a/n: SM owns all.
NOTE: This story contains abuse. I'll give you a warning before a chapter in which abuse occurs. There will not be forced sex of any kind.
With that being said, please enjoy!
Day 1
The room was dark; I could barely make out anything. The bed I was laying in was damp. My fingertips were raw and the pulse under my eye hadn't subsided since I awoke here. I don't know where I am. The room smells of urine, is it my own? Is there someone else down here? If there is, they must be dead. My level of fear is off the charts, and I can't seem to catch my breath. I tell myself I must be dying, and convince myself it's a good thing. It is, right? I don't want to live in this… place. I don't want to be alive when someone comes back for me. A person can only go so long without food and water. Starvation. What a way to go, huh?
I know somebody must have been down here because when I woke up the first time, I had nothing to lay my head on. Now, there is a pillow. I thank them internally, and then close my eyes. When I awake later, I hear footsteps. My eyes remain closed, feigning sleep. Their stride is heavy, confident. I conclude that it must be a male, and the thought of rape comes to my mind. The stairs creek under the man's weight and he descends slowly. I mentally note the stairs are wooden, thinking that will help me later. I swallow, coating my bone dry throat. He stops at the foot of the stairs and all is quite.
He sighs loudly before announcing, "I know you're awake. You're shaking like a fucking leaf."
I keep my eyes shut, trying to still my limbs. I yell loudly as I feel his hands and a piece of cloth cover my eyes. He fastens it tightly, and then loosens it slightly. The black is illuminated, but I can barely see through the fabric. The man is pacing back and forth, both hands on his head as he blows air through his nostrils loudly.
"Fuck," he bellows, marching loudly up the wooden stairs. I count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Si-.He pauses, there's a slow creek and I can see his form, barely a shadow, twist toward me. I close my eyes tightly, thinking he can somehow see me watching him. Six. Seven.
"Motherfucking piece of shit bastard. I fucking hate that…" he says to himself before his words are drowned out by the slamming of a door. I can hear the groan of floor boards above me and the sound of running water. Some drawers open and slam close, more shouting, and then nothing.
He was gone for some time. I tried to count the seconds, but lost count after 3000. The light was left on, and I took advantage of it. I could barely make out certain objects. To the left and right of me were small tables, in front of me was a wall, and near the stairs was a larger object that I presumed to be a chair. I wiggled my fingers as they became tingly, and tried to force the metal of the handcuffs away from the raw skin they were digging into.
I heard something slam upstairs and then water running again. Shortly after, I could hear his shoes beating down the stairs. He didn't pause and came walking over to me. The man stopped right in front of the dingy bed I was on and I breathed in deeply. His smell was unique. Cinnamon and stale cigarette smoke, as if he tried to mask the stench of his cigarettes with a cinnamon breath mint. He didn't say anything to me as he tried to force something in my mouth. I clamped my lips shut, my teeth digging into the skin there.
He exhaled loudly before roughly grabbing my chin and forcing my mouth open. He was strong, I took note of that too. Once the slender object was placed just inside my mouth, he shut it. I tongued the foreign object and bit down on it.
"Suck," he instructed. I did nothing. "Fucking drink through the straw, it's water!" he exclaimed. I still refused. "Fine." I heard him place the water down on the table next to the bed. He shut off the light, removed the blind fold, and walked up the stairs, slamming the door behind him.
When he left, I cried.
Day 3
Today I truly began to feel everything. The swelling under my eye, the bruising on my jaw, the immense pain in my stomach, the sharp sting in my back, the dull pulsing in my pinky toe, not to mention the septicemia that was likely to happen from the raw skin rubbing the metal of the handcuffs. It hurt. It hurt so badly.
I didn't cry.
Day 4
Someone was here. I could hear slight footsteps above, as if they were trying to keep quiet. I thought about yelling for help, trying to save my life, but I couldn't. I was far too weak, and the pain coursing through me was nearly killing me. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Sometime later I awoke with a jolt. I tried to talk, but nothing came out. The light was on and I was blindfolded. I heard footsteps, the same boots and the same guy. His scent filled the room. Today he smelled more of cigarettes than cinnamon.
He grabbed my jaw, pried open my mouth, and dumped a liquid down my throat. I gagged, afraid of what it might be, and spit some out. It was too late, I had already drunk some.
"I told you, it's just fucking water," he stated simply.
The miniscule amount of water had coated my mouth enough for me to form words.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked softly, my voice breaking.
He laughed quietly and I watched his hand go to his head. "I'm not the man you should fear, Isabella. Here, it's a straw. Suck." I was hesitant, biting the plastic again. "If you're going to die, it isn't going to be through a liquid, I can promise you that," he said irritably. "This is water. Drink it."
I took a deep breath and sucked, sloshing the liquid from side to side in my mouth. I drank the whole cup in one go. He took the straw from my mouth and placed the empty cup on the table next to the bed.
I cleared my throat. "H-how do you know my name?" Silence. "Please," I begged softly. Silence. "What happened to me?"
He was silent for a while. I wondered where he was as I couldn't exactly see his form anywhere. The light was still on and he hadn't walked up the stairs, so he must still be here, somewhere.
"I don't know," he said before turning off the light, walking up the stairs, and slamming the door.
Day 5
He came down twice today. Once to take off my blindfold that he left on yesterday. He didn't say anything. He merely walked down the stairs, took off my blindfold, and made his way back up the stairs, slamming the door in finality. I wondered how he saw in the pitch black of the room. He moved with such fluidity as he hadn't once tripped or stumbled over anything. I wondered, then, how many girls had been in this bed. How many girls were taken, placed in this bed, and then murdered.
The second time was to bring me lunch. I was so confused, but I later figured that whoever was going to kill me wanted me alive now, so sustenance was vital. He fed it to be spoonful by spoonful. It tasted of plaster and cardboard. I dissected the texture in my mouth after every bite and concluded that it was oatmeal. He huffed in impatience, and when I was done he turned off the light, took off my blindfold, and slammed the door when he reached the top.
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