Two.
My eyelids flutter before slowly opening to a blinding light. I have to squint to shield them from the radiating light seeping into the room. Wait, light? Is that sunlight? From the angle of the sunlight dancing on my skin, I conclude that the window is to my left. So it is sun. I can't turn my head but I can feel the sun kissing my olive skin. Being in the basement so long makes me appreciate the sunlight.
After a few moments of rapid blinking my fuzzy vision clears. I'm able to see that I'm in a room. A white room with white walls. The first sound I notice is a beeping noise coming from a machine. It makes my head throb worse so I try to lift my hand to clutch my pounding head but I can't move it. What is wrong with my arm?
I hear faint talking on my right side so I assume that there's another bed in this room. Looking from my peripheral I can see that a blue curtain separates me from the other person.
Before I can ask any questions a lady with light pink scrubs walks in. Her curly blond hair flows down her back in a high ponytail while her posture indicates exhaustion. She holds a clipboard in her manicured hands and once she's finished writing she smiles at me. I try to sit up but realize that I can't move my legs either. What is wrong with my head, arms, and legs?
"Her stitching went well and everything else seems to be fine now Mr.-"
"Thompson. Richard Thompson but you can call me Rich." the voice replies casually. It's an unpleasantly familiar voice.
"Oh okay. Well Rich, your daughter...wait, are you sure you're her father. You look-" she gives him a skeptical look before being cut off again.
"Yeah, her mom and I had her young- very young. We were 14." he lies.
I open my mouth to tell her the truth but I can't move it. I notice my arms lay limp and my efforts to move them are still futile. Even kicking my legs has become a difficult task. All of my energy is put into trying to move so I'm not surprised when I start to sweat. Swallowing heavily, I wince when my throat starts to burn again.
"Still trying to fight?" he laughs at my weak attempt to move. His lips spread wryly while my eyes travel to where the nurse stood. My face mirrors disappointment when I don't see her anymore.
And even though she's out of the room I am determined to get help so I keep trying to exert my muscles. It's like trying to move a tree. My entire body feels stiffer than a board while my forehead is drenched in sweat. The more I try to move the more my raw neck aches. The only good news is that my migraine has dulled down to a faint throb.
"Are you alright sweetie?" The same nurse, Patty walks over to me. My mouth, arms, and legs can't move but my facial muscles can.
I try to show how afraid I am but the man, Rich steps in. He's beside her, glaring daggers at me.
"She's just trying to adjust to the temporary paralysis."
Temporary? So it won't last? My eyebrows furrow while I'm in thought.
"You're paralyzed from the car accident. Pieces of broken glass slit your throat and hit a few nerves, remember?" She speaks slowly, as if I can't understand English.
He asks her how long it will last and she tells him I'll be moving around in thirty minutes.
"You know Rich, you're not that bad looking." She smirks flirtatiously with her hand on his arm.
"Yeah, I've heard that before." he mumbles whils staring at me.
"If you want, I could give you my number and we could-"
"Could you just get the discharge papers?" he snaps impatiently.
The nurse holds a look of offense before narrowing her large grey eyes. "They aren't ready yet."
"Oh, it's nothing against you...trust me." he starts to gently rub her arms. "It's just that we need to pick up her brother from practice before the storm hits." He tells her more lies and once he is sure she believes them he flirts with her until she produces papers. I watch the entire charade unfold.
Lucky for him, he's charming because she sways in with the papers. My heart races as I watch him sign my discharge papers with a victorious grin.
"Here's my number." he slips a piece of paper to her while she holds back a smile. I know it's the wrong number.
"Make sure she takes her medicine and gets some rest. Even though she's been asleep for two days I know she's exhausted," nurse Patty smiles warmly at me.
Two days? I was out for two days. So that's how he was able to paralyze me. He injected something into my body while I was sleeping. It all makes sense now; he wanted to make sure I wouldn't move or talk. But maybe this paralysis serum will wear off by the time they come to get me.
Soon two male nurses roll a wheelchair in. Without much effort, they lift me up and into the seat. My small hope diminishes to emptiness as we make a swift exit through the double sliding doors.
"I'll be right back." Rich goes to get the van, giving me another chance.
