Every now and then, there is a silver lining in the darkness.
Brit boy came by a while after the woman left just to say farewell. I'm leaving you in more than capable hands, he'd said to me. But the five words he'd said after that had been haunting me for who knows how long:
Do
try
not
to
die.
The optimistic -albeit dark - side of me said he meant starvation. But then I kept glancing at the damn table across the room in front of me with 'her favorite knife' and I thought otherwise.
What could they possibly gain from killing me? I assumed I was some kind of leverage in their plan, whatever the hell it was. If you kill your leverage, you fail. Right?
I had begun to sweat a little while ago, and I cursed my body for behaving normally. There wasn't any ventilation in this basement, it was only a matter of time. Plus, the fluorescent, dim as it was, shining on me constantly didn't help matters any.
A bulky, bald headed man with really fucked up teeth descended the steps later on. I immediately was disgusted by him. He wore the same outfit as the woman, but it looked ridiculous, the leather pants looked like they were about to split at any moment.
This one had a thick Australian accent. He reminded me of a reject actor trying to play a grimy pirate or something. Definitely no Johnny Depp.
"You're a pretty thing, aintcha?" He spoke with his face inches away from mine. His breath made me want to vomit.
I didn't honor him with a response.
He slapped me, although not very hard. "Hey bitch, I'm talking to you!"
I tried to only breath through my mouth, so as to not smell his vile breath.
He grunted and began pacing the room. "Y'know, not so often we get such good looking captives. We're gonna have fun, you and I. What do you say?"
This fuckbag was not very good at establishing rapport near as well as the other woman. Well, not like she tried to be positive, but she at least wasn't this gross.
"I say you're not really my type." I replied, bravely. I'm not even sure what drove me to say it, it just kind of came out, like I forgot I was bound and tied to a chair and utterly defenseless. I could hardly back up my words.
"Hah! Cheeky little whore. That's good, that's real good. I like a feisty woman..." He walked to the table and retrieved the knife.
My heart started pounding, and I immediately regretted my sarcastic remark. Why do you have to be such an idiot, Selena?
He turned around and began tossing the knife to each of his hands, back and forth. "This is a real nice blade, don't you think? That other chick knows her shit."
"Y-yeah. She does."
"Oh, not talking so big now? Whatsa matter?" He quickened his step towards me and held the blade in front of my face. "Not afraid of this, are ya?"
I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was expertly kept I could tell. I could see my reflection in it.
I tried to shake my head, but it didn't happen. Fuck yes I was afraid of it.
He brought the flat of the blade under my chin and lifted it up. Then he lowered it down my neck and to the top of my shirt. He turned the blade on it's side.
"Let's see how sharp it is, yeah?"
It didn't much effort at all for him to cut through the shirt. He cut nearly all the way down the middle of it, and stopped for some reason.
"I don't wanna ruin the mystery for now." He knelt on the ground and brought the bottom opening of my pajama pants up with the blade and sliced halfway up each of legs too.
He wasn't paying attention to the distance he had the blade at, because he fucking stared at me like a sick creep as he was doing it, and he nicked my ankle with the knife.
"Ah!" I cried out in pain.
He laughed, showing his crooked fucking teeth. "Oh, I'm sorry princess. I must not have been paying attention."
He returned to his feet, letting my ankle bleed. He circled around behind me which was terrifying. I couldn't see what he was doing.
I felt his disgusting hands stroking my neck. "I can't rough you up too much yet, boss's orders. But nobody said I couldn't APPRECIATE you."
He reached inside the slit he'd cut in my shirt and groped my breasts.
"Now this is a damn shame. All that money from Daddy and he can't even afford to buy his little princess some decent tits..."
"STOP IT!!!" I shouted as loud as I could.
He withdrew his hands and placed them over my mouth. They were greasy and putrid smelling.
The door flung open upstairs and I heard hurried footsteps coming down. It was the woman.
His hands immediately withdrew from my mouth, and when they did I spit.
"What the FUCK are you doing, brute?!" She yelled at him.
She might not like me, but she sure as hell seemed to care more about me than this douchebag did.
She looked around the room, hurriedly, before it seemed she noticed the knife on the floor in front of me.
"And you stole MY goddamn knife. I oughta kill you right now." She walked over and retrieved it, then noticed the slits that had been cut in my clothes.
"Sorry, love. Got a little carried away I suppose. But you like pussy, just look at her, can you blame me?"
It seemed funny that he appeared to cower at her words. She was half the size of him.
"DON'T call me love, you greasy fucking dirtbag. Get the fuck out of here!"
He groaned, but surprisingly obeyed. He shot me a dirty look before he climbed the stairs, though.
She got down in front of me and attempted to lift one of my legs, but was met with the resistance of what bound them. She surprised me by taking the knife and cutting through it.
My legs could finally breathe.
"Doesn't look deep. What a fucking prick." She said, lifting the leg he'd poked me with the knife in.
"Hey um... could you tell me what time it is again?" I asked her.
She dropped my leg and looked at her watch.
"It's
1:18pm."
"Thank you." I feigned a smile. I don't think she saw it though. Nor did she respond.
She then conducted a sweep of my body, clasping her hands around my legs, waist, arms and neck as she went.
"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" She asked.
There wasn't what I'd call CONCERN in her voice, but it was buried there somewhere. After all, she wouldn't have asked that if she didn't care, right?
"Thank you for saving me." I replied, not answering her question.
She rolled her eyes and got on her feet. "I didn't save you. I'm preserving the contract. That's all."
"I'm just saying... I don't know what that creep would have done if you didn't come down here, so thanks." This time she saw my smile. But she didn't return it.
"Why are you thanking me, I'm one of the ones holding you captive, you moron."
I couldn't argue that. She was right. But she showed the smallest bit of concern, and that meant a lot in this situation.
I suddenly recalled something that asshole had said to her.
"Did that guy say you were a lesbian?"
"That's honestly none of your fucking business, sweetheart." Her tone was cold.
"Right. Sorry. I just haven't known many-"
She put her hand over my mouth, cutting me off. Her hand smelled much better than the greaseball's, and it was soft too.
"Trust me, if I want to know your life story, I'll ask you."
She removed her hand.
"Is your mouth dry?" She asked.
"Umm... a little I guess?" What an odd question.
"Well if you aren't certain, you don't need water yet."
I eyed her. "Are you... supposed to give me water?"
She put her hands on her hips. "How else are you supposed to stay alive? If you starve you're no good to us."
I nodded slowly. "Rigggght."
"Um... what about food?"
She mimicked like she was going to write on her hand. "Oh, what would you like to order, your majesty? I'm here for YOU."
"I was just wondering..."
"Did you know you can survive for days without food, as long as you drink water?"
I swallowed. Were they really not gonna feed me at all?
"I have heard that. But then my biology teacher in high school said-"
She covered my mouth again. "There you go again with your life story. Newsflash, I don't fucking care. Save it."
I closed my eyes and nodded.
"Would you really kill that guy that was in here before?"
"I already want to kill him. We'll see what happens."
She started to walk towards the stairs.
"Do you really have to go...?" I whined. "It's so... boring down here."
She laughed. "You're something else... the only captive in history that complains about being bored. Don't you want to escape or something? That's what I'd spend my time thinking of if I were in your shoes. Although then again... I know in this situation you'd have to make it past me IF you managed to make it upstairs. To say that's an impossibility is an understatement." She started climbing the steps.
"But hey, who knows, you might think of something."
What kind of captor encourages someone to try to escape?