Captive To Captivated

Part 8

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Carmella

The pain from my cheek slowly pulled me out of my restless slumber. My eyes snapped open and part of me wished I'd wake up from a nightmare and be back at home in my own bed. But I looked around remembering that this was in fact real before feeling helpless all over again.

My cheek felt puffed up and made that half of my face heavier than the other. It was definitely bruised. I sucked in a breath and squeezed my eyes tighter when it started to ache more, letting out a wounded moan.

I didn't know what time I fell asleep last night. I was doing my best to stay awake. I was too afraid, too anxious to let myself sleep. Yet it seemed the constant fear and anxiety wore me out by the early hours of the following morning.

I felt dizzy as I looked up at my blistering wrists. Once more, I attempted to free them from the rope but just like every other time, it was useless. I pulled my sore body up and rested my back against the headboard with my arms still tied to the side. I felt so uncomfortable. My whole body was sore. Every muscle hurt and my chest still felt constricted.

I scanned the empty room. It wasn't as dark as yesterday and the light leaking from behind the curtains told me it was a new day. But it didn't feel like a new day to me. It just felt like one horrible dream that I couldn't wake up from. I needed to escape from it. I needed to get to that window. There was no other way out. But these ropes were too tight to slip out from.

After some time the pain in my cheek was overtaken from the pain in my belly. A small growl indicated that my body needed food. My throat was dry; parched from the lack of water mixed with all the crying I did last night. Would they give me something to eat or drink soon? Maybe not. Maybe they're just going to let me go home now, I thought, giving myself some false hope to keep me going.

Hours passed and I started feeling more worried, more restless and more hungry than I did before. The silence on the other hand was something I was used to. At home we barely talked. Dad would be in front of the television, in his room or down at the pub most of the time, trying to drink his way into oblivion. I would hear the occasional doors opening and closing and footsteps shuffling like I had been hearing throughout all of today. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back at home in the safety of my house and neighbourhood. Where I was familiar with everything around me. Where the doors opening and the footsteps here and there were no reason to panic.

Reminiscing the days I took for granted brought tears to my eyes. But before they could fall I heard the door unlock. My head snapped to the door and fear swept through my body as it started opening. I quickly blinked back my tears.

It wasn't Jason. It was the other guy; Tim.

Every muscle in my body ceased and I gripped the ropes in my hands tightly, wishing more than anything that I wasn't tied right now.

Even if I hadn't witnessed him soullessly shoot another man right in front of my eyes, I couldn't even have thought he was just another ordinary man in his late 20's or early 30's. He gave off a daunting vibe just with his appearance. He had a disgruntled look to him. Almost like a permanent scowl settled into his worn out features. The faint lines on his forehead made me wonder if the skin under his short beard was also just as creased.

He stepped in and smiled, "hey."

He didn't come off as odious as Jason had, which confused me. But there was something peculiar about his smile. It felt put on, as if he never smiled much before. I wondered if he was smiling yesterday under his mask when he killed the security guard. I tried not to remember that vivid image in my head; seeing it upfront when Jason dragged me to his bloodied body. It was absolutely horrifying.