"Mmm, mmm," I try to speak again but my mouth feels like it's glued shut. I can't move my head to turn to them and they seem to be ignoring me. I can't see much from my peripheral but I can sense their boredom from the obnoxious yawning they produce.
"Just slide her in the front." He slams his car door before running over to open the passenger side.
My heart drops to my stomach and defeat etches across my features once I'm buckled in the passenger seat. He closes my door and my eyes start to water. I had a chance to be free. To be away from this psycho but he's ruined that by paralyzing me. I can't stop the anger boiling over. I want to scream but all that escapes my lips are muffled groans.
"What did I say about crying?" he grips my chin and turns my head to his. His jaw is clenched like he's holding back anger. I stare bleakly into his dark eyes until he grips my chin harder.
Closing my eyes, I choke back my sobs until nothing but small droplets brim in my eyes. The rest slide down my cheeks when I open my stinging eyes.
"Remember what I told you, crying won't help you Livie. Weak people cry so don't make me regret letting you live." he reprimands coldly.
My entire life is being torn apart all over again. I'll never have freedom again. And worst of all, I can't even turn my head to look at my surroundings. How am I supposed to get help if I don't know where he keeps me? It's embarrassing.
He turns to me with an annoyed sigh before turning my head away.
The whole drive home I tried my best to remember street names, the number of turns we made, and even landmarks, but about ten minutes into the drive he figured out what I was doing so he started taking back roads. And I know there's nothing but Florida woods, swamps and no cars on these roads. No people; no one to see me or help me. And no way of knowing exactly where I am.
By the time he pulls in the driveway the numbness of my limbs has worn off. That means the hospital is about thirty minutes or more from where he keeps me. I counted that much.
He puts the car in park then shuts off the engine. I can feel his intense gaze as he stares at me.
"What made her ask if you were okay?"
My eyes stay focused on the decayed exterior of the home in front of us. An overwhelming feeling of dread attacks me at the sight of its white panels and black shutters. The yard is full of tall trees. A beam of sunlight casts over the entire house while the rest of the yards remains clothed in shadows.
It's two stories, not including the basement. And just like the inside of the home is falling apart so is the outside. Looking at it from the outside you'd assume that it's uninhabitable. The shutters are falling apart, the windows are so old the glass is turning brown and part of the roof has a blue tarp over it. There is dirt on the side panels and the front steps have holes.
I wince when a cold hand turns my chin to the left.
"I asked you a question Livie."
If I move my mouth to speak then he'll hurt me. But if he asked me something then that means he knows my paralysis has worn off.
"Fine." He mumbles before releasing his hold and stepping out of the car.
The only sight is of his head as he walks to my side. But before he can open my door my hand goes to the lock. With a 'click' it locks into place. My heart pounds once I realize how quickly I reacted. I reacted on impulse and for that, I know there will be consequences. But for now, I have an advantage. A chance to get out of here. With that thought, I scramble to the driver side and then the back to lock the other doors.
"You get one chance to open this door." His warning tone is stern but I choose to ignore it.
Instead, I frantically search the vehicle. For what? I'm not too certain but I'm hoping to find a weapon. He starts counting down from ten but all my focus is on the old sports magazines and empty cans of beer littering the floor. As I dig through the filthy glove compartment my eyes land on an old note so I pocket it.
By the time I lift my head up my arm is grabbed abruptly. I'm flung out of the van so fast that I don't see it coming. My face plants into the dirt, forcing the pain in my aching throat to worsen. I forgot he has keys.
"I thought I knocked the fight out of you." He mumbles while dragging me across the dirt, sticks, and grass. A small rock rips off part of the bandage on my neck, forcing a few stitches to come out. I groan loudly while digging my sneakers into the rough dirt.
"Looks like it hasn't gone anywhere..." he finishes while yanking me harder. This time it's so much force used that I can literally feel my arm socket being pulled.
"Wait... wait!" It takes all of my energy to speak with a sore throat but I manage.
He ignores me by lifting me up bridal style. My legs thrash around while he carries me up the broken stairs. His fingers press harder into my side when he tells me,
"If people find out who I am then more people will die, including you."
