My fear grows as I stare at the door. I don't want to go out there. I don't want to face him again, to face this nightmare again. I want to stay in here where I'm safe. Even if it's only temporary, right now I'm away from him. I'm protected by this door.
I picture all the things which could happen, all the things which he could do to me. I'd be powerless to stop him. The confidence I woke up with has withered away.
"Hurry up!" I flinch at his angry shout.
I have to open it. I have no choice. I step forward and turn the nob, gently pushing the door open.
Alex is staring at me. I gulp as I spot the pair of handcuffs in his hand.
He steps forward to grab me, and I instinctively step back. I have to stop myself from stepping back any further. There's no escape from the bathroom. It'll just anger him.
He grabs my arm and pulls me to the couch. He attaches one cuff to my wrist, and the other to a loop in the coffee table.
I look at the cuffs in defeat. My few moments of been chainless didn't last long. I'm going to be chained up twenty-four seven from now on, for the rest of my life. A new wave of sadness washes over me at the thought, but I quickly push it away. I'm still breathing which means I can escape. I can get away from all this. I cannot let myself lose hope now.
He leaves the room.
My eyes wonder around. Something about this place looks off. Everything looks perfect. Nothing is lying around. There is no clutter, or dust. It looks like a fake home.
He returns carrying a toolbox and a powered drill. My heart drops. I jump off the couch and move away from him, trying to use the coffee table I'm cuffed to as a barrier. The thought of him using tools on me has my eyes wide and stomach turning.
"What's got you so on edge?" he asks, almost chuckling to himself.
My eyes dart between his face and the drill.
He soon figures it out. "Oh, don't worry yourself, human. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just doing some housework."
I'm relieved, but I stay where I am, still unsure of his intensions. He's been nothing but malevolent so far.
He marks a spot on the bathroom wall with a pencil, and the last of my suspicions disappear. He drills into the wall, then grabs a spanner and starts tightening something to it.
He comes over to the couch, pushes it aside, and repeats the process on the floor. Marking positions, drilling holes, and adding bolts to hold down another piece of metal. He cuts a small piece of the bathroom door off near the bottom.
I silently watch him, fascinated. He never hesitates and is confident in every action. He must do a lot of handy-man work... when he isn't out murdering humans.
He heads back through the kitchen door, taking his tools with him. It must lead to the garage. I make a mental note as that might be useful during an escape.
He returns with a long chain in hand. He padlocks either side of it to each bolted piece of metal. The chain leads from the end of the bathroom to under the couch.
To my dismay, his eyes land on me, and he approaches. It's an unwelcome change as he has been ignoring me up till now.
He takes out the handcuff key and transfers the cuff from the table to the long chain.
"Go see if you can touch the toilet and stand in the shower with the door closed."
I do as instructed. The cuff slides along the chain as I walk. This was all part of his plan to keep me chained up. I can move between the couch and the bathroom freely, but not much further. While this is a little better than been stuck to the coffee table, I'm still not a fan.
"I'm going to work," he says putting on his jacket. "You can watch TV while I'm gone," he motions to the black square on the wall. "Use I-triple-E commands."
I look at him with a blank expression.
He sighs. "Like this, TV ON."
It lights up and my jaw drops. The colours are vivid, and it is so bright I can't tell where the screen ends and where the wall begins.
"Impressed?" He's smirking.
I quickly close my mouth, only for it to drop wide open again as he issues the next command.
"NEXT CHANNEL." The channel changes to a documentary about whales. It's like I'm in the ocean with them. TVs weren't this amazing when I was a kid.
He opens the front door. I can't take my eyes off the TV. "Oh, one more thing, don't break anything while I'm gone. If you deliberately mess up my living room, you'll lose TV privileges."
* * * * * * * *
He's been gone for hours. I've been watching documentary after documentary. This TV is incredible.
I hear his keys at the front door. It's evening now. He walks inside and hangs up his jacket. I stare at him from my position on the couch. It's as if I'm a buck trapped in a room with a lion. Except the difference is the bucks in the documentary weren't chained in place. They still had a fighting chance.
"TV MUTE," he commands, heading to a room I haven't seen before. I only catch a glimpse, but I'm guessing it's his bedroom.
He returns to the kitchen. My eyes track his every movement.
"Dinner will be ready soon."
I don't know what to say, so I keep quiet. What do you even say in a situation like this? I'm not going to ask him how his day was. I'd rather not know.
