Disclaimer: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.
Not having a clock there was no way for me to know how much time had passed since I last saw my kidnapper. All I knew was that I'd gotten rid of a lot of tears due to a long cry, and that I was exhausted. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I stayed clear of the bed and instead crawled into a fetus position in my corner of the room. My tears long since gone, and sleep refusing to relieve me from my distress I allowed my mind to tread dangerous waters. Imagining how you'd be rescued or what you'd tell the police probably wasn't the best idea, especially since it looked as if I'd never be able to escape. But I didn't know what else to think of.
Not only did my body ache, it was cold too. If I'd been ready to give up my pride I would've used the smooth and soft (well, they looked like it from across the room at least) covers from the bed, but I refused to. I didn't want him for a second to believe that I was accepting that I'd be here for a while. He couldn't keep me here, he just couldn't. There was no way, I wouldn't have it.
A sudden loud bang drew me away from my erratic thoughts and I sat up quickly. Too quickly I realized when the room began to spin in front of my eyes. In a sad attempt to steady myself I held my hands out in front of me, a loud moan escaped my lips as grey spots danced before my eyes.
"You'll feel better once you've eaten and rested." I jumped at his voice. I hadn't even heard him unlock or open the door; I'd been too busy trying not to pass out. I ignored his comment and allowed my blue eyes to study him carefully. At the slightest opportunity I'd run towards the door.
Of course such an opportunity wouldn't come since I noticed he was standing alarmingly close to it. My heart sank and I felt that lump in my throat again, pestering me, reminding me of my weakness. In his hands he held a tray which had a plate and a cup on it. The same second he noticed my eyes lingering on the cup I turned my gaze away. He took a slow step forward, making me flinch and press myself closer to the wall, almost as if I hoped I could somehow squeeze myself right through it.
"You'll die if you don't eat or drink," he said matter-of-factly, his voice ringing with indifference. I felt myself tremble at the sound, more so from fear than the cold.
"I'm going to die anyway, right?" My question didn't seem to faze him even the slightest.
"Eat up." He placed the tray on the concrete in front of me, but like a stubborn child I refused to look in his direction. "You'll eat when you're hungry." He sounded so sure of himself I wanted to kick him in the ass.
"Fuck you," I dared myself to mumble, almost hoping that he'd react with anger, or at least some form of feeling. The way he seemed to not care about anything made my skin crawl. At least if he was angry or shouted at me to go to hell or shut the fuck up, well then he'd show that he felt something. He didn't seem to feel anything at all.
"I'll make sure to get you a clock, so you can tell the time." With that he was gone. My heart pounded in my chest and my ears were ringing with all the words I wished I had screamed after him. Finally I couldn't contain my anger anymore.
Standing for the first time since I'd woken up, I felt a dizzy spell wash over me again but I held onto the cold tiled wall and didn't fall back down. Bending my knees I picked up the tray and took three long steps towards the door. Anger seared through my body, not only at my kidnapper, but also at whoever was up there (God or whatever) for letting this happen to me.
"Why don't you just fucking kill me you bastard?" I screamed, my voice hoarse from the lack of proper use. I threw the tray with all my force against the door, the food and drink painting the walls with their sticky substances. "You're nothing! Do you hear me? You're nothing but a sick fuck that kidnaps girls for some retarded reason!"
My words had lost their sense, and my brain couldn't stop my mouth from screaming. All the emotions that I had built up in my body; fear, anger, sorrow, hurt, confusion, well they just exploded in a moment. I allowed my bare foot to make contact with the cold steel of the door, ignoring the shooting pain that traveled up my entire leg.
"I want to go home!" Hammering with my fists on the door now, I refused to stop shouting insults, any fowl words I could think of, they all escaped me with complete ease. And I wasn't the kind of person who even said damn when I tripped on something. "I'm going to kill you," my voice broke down at last. "I'm going to kill you."
My bleeding fists stopped pounding against the unmoving door, my whole body shaking with sobs. Falling to my knees in front of the door I continued screaming until my voice had completely disappeared and nothing but guttural gasps passed over my lips.
"I want to go home," I pleaded quietly to the bottom of the door.
The sun hit my face, and no matter how much I wanted to escape it I had nowhere to hide. Groaning I realized there was no point in trying to stay asleep, so finally I sat up in bed, stretching lazily. With a quick glance on the clock I noticed I had another three hours before work started, so I could handle a slow start. Encouraged by that realization I jumped out of bed, shivering slightly at the sudden cold without the covers hugging my slim body.
"Good morning!" I called to no one in particular, just like I did every morning. Just because I lived alone it didn't mean I never talked out loud. I talked to myself all the time, and sometimes I just talked in general. I didn't want to live with someone, but I didn't want my apartment to always be quiet either.
I skipped towards the bathroom at the other end of my somewhat cramped apartment, grabbing a towel from a chair in the kitchen on my way. At the same time as I reached the door, I started humming a song by Bruno Mars to myself. I didn't have a particular favorite band, though I did enjoy music, and Bruno Mars was one of the few musicians I knew by name.
"When I see your face, there's not a thing that I would change, 'cos you're amazing, just the way you are!" My voice echoed against the tiles in my bathroom as I sang. Closing the door, but not bothering to lock it (I lived alone, who on earth would ever walk in on me?) behind me I continued singing, tossing the towel on the dripping sink.
I woke up with a start, my body convulsing with panic. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was, and to remember my dream. I realized quickly that that's when he'd gotten me. Why the hell didn't I lock the door behind me? Or he could've already been in the bathroom, already waiting for me. Why the hell didn't I have a dog?
Slowly I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, realizing only after that my hands were bloody from my fight with the door (which I lost, for the record) and my already dirty hair probably looked even worse with blood streaks. Deciding that any more tears were unnecessary, I managed to stand up and made my way towards the toilet which was positioned in the corner opposite the one I'd previously occupied. Shifting from foot to foot I stood in front of it for a second, weighing my options.
No matter how stubborn I was, no matter how easily I could ignore the hunger I felt or the burning thirst in my throat, I couldn't ignore the urges of my body. I had to pee. Period.
"Shit." I had no option, it had to be done.
Making sure to keep a strict eye on the door I finished as quickly as I could, ripping some tissue off from the roll when I was done, making sure to pull my shorts up the same second I was done. My face burned with shame, but I tried telling myself that I'd had no other choice. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, and suddenly I felt like a complete idiot.
Why did I bother washing my hands? I was a prisoner without a shower, and mostly likely I already smelled since I hadn't showered since the day before the day I was kidnapped. I didn't even know how long it had been. A giggle of insanity erupted from within me; I had to struggle to quiet it down. I couldn't lose my mind, that wouldn't do me any favors.
I needed to stay sharp and to not give up. Such outbursts like the one I'd previously had wasn't okay. It couldn't happen again. If I was going to survive my stay, I had to stay smart and brave. My positive thoughts had to win over the thoughts surrounding my impending death. Easier said than done, but I had to try.