I’m out on a walk, I like walking late, in the dark, because I feel invisible. Sometimes I listen to music, but this time I want to be with myself in silence.
I’m walking by the road, there are some cars passing, but the traffic is not heavy at a dark hour. Most of them drive by quite fast. The trees cover most of the sidewalk in a shadow, but I pop out from the darkness as I pass every other street light.
I hear another car. I don’t pay attention. It passes me, slower than the rest. At the end of the street I see it turning back around. I continue walking, it’s none of my business. Unfortunately, whoever is in the car has spotted me.
I start walking faster as I now feel that I am being watched. However, I cannot outspeed a car and it gets ahead of me.
You stop by the side of the road. I see you stepping out of the car. The engine is left running. I stop for a brief moment and consider turning back. I suddenly feel the need to run as I see your silhouette approaching me quickly and confidently. But I freeze in fear and manage to only take a few steps back. It doesn’t take long for you to reach me.
I hear you saying “you’re coming with me”. I quietly answer no. But you’re faster. You grab me and pull me closer, your arm is around my neck. Before I can react, you twist my hand behind me. You repeat, “I said you’re coming with me.”
You drag me to your car, I cannot fight you back, I can barely breathe. You open the back door and try throwing me in. I am resisting, trying to grab on the door, and kick you off while I’m still standing. But you manage to get me under control, get my wrists in a zip tie and push me in. You tell me to stop resisting because it’s only going to get worse if you’re angry. I do not comply and try to scream for help. You slap me. It shocks me and shuts me up for a second. You shove something in my mouth, feels like a piece of fabric. It’s too big and I can’t get it out fast enough. Next comes a bag over my head. It happens fast, I am disoriented. You push me further on the seat and restrain my legs. The door slams. You get in the seat and drive off.
I hear you from the front seat talking to me, “I hope you realize you’re getting raped, right? I’m not going to kill you though. A pathetic little whore like you deserves to live with this experience. I will be nice enough to drop you off where I found you.”
I begin to realise that whatever is happening is inevitable, panic and fear set in. You’re driving for a while, I realise you’re most likely leaving the city. I want to see. I start squirming on your seat, I need to get the bag off my head, it’s proving to be harder than I thought. I hear your voice again, “We’re almost there, be glad I didn’t stuff you in the fucking trunk.”
You stop the car, it is incredibly silent outside. I hear you walking around, rocks crackling under your feet. I make an assumption that we have reached the destination. I feel so useless as I could not oppose you in any meaningful way and I ended up bound on a very uncomfortable rear seat. The door opens, I feel cool damp air settling on my skin, I hear your clothes rustling. You harshly pull me by my ankles and I feel a sharp tug on the ties as you cut my feet loose.
“Get up.” I hear you command me. You take a step back fully expecting me to comply with your silly request and scoot out of the car. Instead, I pull my legs back onto the seat, move myself away from you, the open door, and try to sit up. I know sooner or later you will fish me out, but it feels like the right thing to do is to refuse to follow your orders.
“Playing hard to get?” There was a twinge of anger in your tone.
You reach into the car again and grab my right upper arm with both of your hands. There is no way for me to shake you off, I twist and turn away from you but I can only feel your grip get stronger. It hurts my shoulder and my wrists. I try to scream but my voice is muffled. You yank me out on the ground, I can’t gain my balance or grab onto anything. Wet gravel digs into my knees. I try to stand up as you previously requested but you have very suddenly changed your mind and your hands push me back down by my shoulders. With one swift motion you remove the bag off my head, pull out whatever was in my mouth and gently wipe my messy hair out of my eyes. My jaw feels tight. I do not want to look at you so I turn my head away.
You squish my face firmly in your palm and forcefully turn it towards you. You lean in. “I think you look perfect from this angle.” You sound so mellow and sinister. My skin starts to crawl.
“I don’t give a shit what you think.” I hiss back at you. I feel my heart rate spike, it is the first time I spoke back to you.
Your hand swiftly lets go of me. You smack me across the face again, this time it felt aggressive. I hear ringing in my ear.
“You’re very brave. Let’s see for how long.” You are entertained by all of this. You lift me up by my elbows again, one hand on the back of my neck. You’re not letting me straighten my back all the way, it is uncomfortable, you’re still painfully gripping my arm.
