22. The Gift
Chapter 22
The Gift
I groan as I adjust my sore neck, and a shooting pain sears down my back, as I attempt to pry one of my tired eyes open. Grogginess and unawareness muddle my brain, and I can’t seem to get a clear thought to process. The air is cool around me, and my skin prickles with goosebumps. “Ugh,” I groan as my hand slides across the mattress, reaching for my comforter to wrap around myself, but I find nothing but silkiness below its touch. What the fuck, has Toothless stolen all the covers again? Slowly, a sense of cognizance returns to me, and I realize the mattress below me is too comfortable and soft, lacking my usual hard lumps that dig into my flesh, and no way are these my worn, cheap sheets.
I compel one of my eyes open, and dim light greets me. The color of the wall across from me is the first thing that registers as wrong to my exhausted mind. Why are the walls painted a dark royal blue instead of off-white? I bring my hand up to my eyes and endeavor to rub the sleep from them. Am I still dreaming, or am I awake? I propel my body to roll from my back to my side, and when I do, the sound of metal clicking on metal, and something cold and heavy landing on my shoulder, has me gasping and attempting to sit up in a panic. What the fuck was that? My uncoordinated hands bat at what’s touching my skin, as fear runs like a herd of stallions through me. My fingers grasp the smooth, cold surface and trail up its length until I reach a smooth band around my neck.
WHAT THE FUCK! My body jerks up into a sitting position as a scream leaves my lips, and the clicking gets louder, along with the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears. “What the fuck! No... God no!” I screech as I yank hard on the band around my neck, and end up choking myself. I’m totally awake now; long gone is any of the drowsiness that assures me that I’m finding myself in a true nightmare, and not just one my mind has conjured up.
My eyes search the room, as I attempt to wrap my arms around my naked form. It’s a decent size, with a dark oak dresser across the space, and a boxy accent chair in a geometric brown and cream pattern in a corner. There’s a large window with wooden blinds partially closed, but through the slats, I can see the faint outline of clouds in the sky and lots of thick trees. I jump off the bed, and realize the clinking sound is coming from a metal-link chain that is attached to the band around my neck. My eyes follow the long length to a bolted hook in the far wall. “No, no, no... what the fuck? Where am I?”
Images accost my mind of the last things I remember: the adult toy shop, massive dildos, the pretty peacock with the great contour, and then vivid memories of the back room come to the forefront. The masked man, the one who drugged me in my home, was there. He was touching me, no, more than touching, he was fucking me with his long, thick cock and another blade, and I was allowing it. His words, and the rasp of his voice, slither across my mind in response to me requesting him to hurt me. Oh my god, I did that; I asked for that. My core flutters, regardless of the precarious situation that I find myself in. How could I have allowed that to happen? I let him slice my skin with that knife, and use me for his depraved needs, and worse yet, I enjoyed it.
Even now, with terror crawling all over my naked skin, I can feel my pussy weeping with the memory of how he felt, deep inside of me. How my pussy had to stretch to accommodate his length and girth, and the feeling of his piercings that graced his cock, as they rubbed across the walls of my core. Fuck, get it together, Chrissy, we have to get out of here, the fucker has kidnapped us, and taken us somewhere! I admonish myself, as my terrified eyes search for a way out of this room, and a way to release myself from the chain holding me here.
I run over to the wall with the hook on unsteady legs, my bare feet slapping against the thick carpet with a thudding noise, the cold air forcing a shiver to wrack my body, and my nipples to pucker into tight points. My panicked eyes glance down at my naked flesh, and I can see blooming bruises, in the shape of large fingerprints, forming on the pale skin of my breasts, hips, and thighs. A cold sweat breaks out across my body despite the chilly temperature in the room, and my ass, lower back, and thighs sting from all the cuts he made on my flesh with the blade. My feet sink into thick taupe carpeting, as I brace my legs and try to yank the chain from the wall. After a few fruitless attempts, I realize the damn thing is secure and going nowhere. Tears begin to slide from the corners of my eyes, as I fight with the sobs that are choking me, and I rush to the other side of the room and force the blinds up roughly, turning the latch for the window. Dread sinks to the bottom of my stomach as I get a glimpse of the bars across the glass from the outside. I’m trapped in here, this is a fucking cage!
No, this can’t be happening to me; this has to be a nightmare that I’m trapped in. I race to one of the two visible doors, throwing it open, only to be presented with an all-white ensuite bathroom featuring a toilet, a small vanity with various packages on the counter, and a standup corner shower. There’s no window in the space, and as far as I can tell, the only things I can use to defend myself are neatly stacked towels on a shelf, and a packaged toothbrush, and hairbrush. I rip one of the towels down from the stack, causing all of them to cascade to the floor, and wrap it around my naked body. One look in the mirror shows me that my eyes are horrifically wide, my skin’s deathly pale, and I look like a frightened little girl, running from the boogeyman under the bed. Except my monster is real , and he’s taken me somewhere and chained me like a beast. I lean forward and get a glimpse of the metal around my neck; it’s a thick silver metal collar, and as far as I can see, there is no clasp or seam. The chain that trails from it is linked to an ‘O ring’ in the center that looks fabricated on. The chain is long enough to span all of the room, and allow me to use the bathroom. I scrutinize it for weaknesses in the links I can see, but it’s hopeless; they look well-made and firm.
