When I finally unzip it, I pull it open to see the contents. 6 bottles of water, 4 sandwiches cut in half, 3 apples and 3 bags of trail mix.
What the fuck?
This looks like rations you’d pack on a hiking trip.
My blood freezes in my veins as the realization hits me. He’s gonna leave me in here, alone.
How long?
When is he gonna come back?
Is he gonna leave me to starve and rot here?
I panic, my chest held in a vice. I have to focus now; I still have a bottle of water left from the ones he gave me last night.
That bumps my water to 7. If I only eat one sandwich a day, that gives me 4 days. I couldstretch that if I ate half, or an apple and the mix instead. Though none of this stuff will sustain me for long.
I’m not even sure how I would keep track of the days. The lights are unreliable. I pick at my nails again as I form a plan. It has become a habit, but it’s not like I have anything else to do. Doubt I’ll be getting a fill anytime soon.
Packing everything back in the bag, I lay back down as I work on keeping my breathing under control. I hate being alone for long periods of time.
What is this guy’s fucking deal? He acts like three different people and I wonder if maybe that is possible. But it doesn’t make sense; he is so similar, even brothers would have slight differences between them.
He probably has a personality or mood disorder. That would explain how he switches from a crazy maniac, playful cannibal and a mute gruff man.
Though his mute personality seems to have some control. It didn’t change the fact that he fucked my virgin ass, only using spit. After he left, I washed myself with the cloth as best as I could. My ass was bleeding.
The only thing I can’t wrap my mind around is his dick. I could have sworn I saw a tattoo when he jammed his dick in my mouth. But when he took my pussy, it was gone. I probably imagined the tattoo.
Though it doesn’t explain what I felt the last time though. Almost like he had piercings on his dick. Maybe he had some sort of condom or toy placed on it to feel like that. The bumpy balls branded my insides.
I’m going crazy, my mind speaking too loudly. I have to do something or I’ll have a psychotic break. Standing up, I count my steps from the cot to the bathroom door.
Then I count how many steps it takes to run out of chain. How many steps I can take towards the main door. I can’t reach it fully, but if he passes something through the hatch, I could grab it if I stretched out my arms.
Pacing and counting gets boring pretty fucking quick. My bladder hurts, and I piss in the bucket, which is almost half full. My urethra burns and I probably have a UTI. He hasn’t emptied it since I was hosed down.
How long ago was that?
A day?
Two?
I lay back down, my eyes boring holes into the wooden planks that make up my ceiling. Of course I can’t sleep, and my body is getting confused.
I don’t have a clock, and can’t tell if it is day or night. Looking at my nails again, I can see where they are growing out. I had them done 5 days before my Tinder date. The date that changed my fucking life. I loved my life, and now it is gone, and tears fill my eyes as I grieve.
Someone has to be looking for me.
I’m sure my friends reported me missing at this point.
Do the cops have leads?
Oh, my god.
My cat!
Is he ok?
