Susceptible to Heartache
Prologue.
She awoke from the slumber of sleep she was in, startled by a sound coming from the room opposite her. The harshness of the dark hurt her eyes, but she could faintly see due to the slither of light filtering in from the room opposite. Her legs remained stiff as a heavy metal buckle was locked on both her ankles, the desire to get rid of the aching pain in her legs she felt, denied. She tried to rub her eyes, but due to the rough tightness of the rope, her hands remain in the same position behind her back, and she remembered where she was again.
The steady footsteps he took as he entered the room echoed loudly through the vast and empty room, emphasising the desertion of the building. He'd picked this place perfectly, knowing how rarely anyone passed through the rural laneway. They'd admire the quaint looking cottage, on the rare occasion that anyone should pass, not knowing of the living nightmare being endured through the old, crumbling bricks.
"I brought you some water," his voice was soft, yet Carla could make out the slight edge to his tone.
"And how do you expect me to drink it? I've not exactly got a free hand here. You'll have to untie me," she spat in response, desperate for the water to soothe her burning and dry throat.
"Do you honestly think I'll give you the chance to escape again?" He snapped, his anger apparent as he remembered how the last time he'd let her hands free, she'd almost escaped, though he'd overpowered her. Again.
He moved closer to her, so close she could still make out the faint smell of chicken which still lingered on his breath. He'd teased her provocatively, having brought in the delicious remenants of his takeaway the previous evening, having ate the majority. The aroma of the food was so delicious, Carla had almost found herself begging for some. But she couldn't reduce herself so low as to beg from the rapist. She'd instead kept her lip buttoned, not making so much as a whimper, even after the hard smack he'd given her after his teasing led to nowhere. She witnessed the fury in his eyes, the anger apparent on his face. But she'd still kept quiet.
As he place the cold rim of the glass against her lips, he heard her teeth chatter against it as she tried to drink from it, desperate for the contents. As she realised he was bent over her feet, she kicked him in the groin, reveling in the way his face screwed up, obviously in pain. Before she had the chance to feel smug for her feeble attack, she felt her throat tighten as his hands forced themselves around her neck. She felt nothing but pain, and the last thing she witnessed was the smug grin etched on his face, and the harsh sound of glass breaking, as he threw the glass at the wall with his free hand. He was victorious.
Apologies for the shortness, the situation will become clear throughout future chapters. Reviews/Thoughts very much appreciated!