Then he nods.
“I hope you never release me,” I spit. “Because if you do, I will bury you so deep no one will ever find you. I will put a dead rat on top, so they think it is just an animal rotting in the ground.”
I rattle the chains at him.
He laughs louder. “You…” He steps closer. “Are f-f-funny.”
I swing at him. He moves. My fist cuts through the air.
He circles me, then shoves me. My body swings, my arms stretch further, and pain ripples through my shoulders.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, every muscle screaming.
He stops me mid-sway and leans in. He lifts the mask just enough to drag his tongue across the blood on my face. Then he pulls away again.
“Freak,” I spit.
He grabs me, yanking me close. When I try to hit him, he catches my wrist and pins my hand to his hip. His gaze drags over my body. He presses against me. I feel his cock getting hard through the black sweatpants, every inch of him pushing against me.
“If I fuck you, will you let me go?” I ask.
My last card. My last lie. The second he agrees, I will stab him.
He nods.
Then he laughs and steps back.
Instead of coming closer, he turns away.
“No. Fuck, no. Come back,” I shout. “Fuck.” The word tears out of my chest.
I can hear his footsteps fade, and the door opens, then closes.
I’m left hanging there, like a piece of meat, while my blood drips to the floor.
The room feels like it’s tilting. Darkness begins to seep in from the edges of my vision, and my eyes start to close.
I find myself lying in bed. For a moment, I simply stare at the pale ceiling before my body suddenly wakes up. I swing my legs over the edge and stand, feeling my knees wobble as I step away from the mattress.
There are no windows, only one door. Despite this, I walk toward it.
I reach for the handle and twist, but it’s locked.
“Fuck.”
My body still hurts, and I can feel every single bruise on my skin.
I look down. I am wearing a black T-shirt.
I turn in a slow circle, trying to make sense of the room.
The walls are a pale white, recently painted. The dark wooden floor is partly covered by a green carpet under the bed. The bed is made of wood, neatly covered with pale sheets. And there are no pictures, no frames, no signs of anyone ever living here.
Just me, locked inside four blank walls.
I can hear footsteps again.
My heart slams into my ribs. I rush back to the bed and drop onto it, pulling my body still, and I close my eyes, pretending I am fast asleep.
