A/N: Long awaited I know. Super sorry about that.

PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU START: So, I've been thinking about this story a lot and I decided that if my main character was not going to talk for awhile, I want to get inside her head. So I decided to change this story to first person. (Which is quite a weird experience for me.) It's not perfect and it's definitely outside my comfort zone. Well, to keep some flow in this story, I re-uploaded Chapter 1 and re-wrote the first part of it in first person as well. The last scene of Chapter 1 is still in third person because… well, I didn't have any better ideas in order to fix it for the time being. But I'm going to keep this story in first person, I like it better like this—hope you all will think so too.

I can't promise when I will update again, but I will try. And I also want to apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I'm sorry, but this is the best I could do.

In the Darkest Corner

Chapter 2

A bump causes my head to jolt into some hard surface. Suddenly, my eyes snap open from the blackness they were engulfed in. Yet, it is still dark. Not just dark, pitch black. But my eyes are open. I know they are open. I can feel them open. I widen them to confirm their open state, but there is still only blackness to be seen. It feels like I'm floating through space.

I move my hand to the front of my face and wave it to see if I can make out even a resemblance of my hand, but instead, I find them conjoined at the wrists. If I lift one, the other comes with it.

Feeling is starting to come back to me, slowly but surely. Instead of panic, I do what I'm best at, I wait, I listen. There is a low hum of tires riding across pebbles and dirt, there is the screech of a car axis bouncing in and out of ditches, and there is a feeling of movement—like gliding. I'm in a car. That's what I can surmise with the fog clouding my mind and the blackness I'm still in. Yet, I'm not stuffed somewhere. There is space around me, in front of me, to my left, above me. I'm seated on a cushion, something velvety, something soft. I find my cheek rubbing the feel of the cushion on my right, bringing me back to some sort of reality.

Then I hear it. A quiet breathing. There is someone else, someone in close proximity, perhaps only an arms length away. Using some sort of strength I didn't know I had, I sit up. My head teeters a bit, pounding out a rhythm. The world feels like it shifted. I blink, the blackness still present.

Suddenly, I am aware of too much. When my feet touch a soft rug below me, I realize I'm sitting in the back seat of a car. My feet are conjoined at the ankles just as my wrists are. The band around my limbs is tough, malleable, no doubt cutting off circulation. I'm sure my hands and feet are some shade of blue. But the most peculiar part is that I feel fabric over me—like a shirt. I am wearing a shirt. It is the first time in three years I have had any sort of fabric on. It is a revelation and something I am utterly grateful for. Along with the fabric over my body, there is something over my eyes. Yes, there is fabric over my eyes too. That is why I'm in darkness! I feel my heart smile; that silly part of my mind is wrong. I'm not blind, I'm blindfolded.

My head still drums and my stomach still churns, but the curiosity of all these new discoveries keeps the pain at bay. I lift tied hands to my face and gently shift the blindfold above my eyes. I'm not expecting the blinding light that hits me. It's a new wave of pain that washes over me. I want to claw out my eyes.

Yet, I catch a glimpse of him in between the flurry of my vision. The blonde man is driving. He's not wearing a suit anymore. Instead, he has a floral shirt on. It's flowing down over a white t-shirt. He looks relaxed.

My eyes shut tightly again, my breathing is getting harsher, the churning in my stomach is rising up my ribcage, continuing up my throat. There is pain everywhere. When my eyes try to open again, I see his expression looking at me in the rearview. I'm caught. We lock eyes for a split second. His eyes are wide, but they hold a softness. There is an innocence, a naivety, something sweet buried beneath the immediate malice. It is something so beautiful in his crystal eyes, something that keeps me staring.

I throw up.

"Shit."

It's bile and saliva that coats the bottom of his car and part of my bare feet. I feel an overwhelming urge to cry when I look back up and see him staring with disgust.

The car comes to a halt, swinging abruptly to the side of the red dirt road we were traveling on. I'm frozen as he mutters to himself and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

I can hear his muffled curses through the car. He pulls open the backseat door and I'm sitting there; vulnerable and open to him. He grabs me by the upper arm and hoists me out of the car, feet dragging, limbs dangling. I barely have the strength to stand on my own, everything is spinning.

"Sit down," he tells me.

I stare back at him blankly, staggering on my conjoined legs.

His brows lower. "Sit down," he says again. Rage crosses over his features quickly. He pushes me to the ground. I scrape myself on dirt and rocks, falling onto my hip first.

I'm able to twist myself over to sit on my butt. He's towering over me. I'm helpless. I can't get up. I could try, I'll just be slow and he will be sure to catch me trying to get up. And if he catches me...who knows what he'll do.

