Taking Flight

Taking Flight

Text copyright © Kyle Martin ™ 2015

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

She remembers the way his lips felt on her neck. The scruff from his five o'clock shadow gliding roughly along her skin as the music played from the club on the other side of the wall. She hadn't wanted to go out that night. The thought of dancing and drinking the night before her last exam made her cringe, but the constant pestering from her roommate
ultimately made her cave. Just a few drinks she thought to herself as she put on the best clothes she had that weren't in the laundry bin and headed out.

After arriving at the club, that was way too overcrowded for her liking, she began to loosen up and de-stress as much as she could. Although she still had one more exam, she knew that if she didn't take some kind of break her head would explode onto the wall. That was when she saw him. His dark hair quaffed to the right, eyes shining when the lights bounced off his pale and chiselled face. She couldn't look away even if she wanted to. With her heart beating fast and a thin layer of sweat covering her palms, she couldn't drag her eyes away for even a second.

He had seemed nice at first. A little eccentric and touchy, but she felt important when he looked at her. They talked for what felt like hours. Drink, talk, dance. Over and over again. It was like time had stood still, and she didn't want it any other way. After what she remembers as six shots of something, dancing took the place of the casual conversation. They moved together in one fluid motion like their bodies were made to fit one another. His hands caressed every inch he could touch while her arms wrapped around his neck. She felt free. After copious amounts of studying and cramming and stressing, she was finally able to relax. Her body moved to the music: her hips swayed, and her head went back as she felt the music course through her body. As she brought her head back up her lips were met with his. What she thought would be a frantic and desperate kiss was instead a soft and gentle pressure against her lips. She pulled away first, although she regretted it as soon as she did. She hadn't felt this special in so long. They looked into each other's eyes as they stood in the middle of the dance floor. All thoughts were erased from her mind. She didn't know where her friend was, or what time it was, or even how much studying she still had to do. It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

He grabbed her hand, led her through the crowd of dancing people, and out the side exit of the building. The cool breeze hit her face as she walked outside, but she soon found herself pushed up against the wall. He kissed her again, this time different. The roughness of his lips made their way from her mouth down to her neck. With the alcohol still affecting her clarity, she didn't clue in immediately to the shift of his body, and the hand that had wrapped itself around her neck holding her against the wall. A sound erupted from her lips. She began to fight against the man who continued to assault her neck. Her arms pushing at his chest made no difference. He squeezed her neck tighter as her attempts to get free became stronger. The sound of her high pitched scream broke through the night as she fought for her freedom. She felt the hold get tighter, and her breaths became shorter, and then blackness. That was what felt like days ago.

She shifts her body as she recalls the whole scene. She has her hands tied behind her back, her head is slumped forward, and her hair hanging on the sides of her face. The pain of the rope cutting into her wrists keeps her conscious, but not completely aware of what is going on around her. She lifts her head as she hears the door open. It must be lunch time she says to herself as she stares at the man from the club. He isn't clean anymore. His little bit of scruff from the other night has turned into a full, messy beard. He's wearing jeans with rips on the knees, and a white t-shirt that probably hasn't been washed in at least a month. She stares into his eyes as he walks towards her, plate of food in hand. His eyes aren't as soft as they were at the club. That look that had caught her attention is now filled with a stare that screams evil. She watches him pull a chair around so he can face her while he feeds her. After three days, the smell of bologna makes her feel nauseous. It's always bologna.

"Time to eat, Erica" he says as she watches him pick up half of the sandwich and move it toward her mouth.

She's not hungry at this point. All the emotions she has felt over the last three days are gone as she stares at him with nothing but disgust in her eyes. She no longer feels fear, or sadness, instead she feels the urge to be free.

He looks back at her like he knows what she is thinking. What she is feeling. She sees the corner of his mouth lift as he puts the sandwich back on the plate and stands up. She knows that it's coming. The pain from the last slap still lingers on her face. The blow comes fast and hard. She feels the pain surge through her body as she lifts her head back up. She smiles at him when their eyes meet again; a feral smile.

She watches as his face contorts from pleasure to confusion. She knows she shouldn't be laughing in a situation like this, but she can't help the chuckle that escapes her body. He hits her again when she doesn't stop, the force of the blow knocking her and the chair over onto the floor. She stops laughing when she hits the ground, the air knocked out of her lungs from the impact. Lying completely still, she watches the man pace back and forth in the room, mumbling to himself about stupid girls who don't listen. She doesn't move her eyes from the parts of him she can see. She watches as his feet kick up the dust that covers the floor. Watches as he steps in the blood that no doubt came from her mouth, or nose. She can't feel where it's coming from, she just knows it's coming from somewhere. She sees him walk towards her and she braces for another blow, but instead feels herself being lifted upright. Her right arm tingles, but she doesn't pay attention to it. She just watches the man pace back and forth. Over and over, making new footprints, and walking over old ones. She watches him stop and looks up at him with defiance before he turns around and leaves the room.

She takes a deep breath as she tries to move her fingers around the rope. The need to be free swells in her chest and spreads throughout her body. She yanks as hard as she can on her make shift handcuffs until she hears the wood crack. Continuing to pull and yank at the rope, she eventually hears a piece break. She smiles at her small victory as the tightness around her wrists loosen. She knows that this is her only chance to be free, the only chance she has at escaping hell. She works on the ropes until she can feel the numbness ebb away letting her feel her hands once again. One of her hands falls free. She sighs in relief as she works on the other hand, but then stops briefly when she hears the footsteps coming toward the door. Her hands move faster until her other hand comes free.

Standing up quickly, she feels her body sway as she tries to regain her balance. Frantically, she looks around the room trying to find something, anything that can help her. She notices the bologna sandwich, and reaches for the plate. The sandwich flies across the room as she smashes the plate on the chair, picking up a shard in her right hand. The porcelain cuts into her skin as she clutches it tightly, watching the door knob turn. She charges at the door when it opens fully, letting out a harsh sob as she impales the man in the stomach. All the fear and sadness that she thought were gone come to the surface as she watches the man fall to the ground. She knows he isn't dead, but she turns her back anyway. She runs through her fatigue as she makes her way to the front door. Her wrists sting, her side throbs, her face tingles, but the only thing she wants is freedom. She opens the front and runs into the street. The cool air makes her cuts sting, but she doesn't care. She's free.