Yandere café || One-shots, short stories, & more

《02》Thearon - Solitude pt.1

Time couldn't be wasted.

I couldn't be around to find out the reason I was left here.

One thought was kept in the forefront of my mind, a reason to keep going as the chair turns a little more.

I didn't want to find out who had taken me.

Two thoughts to keep going.

A growing sense of frustration nips at my skin.
I thrust my shoulder once again, moving my upper body to the side; my goal in mind and I try the same motion over and over...until a small, sudden gasp leaves my lips - a quick breeze rushing past my frame as the chair tips, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

A pained looks rests itself on my features as a small, groan-like huff greets the silent room.

I don't rest for long though, knowing the precious seconds were ticking down.

I focus my attention on my ankles, sliding forward just a little as I lay on my left side and I 'shimmy' my left leg against the chair's own, slowly...blindly trying to get the rope to the end where it slides off with some work, freeing my one limb.

I needed to get home...

Was the third thought keeping me somewhat calm.

Using the toe of my left heel I start doing the same with my right leg, shifting the rope down inch by inch.

Within a small lifetime both legs were free and I exhale a weak, muffled laugh of victory, taking a moment to breathe in some relief before turning my gaze to the table I wasn't too far from.
I plant my feet on the floor in front of me, making semi-easy, and awkwardly moved work of scooting the chair forward, the wood scraping against the floor and showing my uneasy disapproval of how much noise was being made.

But how long exactly had I been here?

Where even was....here?

I shake the thoughts away, and soon get close enough to the table where I could position myself next to it.
I hook my right foot around one of the chair's legs, pulling it closer as I wanted nothing more than to get out of the awkward position I was in, before I then focus my attention on the table, lining my foot on the leg closest to me.

I close my eyes, lowering my head as I inhale and hold a breath, kicking the table and pushing it away from me as a small symphony of sounds reach my ears - including that of items tipping over and the sound of loudly smashing glass bottles.

A shaky breath tells the empty room of my nerves and I swallow as I push back slowly, the tips of my fingers feeling around the liquid that pooled on the floor behind me, seeping out from the broken bottle that lay closest to me and the strong smell of alcohol hits my nose, telling me exactly what its contents were.

Keep going...

I feel around, grazing different sized and shaped pieces of glass with wet fingers - grabbing one of a decent size as I closed my eyes.

My wrist bends up, my hand holding the sharp shard with my thumb and middle finger squeezing the sides, and my palm and pointer finger resting upon the thick edge to keep it steady.
The rope was worked on, my actions slow and tedious as I go over and over in a sawing motion, praying I was making progress.

I had to.

I had to.

I had to...

I.

Had.

To.

After seven minutes both my wrist and hand were cramping - a mild burning of wounds not yet seen.
Seven minutes less to run - my nerves deeming it wasted time.