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Sienna
When I woke up, everything was still black.
Where was I? What was going on?
I clutched my face, wincing at the throbbing sensation in my forehead, right between my eyes. How did I get here? Where was ‘here’, anyway? The last thing I remembered was getting into a cab with… wait, no. I never made it into a cab.
A brief flash of Paxton helping me into a car appeared in my mind. He’d taken me somewhere. But where?
My desperate attempt to grasp at my foggy memories was interrupted by a sudden bout of nausea. I retched, but my stomach was empty and nothing came up my throat.
I swallowed hard and blinked rapidly as I forced myself to sit up straight. Eventually my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I was on a rickety double bed in a small room with wood-paneled walls. An open doorway stood off to the left, and beside that was a shelf with some clutter that I couldn’t quite make out. On the other side of the room was another door. It was closed. Next to it was a window, which had been boarded up.
As my heart pounded and my brain went into overdrive, I became increasingly aware of a cold sensation around my left ankle. I felt around beneath the thick blanket on my legs and found a chain.
Oh my god.
The chain was attached to one of the bed legs, with the other end attached to a thick metal cuff around my ankle. I was trapped in this bed.
My thoughts turned into a tumultuous whirlwind, a maelstrom of panic, fury, and regret. I knew Paxton was a total fucking psychopath. I always knew it. But I’d allowed the world to gaslight me into thinking I was the real problem in our situation, and then I’d stupidly slipped into a false sense of security as a result. I’d forced myself to be somewhat polite to him when he pretended to help me outside that bar, and I’d even allowed him to wait near me at the taxi stand under the pretense of safely getting me into a cab, even though alarm bells should’ve been ringing in my mind the entire time.
I should’ve known better. Really, I had no one to blame but myself for my current predicament.
“Can anyone hear me?” I croaked. Dammit. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. “Hello? Is anyone there? Can you help me?”
There was no response beyond the sound of crickets chirping outside.
“Shit,” I muttered, grimacing as I maneuvered myself off the bed. The chain was fairly lengthy, so I was able to move close enough to the open doorway and shelf to get a better look at them.
The door led into a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink, and light which I decided to switch on permanently for a small amount of comfort. The shelf contained various items such as soap, toothpaste, towels, and bottled water. There were also a lot of packaged food items, like chips, nuts, protein bars, and dried fruits.
Clearly, Paxton intended to keep me in this place for a while.
I opened one of the bottled waters and took a sniff, wondering if it was drugged, but it just smelled like regular water. Besides, what would it matter even if it was laced with something? I was already chained up in some creepy room after being abducted off the street by a mass murderer. Things probably couldn’t get much worse. In fact, maybe it would actually be better if I was drugged and unconscious from now on, to avoid the pain and misery Paxton undoubtedly wanted to cause me.
I thought he’d arrive to torment me sooner rather than later, but the place remained quiet, and the closed, locked door on the right didn’t open.
I waited three entire days in my little prison, practically dying of boredom. There was nothing to do but sleep, snack, lose myself in my thoughts, or try to occupy myself with silly games, like counting certain objects in the room.
By the third evening, I was so bored that I decided to count every single line in the wood panels on the wall beside the bed. I was up to a hundred and thirty-four when I heard the unmistakable sound of car tires crunching on gravel outside.
Suddenly, I dearly wished for the boredom to return. It was so much better than the panic and terror clawing at my insides now, making my heart frantically drum against my ribcage as my breaths turned into shallow, erratic gasps.
Sitting bolt upright, I stared at the locked door and waited. The footsteps drew closer and closer. Slowly, tauntingly. With each clunking sound, my terror deepened, electrifying every nerve ending as my muscles tensed and quivered.
The door finally creaked open, and Paxton appeared before me. “Hi,” he said in a casual tone, like we were simply friends who’d bumped into each other on the street. “How are you feeling?”
I shook my head, unable to speak through the fear closing up my throat.
He stooped to pick up a paper bag. Then he rose to his full height and showed me the contents—an enormous sandwich and a salad.
“Thought you could use a proper meal,” he explained, placing the food on the bed. “I brought you a fork and napkins, too.”
I glared at him, wondering how he could act so cool and collected, as if this was a totally normal experience.
“I knew I was right about you,” I finally managed to say. “You’re a fucking monster.”
He said nothing. Just crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at me.