"Please don't lock me down there!" I cling onto his grey shirt while he opens the basement door.
No matter how many months it's been I can't stand it down there. From the mice scurrying across the floor to the constant darkness looming over me. I don't want to go back and if I don't do something quick then I'll be trapped down there again.
With the white wooden door now open, he stares at me then at the dark pit below us.
"I won't try to run anymore." It takes all of my strength not to cry because once I bring out the water works he'll see me as weak. And weak people don't make it.
With a heavy exhale, he puts me down. And despite my surprise I can't help but hold a level of suspicion too. I don't trust this man.
He points a warning finger at me so I nod reassuringly. I'm not running, even if I did I wouldn't get far. I watch him dig through the dusty cabinets. Spiderwebs fill the empty space.
"Looks like we need cleaning supplies." He shoves a dirty, grimy sponge into my chest.
My fingernails dig into it while I watch him grab a tin bucket from a corner of the room. With complete focus he goes over to the old sink and places the bucket in it. The only sound in the kitchen is the rushing water filling the empty space.
"You get chores." He glances back at me. I notice his dark eyebrows lift while he smirks jubilantly.
"Since I feed you, you have to earn your keep." The soapy bucket is in his extended hand, waiting for me to take it.
With his sleeves now rolled up I notice the tattoos lining his biceps and forearms. He has falcons on one side flying down into a fiery blaze.
"What does that mean?" I point to the tattoos.
"It means mind your fuckin' business, that's what." He rolls his sleeves down. I can't see the rest but judging by his reaction, I've seen enough.
Once I finish scrubbing the trail of blood in the kitchen I move on to the foyer. My blood from two days ago is still here. It's dry now and the color is reddish brown, reminding me of the assault that took place. I shudder from the horrible memory and decide to think of something more pleasant. Like the falling leaves on the trees. The hues of yellow, orange, red, brown, and green leaves we passed by means that Summer has ended, giving way to Autumn.
The seasons are changing and that means I've been here far too long. I'm not sure if anyone is looking for me. I mean I can't really blame them if they aren't. I was a bitch to so many people last year, including my friends. It was a terrible time. My parents were going through a separation and I just couldn't deal with it. I remember telling Margaret to comb her birds nest of hair if she wanted to keep hanging out with me. It was fiery red like her personality but it always looked like she just got out of bed. That next week she avoided me like the plague.
And then my fashion guru of a friend Kelly, I remember telling her to stop acting like the class whore. She had a new boyfriend every week but I didn't know she was only replacing the father who walked out on her mom and three sisters. She slapped me for that and it shocked the hell out of me but I deserved it. Kelly and I stopped talking after that and she even went as far as to torment me everyday. She even egged my car.
And let's not forget Nathan, he would always complain about his step dad. He'd tell me how hard of a time he was having. And one day he came to school with a bruised eye. I could tell it hurt his pride because everyone saw it. Even his jock friends. He was the only jock I liked because he never acted like he was better than everyone. Margaret and Kelly swore he was in love with me but I never saw it. I didn't want to see it so instead when he confessed he had a crush on a girl and didn't know what to do I snapped and told him that I have my own problems and to quote, "shove his up his ass". Ever since eighth grade I spent most of my time being the shoulder to cry on. The last thing I wanted to discuss was his problems when I had my own. I never stopped to consider the girl he was talking about was me.
At the time I thought I was being brutally honest but now that I look back, I was being maliciously mean. I lost all three of my friends but what hurt most was losing my best friend, Margaret. I've known Kelly and Nathan since eighth grade while Margaret's been my partner in crime since elementary school. We used to do everything together but now we don't even look each other's way in the hallways. Kelly spreads rumors about me like a sick kid spreading the flu. And Nathan gets wasted or high every chance he gets. It was so bad that last year he got kicked off the lacrosse team. All of this was my fault for being selfish. I only cared about my own pain and now I feel the wrath of theirs. Friends aren't supposed to do that, they're supposed to lift each other up and be supportive but I was the opposite. I pushed them away. I never apologized and I wish I had.
#
After I cleaned the downstairs area of the house he put me back in the basement. I've been down here for thirty minutes now and my stomach is gurgling. I can literally feel as much as hear the acid bubbles attacking my insides.
