Okay. Let's hope this isn't a load of bullshit, because ain't nobody got time fo' that. Read, review, favourite and all that good shit, okay? Yes. Thank you, and do like my url says and have a great day! X

Charlotte POV

I woke up to a loud clanging to my left. I snapped my neck in that direction, and found that everything was upside down. I panicked for just over a millisecond, until I realised that I was, in fact, lying on my stomach. I wasn't in the basement anymore - I was lying in a bed. A rather comfortable, soft to the touch bed. It was only when I tried to run my hands through my hair, I realised that my wrists were cuffed to the headboard in front of me.

I tried to look around the room, but my head could only turn a certain angle, but from what I could see, the bedroom was very clean and homely-looking. The wall were a soft beige, and there were two windows, on either side of the bed I was lying in, and the panes were painted a white. The paint had chipped over time, however it only added to the rustic aesthetic of the entire area.

There was a small bedside table covered with a pale yellow lace doyley and a few figurines facing what I would assume where the door was. The floor, from what I could see, was laminated, and out of my peripherals I could see the corner of a shag, deep brown carpet. I wouldn't have minded having this room in my own home, however the calm, subdued sensation that had been running through my body suddenly ran out, and I realised what was happening.

My wrists and feet had been bound together and then attached to the headboard on either side of the bed, and if I looked closely enough - as my glasses had been removed somewhere in between me getting kidnapped and being strapped into that death chair in the basement - I could see small pinpricks embedded in my skin.

He was.. Drugging me? Nope, no, I could deal with the beatings, I could handle the cold water and the lashings from the paddle, but as soon as drugs were involved, I would prefer to kill myself. There is no way, in hell, I was getting high on anything. Not after what happened with my dad. It wasn't just the alcohol or the killing he had been addicted to - in the beginning, it started out as solvent sniffing back in high school, which gradually turned into marijuana joints in the janitors closet after class. This quickly escalated into cocaine abuse and then, BOOM. He suddenly was blowing whole wads of cash on his next heroin fix.

If there was one reason why I was glad he was in jail, besides the halting in murders, it would be that he got clean. I hated him, don't get me wrong, and I loathed the things that he did and the lives he took, but at the end of the day, he is still my father. His genes are inside of me, and his DNA helped make me who I am today - so I have to thank him. If I didn't, then what kind of person would that make me? Maybe I'm just confused and naïve, but I just cannot help how I feel. I heard the door swing open behind me, and heavy, drawn out footsteps made their way along the hardwood flooring.

"Awake already, are we? Well, that makes things a lot easier," he traced a line down the length of my spine and chuckled as I pulled away in disgust, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you.. In that way, anyway."

He traced his fingers along the tattoo written across my shoulder blades, slowly. The sensations in my stomach churning slightly and made me feel more than a little ill inside.

"This is a funny little tattoo you have here. 'Perdonare ma non dimenticare'. Forgive but do not forget, right?," He chuckled mirthlessly, "How fitting."

He pulled something out of his pocket, and out of my peripherals, I saw it flicker dangerously in the light. Another fucking knife. How spectacular. It was smaller than the one he had used in the basement, however the shape was far more daunting and dangerous. The blade was jagged and had a two-pronged tip.

My tone was glacial and biting when I spat out, "What is this? Another game?"

He laughed this time, almost as if what I said was a joke of some kind and replied, "No.. Not another game. The same game. Just more blood involved, of course. I'm glad that you're getting the hang of things here. We're going to have so much fun!"

He clapped his hands, manically, and span the knife in front of my eyes, watching with glee as goose bumps broke out on my skin. He took pleasure in my fear. The sick bastard. He was going to kill me, I didn't even need to hear what he had to say to figure that out. The manic, crazed look in his eyes told me more than words ever could.

His voice was miles away as he reminisced, "This was Juliana's room. My baby girl would have been 34 this year.. Oh how time flies, right? It seems only right that I end this here, don't you think? This is how this is going to work. I'm going to take this knife, and slit your throat, exactly how your father ended my Juliana's life."

I craned my neck just far enough for me to look into his eyes as I spat out, "Fuck you, you filthy son of a bitch."

He gnashed his teeth together and quick as a flash, he wound his fingers in my hair, fisting it tightly, and pulling, so that my head and neck were wrenched tautly in a painful and uncomfortable hold. He tucked the knife the skin of my neckline and pressed in, piercing the skin and blood welled up. It stung a little, but I didn't dwell on that for too long. I couldn't let him win like this.

He began dragging the blade across my collar, however a loud, authoritative knock on the door interrupted him. He cursed under his breath, and sat the knife down next to me. He went into a chest-of-drawers and pulled out a pair of socks and stuffed them into my mouth, acting as a gag of sorts.

He pulled at my hair once more, and snarled out viciously, "You make any noise, and I swear to God, they will be searching for your pieces until the end of time."

I nodded in agreement, however I knew for a fact that I was going to get out of here before he returned from downstairs. As soon as he closed the door behind him, I smiled maliciously even with the restraint inside my mouth.