I watch his back as he cuts some onions. I haven't had onions in ages. I can't help but dream about dinner and all the old tastes from my childhood returning.
I'm delighted to see him preparing mince. Meat was a rarity after they took over, and it was pretty much non-existent when I was living alone.
Once dinner is on the kitchen table, he uncuffs me and takes his seat. I sit at the table and begin wolfing down my food, paying him no attention. It tastes even better than it smells.
"So," he begins awkwardly, "how was your day?"
I don't look at him. He doesn't deserve my attention.
After a brief pause, he tries again, "See anything good on TV while I was out?"
I keep my eyes on my food.
"Not much of a talker, huh? I guess you only talk when you have something disrespectful to say. It's a shame your parents didn't teach you any manners."
"I will only say this once. Do not talk about my parents," I snap.
"Watch it," he growls, "you better stay in line, human."
"Stay in line? You think I'm the one out of line!? You abducted me, remember! You have no right to any of this. It's wrong, and messed up, and-"
"That is where you are mistaken," he interrupts me, standing up. "I have every right. Specifically defined under Section 504 of the Human-Immigration Act. I have full rights to keep you captive for as long as I please. And in fact, I would watch that tone if I were you, because I also have the right to end your pathetic existence."
"What, you think I've forgotten that you're my judge, jury and executioner? Tell me Your Honour, what crime have I committed to deserve death? The crime of existing!? The crime of being born!?" I stand up. Tears brim in my eyes, but I push them back. I cannot let him perceive me as weak.
"Why are you acting like this!? I have been nothing but kind to you today. I have let you watch TV. I have given you good food."
"I don't want your TV, and I don't want your food! I want my freedom!"
He slams me against the wall. A sharp pain in my chest serves as a reminder of my broken ribs. He presses his arm against my collarbone, trapping me. Calling it intimidating would be an understatement. "Just submit, dammit! You're clearly at my mercy. Admit that you are my pet and you can have a good life."
"Go to hell, you lying son of a-"
I'm interrupted as he slams his fist into the wall, right next to my face. I stand my ground and hold my gaze with his.
He pins my arms behind my back and marches me to the bedroom where I woke up.
He shoves me inside, and I land on all fours.
"Well unfortunately for you, you can forget about your freedom. You will remain in my custody for as long as I decide to let you live." At that, he slams the door, locking it shortly after.
Now I'm fuming. Growling in anger, I grab the nearest loose thing I can find and throw it against the door. It was an empty glass. It satisfyingly shatters into a million pieces.
Before I can grab another object to throw, the door unlocks, and he storms inside.
He throws me on the bed and holds both of my hands above my head. I struggle against him, trying to get away.
"Since you cannot behave yourself when given even the littlest bit of responsibility, this has become necessary." He takes out a pair of handcuffs and locks both of my hands to the headboard.
Before I can get a word in, he leaves, and the door is locked again.
I sit up despite my pinned hands. I pull against the cuffs, filled with rage. Who does he think he is? He cannot just do whatever he wants. I pull and pull, trying to slip my hands out of the cuffs, or break the headboard, either will do.
I hear the front door slam. He has left the house.
It's not long before the pain from pulling overcomes my anger. It's no use. My wrists are stinging and have red rings around them.
As I calm down, I start to think clearly. He didn't bother to clean up the shattered glass. This is my chance!
I slide my legs off the bed, while my hands remain pinned near the pillow. Stretching out my foot, I'm able to guide a large glass shard towards me.
I can't reach it with my hands, so I go for the next best option and hide it under the bed. There's no other glass near, so he may miss it when cleaning. Once I'm uncuffed, I can use it to make a weapon.
I manoeuvre myself back onto the mattress. With some creative use of my feet and teeth, I'm able to pull the blanket over my body.
I lie on my side with my arms by my head, careful not to pull on the cuffs. This is my first real victory over him.
* * * * * * * *
It's well past midnight, but despite the comfiness of the cloud bed, I can't seem to fall asleep.
While listening to the peaceful cricket chirps, my mind has been racing, coming up with escape plans. I'm so excited to put them into action that I need to keep reminding myself of the dangers. He won't hesitate to kill me after a failed escape attempt. I only have one shot. I need to make it count.
The creak of the front door opening breaks the silence of the house. I listen to his footsteps clunk around the kitchen. Soon, everything is quiet again.
Relieved he didn't enter my room, I close my eyes, trying to get some actual sleep.
Published: 22 Oct. Edits: 23 Nov; 04 Dec; 28 Feb; 28 Jul