**Based upon a real dream I had a few nights ago... my cousin offered me slutty brownies if I wrote it up for her. Rated M for violence.**
Something catches my eye as I walk by the auditorium. I glance behind me. Someone is following me. I swallow. Quickly, I make my way to my car. I have the keys in my hand. I'm unlocking the door. Should I glance back? No. No. Just go. Goddamn this lock! I slam the window in frustration. I look behind me. I scream.
But my scream is silent. His hand is over my mouth. His thick gloves and large hands completely muffled my screech. His face is eerily calm. Is that… a smile? He parts his lips and whispers, "Shhh." Something brushes against my thigh. I don't need to look down to know that it's a knife. I'm trapped in his magnetizing gaze.
I am terrified.
He removes his hand from my mouth. Hot tears make their way down my cheeks. He clicks his tongue. "No, no, no. None of that, now." He delicately removes a glove. His eyes still bore into my soul. His fingers are tracing patterns across my face. They gently wipe away my tears. I hardly notice. I'm too busy memorizing his face for when I have to identify him for the police after I survive this.
Because I will survive this.
His skin is polished bronze spread tight across high cheekbones. His lips are wide. Soft. His brow is hooded. He tilts his head down and the corner of his mouth lifts up to form what could be a charming grin at a dinner party, but is only horrifyingly bone-chilling to me. From this angle his eyes are cast in shadow. He is a skeleton.
He makes a show of putting his glove back on, making sure I catch a glimpse of the wicked silver tucked inside his sleeve. I close my eyes. He takes my hand and leads me away. Away from my car. Away from all hope I had of escaping. If I scream, there will be no one to hear me. No one is in this part of campus at this late hour.
I open my eyes. He's gliding along slightly in front of me. His fingers are entwined in mine. I imagine we look like a couple heading in after a long night. Bile rises in my throat at the thought.
He stops, pressing strong fingers into my back as he opens the door to the passenger seat of his sleek black car.
What a gentleman.
Abruptly, my dinner meets fresh air as I retch next to his front tire. I hear him sigh. He grips my upper arm and forces me into the seat. I wipe my vomit from my chin. I hope my eyes burn straight through his skull as I meet his eyes. That haunting blank face is back.
Slowly, he leans in. I grimace as his fingers brush my thighs. I close my eyes.
Click.
He's buckled me in. I open my eyes in surprise. The corner of his mouth lifts fractionally. He shuts the door, but not before he makes sure my fingers are out of the way and safely in my lap. I don't know what to think.
We're driving down roads I've never gone down. I memorize the turns. Every few moments he glances over at me. His seemingly kind eyes taunt me. All the while, his strong fingers press into my wrist, ensconcing me in his grip.
I feel my terror give way to anger. How dare he kidnap me? What have I done? I- oh. My stomach seems to have fallen down into my pelvis. He's doing this for fun. His only motive for doing this to me is for the thrill of it. He gets off on this.
My blood feels like it's draining out of my face. Ice-cold fear grips my heart once again. I swallow. I look over at him. He's going left now. We're pulling up to a gravel driveway. He parks. He removes the key from the ignition. I haven't looked away from his face. Slowly, he turns his head to face me. I feel his thumb stroke my wrist gently. His lips part. A flash of pink tongue. Moist lips. His eyes darken with… desire?
My stomach flips over once again as I realize that he is going to rape me. I should have realized this from the beginning. Why else do strange men kidnap young girls?
He walks over to my side of the car. He holds the door open for me. Glancing once more at the silver gleam at his wrist, I slowly step out of the car. My legs wobble. He shuts the door behind me before enveloping me in his strong embrace. He smells like pine. And ash. And warmth. I am shocked at how muscular he is. I am suddenly aware of how small I am. He could break me at any moment. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale his scent.
I'm going to die soon.
He moves back to look at me. His pelvis is pressed against my middle. He runs his powerful fingers down my arms. I sniff. The tears begin to leak once more. He murmurs something in a different language. His hands travel down my back and press me towards him. My arms are pinned against his muscular chest. His chin tucks over my head as he breathes in my scent. Another murmur I cannot understand escapes that sickening mouth as he nuzzles into my hair.
I begin to shake softly. I cannot contain my terror any longer. A small whimper escapes me. He rubs circles into my back comfortingly. "It's all right." His accent caresses my ears. I can feel the knife that is tucked into his sleeve pressing into the hollow beneath my shoulder blade.
"Everything is going to be all right."
I should play along with this sick game. Somehow, I bring myself to nod meekly into his chest. He leads me up the path. We are inside. I feel like I'm in a dream. He leaves the lights off, taking me deeper into the house. He leads me into what can only be his bedroom. He flicks on a lamp and eases me down into a chair. A lamp flickers on.
His back is towards me as he removes his cuff links. I could jump on him. I could kick him in his tailbone. I could scratch out his murky eyes. But my terror keeps me glued to the chair. I watch him slip the knife all the way out of his sleeve. He moves slowly. Delicately.
He is still facing away from me. He holds the knife out to his side. He's daring me to try and attack him. I try to still the tremors wracking through my body.
With his other hand, he opens a large drawer. All his attention is focused on its contents. Now is my chance. I slip out of the chair, quiet as a shadow. I creep closer. My fingers flex in preparation to dig out his eyeballs. So close now.
Creak.
Shit. The floorboard. He stills. His shoulders sag as he hangs his head. Slowly, he turns around. The calm is gone from his face. His eyes burn. The knife gleams in his clenched fist.
"Sit. Down."