"You're gonna have to learn to listen to me," he says. He gives one last frightening look to me and turns away in a huff. "Jesus," he mutters as he lifts up the interior rug soaked with my vomit. He's occupied now, searching for something to clean the car with.

I take a moment to get my bearings. There is a long barren road in front of us and behind us. Everywhere else the eyes can see is tan dirt and rocks and random thickets stretching on for miles. Above is a light blue sky with the sun beating down—it's a dry heat. I'm still barefoot with only a long black t-shirt on and a blindfold on my forehead. My hands are bound with a tight rope, the same of my feet. I could run for it. I'll decide where to go and what to do later, for now I have to be quick.

He takes a quick glance at me and then turns his attention again to the backseat of the red Cherokee. He's desperately trying to scrub at the vomit with napkins and water from a water bottle.

Now is my chance.

Swiftly, my hands go to the knot at my ankles. They work in unison, pulling and shaking the knot free all while ignoring the searing pain ripping through my fingertips. When I feel it slipping loose, I double my speed, quickly and quietly unthreading the rope from around my feet.

Five seconds.

It takes five seconds to shake the rope off, flip over onto my front and stand to my feet with the aid of my elbows. I'm off like a rocket, slicing through the dry air, feet racing, hair flying, hands pumping on either side of my body.

"Hey," I hear him shout. "Hey!"

His heavy footsteps are thumping behind me.

I keep running. Like a gazelle, I'm leaping over ditches and boulders. My eye is set on that distant horizon line. He'll have to give up on me soon. I'm panting, but my body doesn't care. I have a new energy I never knew existed, but I guess being cooped up has let my energy lie doormat all this time. I don't have time to worry about where this energy is coming from, all that matters is that I'm free. And freedom has never tasted so sweet.

I smile.

Then it's a burning pain that shoots up my leg. The back of my calf is enflamed. I stumble to my knee, urging any part of my body to keep moving. I stand and stumble again. My leg feels useless. I'm positioned like a dog on the ground. I feel his presence on top of me all before I'm yanked back up by my hair.

"Stupid girl," he whispers.

With his breath so close to mine, I spit in his face. Immediately, he reels back his hand and slaps me. I fall back to the ground, face in the dirt without any arms to catch me.

"Get up," he says.

I want to comply with his order. I'd like to get up and keep running if it were up to me. But my leg won't cooperate. I look back at it to see a little trickle of blood running down my calf. There is a small circular puncture wound. He shot me. Bastard.

"Get up." The venom in his words is terrifying.

Rather than refuse him, I actually try to stand but the pressure on my leg causes me to fall to the ground again. I hear him sigh. I'm grateful for the sigh. It's pitying. And I'll take pity over another bullet wound any day.

Suddenly, his strong arms are on me again. He scoops me up and holds me to his chest. I lift my eyes to his face the same time he looks down at me. His flaxen hair is mused where it should still be slicked back, random curls trying to break free. His face is a slight pink from the exhaustion of sprinting to catch me. He won't say anything to me. He just stares for a moment and then looks out to the distance.

I follow his eyes and see the red hue of the Jeep in the distance. It looks like a toy car from here. Damn, I ran far. Go me.

I'm bumping against his chest the entire way back to the car while something metal bangs into my thigh with each step he takes. When we finally arrive, he plops me down. I stand on one leg, his hand around my arm, and watch him throw open the trunk. He removes a black suitcase. I guess it doesn't weigh much by the way he tosses it to the ground. He looks back at me and points to the empty space of the trunk.

"Sit."

I do. He steps closer to me and it is then I clearly see the gun in his hand. My eyes dart to it subconsciously. I gulp.

He has the nerve to laugh at me. "It's a BB gun," he says. He brings it closer to my face and shows me. It looks like a hand gun. Full black. Compact. "It shoots copper pellets. Not bullets." Then he leans away and lifts up the edge of his Hawaiian shirt. "If I really wanted to hurt you, I'd use this one." On his belt is a holster and inside, a pistol. There is no mistaking the difference.

I only think of fear.

"You don't have anything to say?" he asks.

My face transforms to disgust. I hock in a breath to spit and he holds a hand in front of my mouth. I end up spitting in his palm, the back splash of saliva hitting my cheek.

"Is that really the best you can do?" he asks. "Spitting at me?"

He wipes the spit riddled hand on his jeans, puts the BB gun down and rummages around in the trunk for a few seconds. Then he takes out a small plastic package of zip ties. Pulling out three, he simultaneously grabs my ankle. Instantly, I swat my injured leg at him but he catches it. I'm squirming and panting heavy breaths.

He smiles at me. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

I'm nearly laying down, writhing about, trying to break free of his hold. Undeterred, he presses my ankles together and wraps a zip tie around them. Using his dominating strength, he manages to latch the zip tie closed. There is no way I know of to break out of this one.