We are going to die, my mind whispers to me with hysteria. I can’t get enough air inside my lungs, my chest is so tight and constricted, as I brace myself against the vanity counter. My mouth fills with sour bile, and has me gagging over the sink until I spew the meager contents of my stomach, as tears and snot slide down my face. How long have I been here? Where is here? How did this fucker kidnap me out of ‘the hole’ without anyone noticing? Oh my god , was the peacock in on it? He had to be. Rage fills me at being played, and I vow if I ever get the hell out of here, I’m going to bust that idiot’s pretty face.
Who is this psychopath, and what does he intend to do with me? All these thoughts race through my mind in rapid succession, causing further anxiety to rise, and before I know it, I’m down on my knees, trembling and gasping for air. I wrap my fingers around the collar, trying to pull it away from my skin as my head spins, and I have a full-blown panic attack. I can’t breathe, some deranged fucker has kidnapped me. I clutch at my chest, pain wrenching through it sharply, as my heart pounds frantically. He’s going to murder me, and before he does, he’s going to make me wish for death. I’ve watched enough serial killer documentaries to know there is no surviving this, at least not with my mind intact.
The world around me gets dimmer and dimmer as I lose consciousness, and fall to the bathroom floor with a thud. My last thought is that I’ll never see Toothless or Daisy ever again. Why was I so damn reckless?
I wake with a start, my body bolting straight up as I clutch my neck, pulling on the weight that feels so heavy around it. I’m back on the bed, this time with a dark beige silk sheet covering my naked body. I kick back the sheet and rise to my feet, racing across the room towards the door I hadn’t tried before I passed out. I turn the handle, adrenaline surging through me, but the door doesn’t budge, and defeat slithers through me, falling into the pit of my stomach like a ball of lead. Locked. Of course, the fucking door is locked, Chrissy! The fucker has abducted you and chained you to a damn wall! There are bars on the windows, for fuck’s sake!
How did I get back on the bed? Was he in here again with me while I was passed out? Oh my God, did he touch me again? I turn round and round in the small space, fear causing all my thoughts to mesh together, and my chest tightening painfully again with another impending panic attack. There has to be something I can use to protect myself; I have to do something, not remain here like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. “Think, Chrissy!” I admonish myself, my hands tightening into fists, ready to pummel him if he pops out of hiding.
The metal chain drags along the floor, the links clicking together obscenely, and grating on my frazzled nerves. I get tangled in the length, trip, and fall to the ground, the carpet burning against my knees. “FUCK! Let me out of here, you fucking psycho!” I rise and scream, as I charge at the door, and use my fists and feet to bang on it. Other than the sound of my wheezing and labored breath, no other sound greets me. The place beyond the door seems quiet and still, as if no one is out there, but that can’t be; someone put me back on that bed.
My anger ascends at the predicament I find myself in. The one I am to blame for, because I went to that glory hole and allowed him to touch me. I should have followed my first instinct, grabbed Toothless and Daisy, and ran. Now look at me, trapped like an animal in a cage, waiting for a masked villain to do whatever he wants with me. The rage continues to mount inside of me, and I dash to the dresser, pulling on the drawers, but some mechanism keeps them from completely being removed. I can’t control myself; I’m so furious that I yank the accent chair, and it topples on its side. Next goes the dresser; I pull it until it falls forward, the drawers all opening and hitting the carpet with a rancorous thud. I race to the blinds and wrench them down from the window, until muted light pours through, and causes menacing shadows from the bars across the walls. I grip the sheets from the bed and throw them to the ground, grabbing the corner of the mattress and upending it on its side, against the window that won’t allow my escape. My breathing is hoarse and coming too rapidly. I’m starting to feel lightheaded again, and I’m out of steam. I fall to the floor and crawl to a corner, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, to make myself as small as possible, as my body shakes with fear and cold. The chain reminds me of my status, a captive, an unwilling victim of whatever fucked up monster has taken me.
Tears fall down my face as hopelessness begins to set in. I thought what I had already survived in my life was horrible. All the foster homes I lived in, where I never felt safe and didn’t know if I would be beaten, abused, or raped, somehow seemed to be less frightening than my current situation. I think the difference was that I could have run away back then, even though living on the streets as a child would have been difficult and terrifying, but now I don’t have that option. This maniac has taken all of my avenues of escape away, and I am stuck awaiting a fate that I don’t know if I can survive.
A part of me already wishes for death, knowing it will be a mercy compared to what he could do to me. I know this man is not mentally well; who in their right mind kidnaps someone, after drugging and assaulting them in their home? Who the hell gifts a woman the severed hands of a man who touched her? I still don’t even remember whose hands they could be. No, death would be preferable to whatever he’s going to do to me.
“Just kill me now, asshole! I will murder you if I get the chance!” I yell into the silence, but not a single sound is heard in response. Fuck, I am going to die.