I back away. My eyes flit down to the contents of the drawer. I realize what I'm looking at. My mind floods with pure horror.
Inside the drawer lay dozens and dozens of sharp, cruelly gleaming knives.
Timidly, I sit back down. "Good." His voice rumbles from deep within his throat. The fire still burns in his eyes as he appraises me. He begins to hum. He carefully places his knife in the drawer. Goosebumps form on my arms as he draws out a different knife, this one thinner and curved at the end.
He makes his way toward me. He is still humming. He comes to a stop half a foot away from me. I stop breathing. He holds out a hand to me. My hand shakes violently as I bring it up to meet his. I am pulled up into his arms once more. He flips me so that my back is to his chest. He moves forward so that the seat of the chair presses into my knees. My eyes are glued to the knife in his hand. His chest thrums with his eerie humming.
His breath warms my neck. I shudder. I watch as he brings the knife up to my collarbone. "This is it." I think to myself. I brace myself for the pain.
But he is careful not to touch my skin with the knife. I realize what he is doing. My shirt slips onto the floor, now sliced down the middle. My shorts join it with a small thump.
He squeezes his arms tighter around me. I gasp as he relaxes. He turns me back around and presses the point of the knife into the center of my bra, which is the next article of clothing to fall to the floor. My underwear are the last. He shrugs off his jacket. I can clearly see the bulges in his arms as he drapes the expensive cloth over the chair that is now pressing into the back of my legs.
He sighs. His eyes meet my tear-filled gaze once more. "Now we begin."
He scoops me tenderly into his arms. I am limp as he carries me to his bed. He lays me down gingerly. The silk sheets softly caress my naked backside. My tears trickle down sideways to wet my ears. He positions himself over me. He is still fully clothed. I don't understand. My eyes flick over to the knife in his hand.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of twine. He ties my hands to each bedpost. My feet are just long enough to be tied as well. I am pulled apart in four different directions. I wish I could sink down into the bed, down through the floor, and deep down into the earth.
He finishes tying my feet. He slowly turns back around. His thighs press into my stomach. His feet are neatly tucked beneath his knees. He begins to trace invisible patterns into my skin with the pad of his forefinger. I feel sick as my nipples peak in response. He leans forward. His nose presses into my neck. I strain away. He breathes me in.
If I had anything left in my stomach, it would resurface as he presses his tongue to the space just below my ear. I moan. To an observer, I'm sure this could easily look like BDSM playtime. How completely wrong that would be.
He drags his tongue down the clenched cords of my neck. He tastes every freckle. My fists ball even tighter as he massages my left breast with his hand. I just want it to be over.
Wait. I tug experimentally on the twine holding my right hand. It's loose. There's hope, yet.
He pulls back. His back arches like a feral cat as his eyes roll to the back of his head. When his eyes return to their normal position, I blearily notice that they are much darker than before. He is breathing unevenly now. His chest heaves. His greasy hair falls over his eyes. His shirt is rumpled. He looks like a wild animal, like he's about to feast on fresh meat.
I flinch as he brings the knife down to my stomach. My breath stops. All his focus is on the flesh beneath the blade. Dreamily, I notice that with each haggard breath, his hair flutters a bit.
Pain blooms from just to the left of my navel. Warm blood pools down my sides. I scream. His hand is over my mouth once more.
"Do not make me gag you, my darling." The knife cuts the designs he had traced into my skin. I moan. "Imagine I am your lover." He brings the knife to the other side of my navel. "I am caressing your sweet, sweet skin," Another red pattern blossoms into being. I squeeze my jaw shut. He begins to tug at my skin. "Let me have you, sweet."
I cannot help the scream that escapes my mouth as he removes the skin from my stomach. But, this time, he doesn't seem to notice. I whimper as he gets to his feet. All his attention is on my ripped-off skin. There is so much blood. Somehow, I loosen the twine holding my right hand even more. It's almost free.
He's coming back. I stop tugging. The dull pains emanating from my middle spark back into life as he once more positions himself above me. Before he resumes his work, he gently places wad of cashmere socks into my mouth. I am unable to scream.
He is farther back this time. His gaze is locked on the skin over my left hip.
He begins to carve.
I squeeze my eyes shut so hard that yellow stars dance behind my eyelids. I focus my concentration on my right hand. If I can just wiggle a bit more- there. I flex my hand.
I look down at my butchered middle. He is completely focused on the bit of skin just below my hip. Removing my gag, I seize my opportunity. I bring my fist down on his left shoulder with all the strength I can muster.
He grunts and rolls off of me. Dimly, I see the hilt of the knife poking out from under my hipbone. Oh. The knife is in me. I can't even feel the pain any more. I pull the knife out from my insides. Somehow I cut my other hand free. As I activate my abdominal muscles to cut my feet free, blood begins to flow freely once more from my middle.
I see his shadow on the wall in front of me. He is behind me. I blindly stab behind me with the knife. It meets flesh. He makes a gurgling sound. I pull the blade back out. I stab it back in. He is on the floor. The knife is still in my hand. I free my feet.
Standing up, the skin above my left hip flips down as the river of blood begins to flow vertically.
I look down at my oppressor. The corner of his mouth twitches as blood gushes from the gaping holes in his neck. I hurl the knife as hard as I can at his middle. It sinks in deep. His now pale eyes close.
I am free. My feet can barely support me. My insides hang out of me. But I can walk. I make it out the door. My blood is a trail behind me. I'm on the street. I'm knocking on a door. I'm in someone's arms. I'm in a stretcher. The lights are so bright.
I'm floating.