AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Instead, he stripped me of my running clothes, then put me in the shower to scrub me clean. My skin was red raw, parts still sensitive on my weak, frail body. I tried to do everything I could to get away but was forced to endure it, tied up. I had no say, no argument, as he washed me, touching parts of my body he had no right to touch.
He’s done this every day for twelve days.
Twelve days of nothing but gut-wrenching fear.
That first day I not only lost a part of my soul, but my dignity.
Each day he would wake me up. I’d be groggy, having fought sleep, too scared he would come when I was at my most vulnerable. He’s everywhere; in my nightmares and reality.
I’ve had no choice but to let him take me to the toilet, where he watches me, and then cleans me afterwards.
The second time he comes in a day, he brings me food. He feeds me like I’m a baby, sitting down with me to watch television and act like we’re friends. All the while I cry, pleading with him to let me go.
It’s what he is here to do now: bring me food and make me endure his company. At least, I think he is. Time… it’s long forgotten. Hours, minutes, seconds have passed, but I couldn’t tell you how many. I can only go by my guess.
I know what I’m about to endure. He’ll ignore my cries, my demands to go home. He’ll shower me, brush my teeth, then dress me in another nightgown. All of them are the same: old-fashioned, but thankfully they cover me from head to toe. After, he will sit me down on a stool in front of a mirror and brush my hair, telling me how perfect I am and how much I belong to him.
He may have touched me inappropriately, but none of it has been sexual. It doesn’t mean I don’t fear that one day that is what will happen. I do.
I’ve been living in a constant state of fear since I woke up here and realised I had been kidnapped, torn away from my friends and family.
He won’t even tell me if they’re okay.
I wipe my cheeks once again,not wanting him to see me cry. Even a speck of dirt or tears and he will use it as an excuse to shower me.
I’m weak. Twelve days of eating nothing but ham sandwiches and drinking little bits of water when he visits is all I’ve been allowed. I asked him to leave me water, but he yelled, telling me he already gives me water and I shouldn’t ask for more.
I’ve lost any hope of being set free, but it doesn’t mean I’ll stop pleading. I’ve prayed he will begin to see that what he’s doing is wrong, that he will grow a conscience.
No one is coming to get me.
No one is going to save me.
My last days on Earth will be spent tortured, broken and afraid. It’s inevitable. In the deepest part of my heart, I know death is how this will end.
The chains on the second door, before the one leading to my cell, rattle. My breathing picks up, my body breaking out in a cold sweat. I rub the palm of my hands down the white nightgown, my eyes watching the door like a hawk.
The key in the lock causes a whimper to escape. I’m terrified about being in his company for however long he decides to stay this time.
Trembling, I sit up against the headboard, hugging my knees as tight to my chest as the chains around my wrists and ankles allow. I cringe as they chink against the bedposts they’re tied to. I wince at the sting where the rough metal has rubbed my skin raw.
I jump when my door opens and he walks in, all intimidating and scary. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have found anything harmful about him.
But under the intelligence and knowledge he holds close, he is soulless. There is nothing but darkness when I meet his gaze, nothing but anger, hatred and rage. He seems calm and collected on the outside, but he’s not. He’s a ticking time bomb, and no matter what you try to do to defuse it, he will blow.
“Please, I want to go home. I want my mum and dad,” I beg, my voice scratchy from lack of water. The tears I willed to stop begin to fall helplessly.
He storms over to the TV and switches it on, before pacing in front of it.
Instantly, I know something is wrong. A shiver runs along my spine.
One, he isn’t carrying the tray of food he normally brings, and two, he hasn’t even acknowledged me; not once.
“I’m good enough, dammit!” he yells, his voice filled with anger.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle, and I try to bury further into the headboard of the bed.
He throws all his anger towards me when he turns, his eyes blood-red, his fists shaking violently by his side.
