Chapter 14
He’s left me alone for a while now. How long has it been? I can’t even use the lights to judge because he turns them on and off every few minutes. Or is it hours?
My body has been ripped apart, my pussy aches, and my ass throbs. I’ve never done anal before. No, I'm not a prude, but my taste is on the vanilla side.
The few boyfriends I had were sweet and caring when we made love. We would take our time and get lost in the sheets. Sure, I didn’t always finish, but it was still enjoyable.
My parents were well off, and I had a comfy life. They paid for me to go to college. When I moved out of the dorms, I got my apartment and a good paying job.
Yes, it was kinda boring, but it was familiar and routine. I’ve always been a social butterfly and barely spent time alone.
I was popular in high school and college. If I wasn’t in class or sleeping, I was at study groups, mixers or parties. Even after college, my friends kept in contact, going for lunch dates or drinks. Every Sunday I’d have brunch with my coworkers.
The sound of the door unlocking snaps me out of my thoughts. I’ve been laying on my back looking up at the light bulb. My gaze turns to look at the door, fuck head doesn’t move to come in.
Instead, he tosses a school bag in the room, then shuts and locks the door again. I lay there confused as fuck, not sure what to do.
Slowly, I sit up, swinging my legs over the cot, and my muddy feet hit the dirt floor. I stare at the bag wondering what could be inside, but I’m too scared to move.
A voice filling the room startles me, and I jump as it speaks. “Part 2.”
He must mean part two of my punishment, but what does that entail? At least he’s done fucking me for now.
Standing on shaky legs, my body screams in protest as I tip-toe towards the bag. I pick it up, feeling the weight of its contents.
It’s not heavy, but something sloshes with the movement. My mind races as I bring the bag back to the cot. Sitting down, I take a few minutes to gather the courage to open it.
When I finally unzip it, I pull it open to see the contents. 6 bottles of water, 4 sandwiches cut in half, 3 apples and 3 bags of trail mix.
What the fuck?
This looks like rations you’d pack on a hiking trip.
My blood freezes in my veins as the realization hits me. He’s gonna leave me in here, alone.
How long?
When is he gonna come back?
Is he gonna leave me to starve and rot here?
I panic, my chest held in a vice. I have to focus now; I still have a bottle of water left from the ones he gave me last night.
That bumps my water to 7. If I only eat one sandwich a day, that gives me 4 days. I could stretch that if I ate half, or an apple and the mix instead. Though none of this stuff will sustain me for long.
I’m not even sure how I would keep track of the days. The lights are unreliable. I pick at my nails again as I form a plan. It has become a habit, but it’s not like I have anything else to do. Doubt I’ll be getting a fill anytime soon.
Packing everything back in the bag, I lay back down as I work on keeping my breathing under control. I hate being alone for long periods of time.
What is this guy’s fucking deal? He acts like three different people and I wonder if maybe that is possible. But it doesn’t make sense; he is so similar, even brothers would have slight differences between them.
He probably has a personality or mood disorder. That would explain how he switches from a crazy maniac, playful cannibal and a mute gruff man.
Though his mute personality seems to have some control. It didn’t change the fact that he fucked my virgin ass, only using spit. After he left, I washed myself with the cloth as best as I could. My ass was bleeding.
The only thing I can’t wrap my mind around is his dick. I could have sworn I saw a tattoo when he jammed his dick in my mouth. But when he took my pussy, it was gone. I probably imagined the tattoo.
Though it doesn’t explain what I felt the last time though. Almost like he had piercings on his dick. Maybe he had some sort of condom or toy placed on it to feel like that. The bumpy balls branded my insides.
I’m going crazy, my mind speaking too loudly. I have to do something or I’ll have a psychotic break. Standing up, I count my steps from the cot to the bathroom door.
Then I count how many steps it takes to run out of chain. How many steps I can take towards the main door. I can’t reach it fully, but if he passes something through the hatch, I could grab it if I stretched out my arms.
Pacing and counting gets boring pretty fucking quick. My bladder hurts, and I piss in the bucket, which is almost half full. My urethra burns and I probably have a UTI. He hasn’t emptied it since I was hosed down.
How long ago was that?
A day?
Two?
I lay back down, my eyes boring holes into the wooden planks that make up my ceiling. Of course I can’t sleep, and my body is getting confused.
I don’t have a clock, and can’t tell if it is day or night. Looking at my nails again, I can see where they are growing out. I had them done 5 days before my Tinder date. The date that changed my fucking life. I loved my life, and now it is gone, and tears fill my eyes as I grieve.