He holds out a second zip tie and wraps it around my ankles again. "I've fortunately learned from my mistakes," he says.

Instead of rope, it's now plastic digging into me. And God, if I didn't wish he used the rope again. The third zip tie goes around my wrists, even if the rope is still there.

Suddenly, he grabs my jaw in his hand. He squeezes it hard. "If you want to run, fine. Run. But the next time you wake up, they'll be a chip in your arm. You're mine now, remember that. I will follow you up a mountain, across the Sahara, to the middle of Guam if I have to, and bring you back. You drown yourself in the Pacific Ocean? I will hunt you down and I will bring your dead body back to me. I bought you. I own you." He pushes his mouth closer into my face, his hot breath climbing up my nostrils. "Learn to show some respect for me."

The next thing I know he's on top of me. I'm using both my arms to try and shove him away but his body is pressing on me. Desperately, I try to kick him with my uninjured leg but he's standing with both legs apart, his hips digging into me. I'm bent backwards, his face in my face. I want to scream and cry and thrash about. I can't get him off of me. Tears are coming before I can even will them away. I'm not as strong as I thought I was. I can't even keep the tears away.

He shoves a small bottle of something into my mouth. I bite down. It's glass. The liquid is salty. No matter how much I spit it out and wriggle my head and squirm and kick and shift, nothing stops the liquid from seeping down my throat. I have to swallow eventually.

When the bottle is empty, he pulls it from my mouth and waits. We wait a while. I don't move, he doesn't move. The next time I swallow is when he releases me. He steps away, giving me a much needed bit of space.

"That should last you the rest of the trip," he says.

I don't know what he's talking about. I slide down from the trunk. I'm standing. I can't walk forward, I can't run. My feet are bound. My hands are bound. He's watching me. My head feels faint. Thoughts are getting hard. Someone keeps pressing rewind. The sky looks gray. There are three of him. All three move closer to me. I open my mouth.

"H-h..."

I can't ask for help. He won't help me. My leg still hurts. I look down. I can't feel my legs. I see them. There is dried blood on one. I wonder how it got there.

His body is beside me. He lifts the bottom of the trunk. There is a gaping hole. It's a black hole. He turns to me. I'm floating. The wind is carrying me. I'm falling down into the car's black hole. It's cold in here. I'm going to die in here. Alone in a black hole. The last thing I see is him. His arm reaches for me. Fabric goes over my eyes. It's black. There is a loud bang. It's a gun shot. Am I bleeding?

My thoughts cease.

. . .

I'm awaken by the sound of voices. They're at a distance, somewhere far off. I'm lying down on something soft. Maybe a bed? Yes, it must be a bed. My eyes are still closed, but I am conscious. My right leg feels heavy, it still hurts. My arms rest on top of a blanket, I lay on my back. Like a corpse, I tell myself. I certainly feel like one. I'm afraid to open my eyes. I'm afraid of what I'll see.

The sound of a doorknob startles me. I freeze in position, trying to keep my breathing as steady as possible.

"You put her in here?" It's a voice I don't recognize. This voice is male, it's eager.

There is a presence right on top of me. A body near me. It feels like a weight. My heart rate quickens. I'm doing my best to feign sleep.

"This is her?"

There is a pause and then: "Yes." It's him. It's the blonde man's voice. Soothing, tired, aesthetic and just the same, imperious. "She's still under from the drugs. She'll be groggy when she wakes up. That is...I hope she will be." He sighs. "I'm not in the mood for another fight."

"What?" the other one croons. "You afraid to take on a girl?"

"You try driving thirteen hours and crossing the border with Mexicans up your ass while smuggling in a girl. A girl who...woke up half way, vomited and bolted. And then I had to chase her down and put a bullet in her leg."

"Hey, that's your own mistake. You should've had her in the trunk to begin with."

"Humanity, R."

"After the story you just told me." The new mystery man pauses. "Humanity's dead."

Neither one says anything else. But a lamp pings on. The orange glow of it seeps in over the blackness of my eyelids. I shut my eyes tighter on instinct.

"She awake?" I hear.

"She's just light sensitive." The light pings again. The orange is gone. I can relax again. "She's been in the dark for three years, it'll take time to adjust to the light."

There is a sudden musk that rises into my nostrils. I want to gag, but a body is right on top of me. I hold my breath instead.

"Phew...when are you going to bathe her?"

Their presence begins to leave. I can feel a lightness surrounding me. I can breathe again.

"Tomorrow," my blonde man says. "And then I'll start her training."

A/N: As always, to my few faithful readers, please leave a comment, question, prediction, or concern! I'm always interested to hear what you think will happen. (or what you'd like to happen)

'Till next time, loves.