First of all - I´m really sorry for not updating but there was no way for me to write in the last couple of weeks. There has been a Major death in my Family and we all had a really hard time. I´m still trying every day to really understand that I´m not just dreaming but things are going back to normal so I´m starting again. I decided to split my Story into three parts. The last chapter was the end of part one. This is the prologue of the second part. I will start going POVs now, since I´d like a Change in writing style. It will probably be a bit darker than the first part, nothing M rated but not as fluffy anymore. This chapter is quite short, they will get longer again, I promise. And the actuall Story (starting next chapter) will be 23 days Prior to this. Please tell me if you like it or not:


Prologue– Lost in Darkness

Elena´s POV:

Everything is dark. I don´t know if the darkness is real or if it´s just the scarf that he has secured far too tight around my eyes. He has stolen my senses. I´m blinded, my hands tied behind my back so that I cannot even feel the material of the walls that are locking me inside the room. It must be a room far away from civilization since I can´t hear any noises that indicate cars or any sorts of animals. All this time there hasn´t been a single noise.

The smells here are horrible. If I could I´d cover my nose right now to be able to shield myself from it. I smell the stickiness of the room that has obviously not been cleaned in a very long time. Which means that it is a place that is probably not visited or looked after very often. So I´m alone. And I don´t have any hope of being rescued now. After he silenced me, I only remember driving in a car for hours. Maybe it has only been two or three but to me it felt as if we were on the road for days.

When he finally stopped he brought me here. I don´t know for how long I´ve sit on this chair now, the days have gone by so painfully slow that every second that passes almost physically hurts me, and after it being the only sound I ever get to hear every breath I take shocks me, sounds too loud in my ears, to harsh as it breaks through the silence like a sword slicing through flesh.

So I breathe slowly. I breath in. I stop. I swallow and slowly breathe out. And then I wait. I try to take in the silence of the room, can almost feel the thick air around me demanding to be united with the endlessness of my trachea. But I don´t give in yet. I can´t fight him, but I want to fight, need to fight. So I fight the urge to breathe, fight with all I have because it helps me forget all the things that are impossible to fight and defeat.

My lungs start to burn, I feel the familiar dizziness taking over and with a loud gasp I welcome the air back into my body. It only reminds me of how lost I am. Sitting here in an endless fight against one of the most vital needs, fighting myself in a way that represents my despair, the helplessness

I´m dangerously close to giving in to. The ongoing, never ending battle that I keep losing every few seconds.

There is not much left that I can hold on to. In the beginning there was surprise. I couldn´t believe what was happening, thought it was a joke at first. But after looking him in the eyes I instantly knew that something was utterly off. He didn´t talk to me, didn´t look at me but the way he pressed his lips together so that they appeared as a small line indicated his concentration, his focus and his unwillingness to care about a single word I said. All the anger, the panic and the urge to scream and kick and curse him in the most brutal words I could think of came later.

But when they came it poured out of me like a waterfall, steady and loud and never ending. And just like the rocks, waiting for the streams of water to hit them, used to the force when they did and with a smooth sanded surface he just let my words glide over him. Never did he respond. Or maybe he was calm on the outside and his face was reflecting all the emotions and fury that I wasn´t able to see because of the scarf. I wonder why he never put something inside my mouth to silence me. On my bad days I often believe that after he left my room all those times, after he was sitting in his car, driving home he just laughed about my outbursts. Congratulated himself. I have many bad days.

After some time I was begging. I tried everything. The thing that hurt most was when I started talking about how close we used to be, how much I cared about him. And he didn´t even bother to answer. He didn´t say a single word. That was the worst.

I never brought up our past again, started to keep quiet. Learned that memories of happy days, of the past, of my family only hurt me more. Whenever I thought about my brother and Jenna my heart started beating a million times faster, my breathing hurt for reasons that far extended my sick wish to just stop letting the air that represented the brutal reality inside my body.

No, memories were only killing me.

There wasn´t anything that I could classify as actually helping me but there were things that kept me sane – for the most parts. Those little mind games I played in the absolute darkness that surrounded me when I again failed forgetting were I was or what I was doing here.

Like counting the little unevenness that were spread over the wooden chair that he tied me to during most of the day. I have done that up to the point that when he untied my hands so that I could use the little restroom in the back of my room, or cage and I touched my lips to feel the extend of their dryness I felt moisture coming from the tips of my fingers. When I hesitantly licked them, I tasted my own salty, warm blood leaking from them.

Does that make me crazy? Am I on my way to becoming completely insane? Or am I already?

Who knows...

My lips feel as dry as the desert. I try to moisten them with my tongue but my mouth is just as dry. He only gives me water twice a day. I suppose it is in the morning and in the evening but after so much time of being locked up like an animal I have long given up trusting my sense of time. In the time in between I am waiting. Waiting for him. To give me food or lead me to the toilet.

Most of the time I´m glad that I have the blinding scarf to shield me from seeing my cage. And from seeing him. I often wonder how he looks at me when he opens the door, sees me sitting on my chair or lying on my bed. Is his face completely straight, is he immune against my suffering. Is he smirking, enjoying seeing me like this, helpless and unable to defeat myself? Or does he feel guilty whenever he sees what he has done to me, how desperate I am? I doubt it!

The tears are running down my eyes now. The soft material of the scarf catches almost all of them, only one makes it way down my cheek. It tickles the underside of my nose and I shudder. Physical Sensation like a ticklish nose, the wetness of my tears are rare these days. Sometimes at night, when I lay on the bed, all I want is a hug, someone to hold me and whisper soothing things in my ears.

I miss the feeling of Damon´s hand holding mine, Jenna gently stroking over my hair and Jeremy´s head on my shoulder when he fell asleep on the couch next to me, the X-box controller still in his large hands.

After being in here alone for so long I learned that for us humans body contact is just as vital as food and water.

Once I tried remembering the last hug that I got before being locked up here. The only thing I could come up with was the tight way he, the one who caused all my pain, embraced my body as he tried to keep me from screaming while dragging me into his car. More tears. On some days the scarf is completely soaking wet from all the tears I have cried. Cold and wet. Most of those days I start screaming because I can´t escape it, can´t escape that thing that is secured around my head. All I want is grab it, free my head, free my eyes because it feels like my head is caged in by it.

But my tied hands can´t move, can´t fight my cage. So I go back to breathing slowly. It is an endless circle.

Will they safe me? Are they already close, will they burst into my room any second and untie my hands, carry me outside? Or have they already given up on finding ever finding me? How much time has to pass until you forget a person you love, a family member, a friend, a lover?

And how about him. Will he ever get tired of keeping me? Of the effort that he must make to hide me, keep me alive? Would he hurt me? Fly to Afrika with me and leave me on my own in the desert?

I ask myself those questions at least once a day. They make me feel so utterly lost and alone. Maybe I should pray and hope for a miracle. I don´t know what would be the bigger miracle, that my friends or the police or whoever finds me or that he changes his mind and let´s me go.

But it´s the only thing I have left. The hope for a miracle.