"Where's the... bathroom?" a sudden voice croaks from the shadows.
Once I realize who is talking I grab the bucket. Holding it with both hands I try to block out the putrid smell of urine and feces by listening to my chain slide against the cement. At first it was more annoying than fingernails on a chalkboard but now I find solace in that sound. It's the only sound that keeps me sane, besides my own voice.
"Hey, here's your-" I'm pushed to the ground so suddenly that it takes a minute for my mind to process what is happening. The waste isn't on me but it covers the concrete ground a few inches away.
"He trusts you too much. You're in on this too, aren't you?"
He steps closer to me with his shoulders squared and his fists balled.
"What are you talking about?" I ask in confusion. You can go insane down here but I didn't expect him to go crazy so soon.
"Are you his friend or something?" He questions.
"What? No!" I stand up and a waft of ammonia fills my nostrils. The waste has been in that bucket way too long and now the basement will smell more like it.
"Liar!" He pushes me to the ground with swift impact.
The next thing I see is his fist connecting to my eye. I cry out while grabbing my left eye. I can literally see stars and it throbs like a pulsating heart.
His hands approach my stitched neck to inflict more pain but instead of feeling suffocated, all I feel is air.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rich growls angrily while lifting him off of me.
With my hand to my neck, I waist no time in scooting back until I'm back on the mattress, hugging myself.
"You and that bitch kidnapped me." He replies viciously before hitting the man with something heavy.
Where'd he find that? And before Rich can ask him the same thing Jake strikes him with it. Rich recoils with his hand pressed to the side of his face. They're both silent, fueled with anger. And during their small stare down I'm able to see the rectangular shaped weapon clutched between his fingers. It's a brick.
Jake holds on to it for dear life, ready to hit him again. I watch Rich take small steps toward the angry kid. And even with silence, there's still something eerie about this man. From his hushed tone when he's angry to the way his body tenses when he's ready to attack. It's the quiet before the storm and once he unleashes his storm the results are catastrophic. Fear consumes me the more I watch him.
"You're dead!" Rich lunges forward but is stopped by the brick connecting to his face. He goes down like a chopped tree and that's when Jake takes advantage. He starts wailing on him with such ferocity and strength that his efforts could even break the brick as well as someone's nose.
All I can do is watch with pity because even if he knocks Rich out, he is still chained. We are still chained.
Jake's disgruntled cry resonates and makes my eyes go wide because Rich now has the brick. He took it from Jake so quickly I didn't realize it until his distressed grunt.
He hits him with it a few times until the boy starts coughing up blood. The sound of brick sliding across the floor echoes through the basement before it stops in front of the stairs.
"If you ever touch her again I'll kill you and leave you down here to rot!" He grabs his collar before punching him in his jaw. I hear a reverberating 'crack' before his footsteps walk over to me.
"I didn't do anything!" I shout while trying to crawl backwards.
"Let me make this clear. Any pain I receive from him, you get it too!" He barks while straddling me. My heart drops to my stomach when I realize what he's about to do.
"Wait! Stop!" I try to push his hands off but he grabs my arms and pins them above my head to stop me.
His brown eyes stare into my pleading azure ones. His face is a distorted blur because of the tears flooding my eyes and streaming down my cheeks. But I can see his entire left side is bruised and bloody from being hit with a brick.
"Stop fucking crying!" he snarls while squeezing my upper thigh. "If you just-"
"I can't control what he does!" I verbalize. How can I stop him when he never talks to me? Not to mention the the way he tricked and attacked me a few minutes ago. At this rate we'll never be friends.
"Well you better start because from now on you're the leader. You're responsible for everything he does and if he messes up I'll take it out on you."
I close my eyes while my body continues to shake from fear. I've been trapped here, held prisoner for months with this man and now he wants to hit me for no apparent reason. It's not making sense.
"You got that Livie?"
I release an anguished cry when he backhands the same side my bruised eye is on. It is barely open but I can still see his shadowy face from the light shining on us.
"Yes." I pipe sadly.
Un-edited. Thanks for reading. Vote, comment, fan! ;)