Someone has to be looking for me.
I’m sure my friends reported me missing at this point.
Do the cops have leads?
Oh, my god.
My cat!
Is he ok?
Did someone go feed him?
It’s only a matter of time before someone finds me.
Right?
The lights cut off again, pitching me into darkness. I hate the dark; I always slept with my TV on just so I’d have some light and not feel alone.
Now I’m alone with no sound, no light, no blankets to hide under, nothing. I’ve never felt so naked and exposed before. Fuck, I wish I could just sleep so I’m not stuck in the blackness.
I swear I can feel something crawling over me. I have seen no bugs so far, but that doesn’t mean anything. My fingers dig into my skin as I claw at my arms to stop the feeling.
I need some way to keep track of time, but all I have is myself. I begin counting to see how long before the lights come back on.
I hum tunelessly to distract myself and I keep picking at my nails like it’s a game. Occasionally, I’ll stop to scratch my arms when the feeling of bugs comes back. I know there aren’t any but I can’t stop the feeling of the multi legged creatures skittering over my skin.
The lights keep flickering on and off. One time I was in the dark for 4,422 seconds. The numbers keep me busy, and it’s another game.
Everything is a game here.
Reality doesn’t exist anymore.
I have 2 sandwiches, an apple, 4 bottles of water and a handful of trail mix left. I spin on my heel and head back; I’ve made a rut in the dirt from my pacing.
One nail is loose and hanging on by a small piece of gel. I grab it firmly and give it a tiny tug, pulling the fake one off. My real nail underneath it needs to be filed. 7 nails left, just 7 nails before I won’t have anything left from my old life.
At this point, I won’t even have my sanity.
I’ve been using the bucket as another way to track time. It’s almost full and I don’t know what I’ll do when it is. I hate the bucket, but it’s better than pissing on my cot or the dirt.
I haven’t even been able to sleep much. Between the lights turning on and off, mixed with the loud beeping he’ll play from the camera’s speaker, I don’t get more than an hour.
Or is it longer?
Maybe minutes?
I even count in my dreams.
My mind has been racing every second I’m awake. It’s been a while since I pounded on the wall. My throat is still sore from screaming, and my eyes are puffy.
He’s not coming.
I’m going to die here.
All alone.
No one knows where I am.
Shut up!
Count.
1 Mississippi.
2 Mississippi.
3 Mississippi.
I begin my count again instead of humming, doing 6 more laps in my rut before going to my cot. My eyes focus on another loose nail, and I use my thumb to wiggle it up and down. The crawling comes back, so I stop that and dig my nails into my thighs.
Dragging my fingers up and down, until red marks form a trail as I do it. The blood vessels break, and little beads of blood bubble under the skin. When my skin starts to separate, I stop myself. The scratches aren’t deep and only take off the top layer of skin.
Getting up, panic settles in my chest again, and I stomp towards the door. I can just reach it if I lean forward and start begging again as my fists pummel the steel.
“Please! I’m sorry! I can’t be alone anymore. Please. Come hurt me!” I scream as my ragged breath slices from my lungs.
Of course, I don’t want him to hurt or fuck me, but at this point I’ll take any form of interaction. A sob breaks from me as I collapse to my knees, wrapping my arms around myself.
I don’t even notice the cold anymore. Sometimes it’s comfortable, other times my teeth chatter because it’s freezing .
I let myself breakdown for a moment before getting up and pacing again. My numbers pour from my lips on autopilot. It’s as easy as breathing.
My bucket is full, and I’ve been dreading this moment since my last piss. I can’t hold it anymore, and my stomach cramps with the pain of holding it for so long. I finished my sandwich earlier.
Or was it yesterday?
This morning?
I shake my head and focus on my problem now. My body is disgusting, and the grime coating my skin makes me itch.
My little bird bath with the cloth after he fucked my ass barely cleaned anything. I can’t waste my water, no matter how much I want to use some to clean. My hair is greasy, tangled and matted.
Dirt covers my hands and feet; those two parts touch the dirt more than any other parts of me. I can smell my pussy, and it fucking stinks. My nose curls in disgust every time I get a whiff.
A cramp racks me again, and I know I have no choice. I walk as far as I can from my cot, dropping to my knees. I use my hands to dig. Tears drip from my swollen eyes as I try to prepare myself for what I’m about to do.