the doorway a moment later. It causes me to pause for a bit and turn toward the door to look at him. I double my efforts to try and yank the cuff off, and I finally notice the blood on my arm.Oh well…
He stalks over to me and grabs me, lifting me onto my feet. He spins me around and pulls me closer to him so that our fronts are mashed together. He keeps an arm around my waist. I instantly stop struggling and take my first good look at him. Not that there’s much to see.
He’s tall and if I had to guess, I’d say about six foot three with a lean body. He’s wearing a black mask that covers his entire face with a red X on both eyes. The mouth has a red stitched-lip design. He’s wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants as well as gloves. If this doesn’t scream serial killer, I don’t know what does.
There’s no way I can identify him and so that was definitely done on purpose. I can’t even see the color of his eyes or anything like that. His smell is one I’ve never smelled before but it’s yummy.Whoa there, Raine! Clearly, you’ve had too many drugs in your system.I let out a snort at that thought because I haven’t had nearly enough. I’m literally on the verge of falling apart.
“Wh-why am I here?” I ask, trying a different tactic since he won’t tell me who he is, not that I really expected him to. He doesn’t bother with answering my question.
“You hurt yourself,” he growls at me instead. “If you can’t behave, I’ll be forced to cuff both your hands and tie you to the bed.”
At his words, I push back at him and start wildly flailing around as I try to punch him, but my movements are uncoordinated. He growls louder before lifting me off my feet and tossing me onto the bed.
I try to get off when he climbs on after me but he’s too fast and my movements are slow. He hauls me up into a sitting position so that my back is braced against the headboard and then he grabs some leather straps that are connected to the sides of the bed. He straps one just above my breast, by my stomach and then one on both my thighs and legs.
“What the hell are you doing, you… you… you goddamn bear!” I screech.
“Anyone ever tell you, you scream like a banshee? To answer your question, I’m saving you from yourself,” he says and I give him a death glare. That was very rude. I’m still mad that I can’t get anything from his voice since it sounds like he’s still disguising it.
“At least I’m not the one wearing a mask to hide my ugly ass face. Why the hell are you wearing a mask anyway? In case anyone didn’t tell you, we’re way past Halloween,” I snap at him.
“Are you dying to see what I look like? Let’s make a deal. This is the start of your detox sessions. If you pass and get through it, I’ll show you who I am,” he tells me.
“Why would I want to see you? You’re just a kidnapping asshole!” I grumble.
“You can rant and rave and call me whatever names you want but it won’t change the fact that I’m going to make sure your ass gets clean. So, if I were you, I’d prepare for some hard days ahead. But don’t worry, I’ll be here every step of the way,” he tells me. I don’t answer.
I let out a sigh as all the energy I had inside me seems to drain out of me all at once, leaving me empty and vulnerable. I hate this feeling. It’s exactly why I need my drugs so that I can function better and not give a fuck about anything.
I guess he must see that the steam inside me has gone flat because he gets up off me and walks out of the room before coming back with a first aid kit and a bowl. He places the bowl on the little table where the lamp is before making his way back to the bed.
He pulls out a key from his pockets and unlocks the cuff from my wrist and then sits on the bed next to me before gently cleaning the little cuts I got from the cuffs before putting some gauze on it.
When he’s done, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he runs his thumb along the length of my arm, tracing over the cuts I now remember making while I was in that motel room. I pull my hand away and he lets me.
I wish I could see his face just to see what he’s thinking. Would he be one of those people who judge you because it’s something they don’t understand? Those who don’t suffer mentally are quick to judge. They make you feel even worse about yourself sometimes.
Like fuck yes, Karen. I know it’s wrong but it’s the only fucking thing keeping me alive right now. It’s one of the few ways I know how to cope.
He gets up again and puts the first aid kit by the door. I’m guessing there’s probably something sharp in there. If only I could get my hand on it. He grabs the bowl from the table before bringing it back over to me, dipping the spoon in before bringing it back out and up to my lips. It’s soup. I keep my mouth closed and look away from him. Him doing this, trying to feed me, is bringing back too many memories I’ve tried to forget since I left Riverside.
It reminds me of him…
Memories of Knox feeding me, well, forcing me to eat, wash over me and I feel tears prick my eyes. The way he called me out on my shit when I was going through that eating disorder and making me eat all the time is too much to bear. The tears I’ve been trying to hold back slip down my face. He lifts his hand up and wipes the tears away and I cry even harder because I remember Knox always doing the same.
“I-I um… I’m not hungry,” I whisper out brokenly.
“I don’t care. You’re going to eat because you need food to get your strength back if you’re going to overcome your drug problem. If I have to get a feeding tube for you, I will.” he says with nothing but authority in his voice.
