The Substitute

Prologue

I looked up, hoping that he had already left. He was standing in the corner of the room, staring at me, smiling. I began to cry even harder, I knew what was coming. He had been all over the news for weeks before I had been kidnapped. They were still searching for the man who targeted young teenage girls, kidnapped them, and raped them multiple times before torturing them, causing a slow, painful death. I was next. After brutally raping me thirty two times, I knew he was bored of me, and that the torture would soon begin.

"Please, don't do this. I have a family who loves me. They need me." I pleaded, as tears viciously ran down my face. All he did was laugh at me. Anger grew inside of me, as the sadness slowly disappeared. "You think this is fucking funny? Raping a sixteen year old girl?! You sick fuck!" I shouted as loud as I could, nobody would hear me anyways.

I had realized that, after the first two days of being here. He walked up to me slowly, just staring. Was he letting me go? I could see the anger growing, as he approached me. He wasn't. He slapped me in the face, harder than the last time. All that I could think about for a few moments, was how badly my face stung. I was bawling my eyes out again. It was hopeless. No matter what I said, he wasn't going to let me go. I would die here.

He left the room, closing the door and locking it behind me. I never understood why he locked it, considering I was chained to the bed. I had no escape. I layed in silence, for what felt like hours. I heard his foot steps coming towards the door again. My stomach dropped, as I waited. He unlocked it, opened the door slowly, then walked inside. I couldn't see any weapons. Was he going to rape me again? "Please, no. Not again." I cried. He smiled, not saying anything.

He never said anything, which scared me even more. Why wouldn't he talk? I had wanted to know since he had brought me here. I decided to ask, cautiously. "Is there a reason you never talk?"

Nothing. "Can you answer me?" I asked, as calmly as possible.

Nothing. "Please? Just tell me why..' I was begging him, hoping that would make him speak up.

Nothing. The frustration began to build, and I shouted, "You demented, psychopath, just fucking answer my question!"

I knew I shouldn't have insulted him. He proceeded towards me, in a faster manor than before, but he didn't raise his hand to me. He just stared, and smiled. The evil look in his eyes frightened me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" I tried to apologize, as tears streamed down my face. This was it. He pulled a knife from his back pocket, and began to run the blade all over my body. "Please. Please, don't do this." I cried harder, as the seconds passed. He sliced into my side, and I let out a shriek.

He laughed, as if joyful for the deep slash on my body, bleeding all over the white bedsheets. He made another, and another, still laughing. He showed no pity as I screamed in pain, as he made cut, after cut into my pale skin. All of a sudden, he turned away, and left the room. I had never experienced such pain, and it was only going to worsen from here. I tried to think of how somebody could do this. My mind was blank, all I could think about was the pain, all over my torso. He must be leaving me to bleed out, and die. I wish it was already over.

He entered the room again, holding something behind his back. "Please stop! Just let me go. I won't tell anybody, I promise. Let me go!" I choked out.

He was smiling, evilly. As he approached me, he revealed what was behind his back. My eyes widened, as it came into view. He was holding a lit cigarette in one, and an old rusty hacksaw in the other. "Fuck you, you're nuts! Get away from me!" I screamed.

As he got closer, he reached out and pressed the lit cigarette to my collar bone. "NO, STOP! PLEASE, PLEASE STOP!" Shouting as loud as I possibly could, choking on my tears.

He laughed happily as the cigarette burned through my skin. All I could smell was burning flesh. When it was finally out, he proceeded to lift the hacksaw. I was crying more than ever, and he showed no remorse. He was a seriously demented man. He brought the hacksaw to my leg, and dragged it along slowly. I could feel the points beginning to rip through my thigh, as he pressed harder. I winced in pain. I began screaming at the top of my lungs, as it continued to rip apart my flesh, viciously. After a minute or so, he lifted the hacksaw, and I could see chunks of my skin, attached to the rusted points.

He was extremely excited when he saw how deep, and torn the cut had turned out. I could see it in his eyes. He was proud of himself.

I could feel my eyes getting heavy, and my body going numb. It would be over any minute now. He continued to make another cut, but I became weak, and could no longer scream. Suddenly, everything went black.