Now that I am somewhat standing up, I have a chance to look around. I see an outline of a building ahead of us, you’re leading me towards it. It seems abandoned, industrial, no lights in the windows. I begin to wonder how you were able to gain access to such a place without alerting any security, and if there even was any. If they’re not with you, I might have a chance to escape. But upon second glance, it becomes really clear that there is not a single living person within a solid radius and I come to a conclusion that running from you or calling for help will lead me nowhere. In fact, I have no idea where we are to begin with. I am not driving off in your car like this either, that’s a ridiculous thought. Hiding in the building? You will find me eventually. It would surely give me time to get my hands free somehow, but I still have no way of getting out of here.
We walk around a corner of the building. There’s all grass and remnants of what probably once was a paved path of some sort. In the dark, I make out a small staircase by the wall.
“Up the stairs, quickly.” You push me sharply, ahead of yourself. At the top of what seemed like 5 steps, with one quick movement you turn me against the wall, forcefully making me press my cheek against the bricks. They feel warm from the summer heat. It’s going to leave a mark though.
“You don’t have to do this.” I tell you quietly.
“With every stupid word, you make me want to hit you.”
I hold back any further comments, there is obviously no reasoning with you right now. You’re determined, from the few small glances at your face I would even say – crazed. This is exciting for you. With one hand pressing me against the wall, you are trying to unbolt a rusty chipping metal door. It does not look like the main entrance of the building. The door is narrow, but tall; and the steps, the platform and the railing leading up to it have seen better days. The place looks decrepit. The door finally creaks as you push it in.
The space inside is pitch black, the air feels stale and still. No drafts, like an airtight container. You lead me in. You push the door back into place with your foot and with your free hand you scramble to reach a wire with a switch, and as you do, a flickering old table lamp lights up in the corner of the room, producing a warm yellowish hue.
As my eyes adjust to the source of the light, I start making out the shape and contents of the room. There is an old chair at the center, some boxes, a few scattered cinder blocks and a green rope hanging off the steel beam on the ceiling by the back wall, a table with random objects lined up…You suddenly kick me in the back of my knees, but catch me before I hit the ground too hard. Your hand grips my pony tail and yanks my head back. You squat down close to me.
“You crawl to your seat now.”
“Fuck you.”
“Dumb cunt.” You smile.
Before I can even register what you say, you forcefully tug at my hair again. I feel an unpleasant pull in my scalp. It is enough to make my whole body tip over. I can feel old dust and concrete debris on my legs, scratching my skin on contact. You drag me across the floor. You skip right past the chair, and towards the back of the room.
“Wanna play hangman?” You ask with a wide grin. I shake my head. “Too bad.”
“Stand up or I’m hanging you up.” You shake my head by my pony as I am sitting on my ass on the cold floor.
“You’re sick.” I cough, all the scuffling lifted the dust from the floor, it got into my nose and mouth. I am trying to catch my breath. You release your grip on my hair and push my head away. In the corner of my eye, I see you reaching for the rope and looping it into a noose. I take my chance and try to get back up on my feet. I am a bit dizzy, but I manage. I am trying to make a run for the door even though I very realistically assess that my chances to escape you are low. But at the moment it is the only logical thing to do. “Better than getting hanged.” I explain to myself. The small dash for victory is short lived though, what did I think was going to happen? I run, open the door for myself, and you’re waving at me in the distance asking to come back? Right. Silly. Instead, you appear right behind me. I feel your arms again, one forearm tightly squeezing and crushing my neck, the other one pulling me down by my wrists. You tackle me to the floor and get on top of me, you press my chest down. My arms are trapped under me.
“You’re making me angry.” In the dim light I see your dilated pupils, I feel you’re breathing heavier than before. This is just a twisted game for you, I am nothing more than helpless prey. The thought that I am getting out of here alive is slowly leaving my mind as I watch you pulling something out of your pocket. It is reflecting in the light, a blade. I panic and try to get out of your grip, unsuccessfully. You slowly and steadily press the knife against my neck, I feel it digging into my skin but it’s not cutting into it. You’re looking at me, inspecting me, my emotions, my breathing. You’re getting all the more excited now that you feel I’m scared of you. And I truly am.
“You have made some really bad choices until now, I am becoming less motivated to spare your sorry whore ass. You will be following my orders. Now is the time when you say ‘yes, sir.’”
I will not say it, I tell myself. You take my silence as a solid no. You move your hand. Quick, sharp pain runs down my body. I feel a warm streak of liquid trickle down my neck. Blood.
“Say it.” You raise your voice. It makes me flinch.
“Yes, sir.” Two hot tears run down my face. It burns so badly, the cut. That’s all I can think about, it makes everything else around me irrelevant. It didn’t feel like the cut was deep, but it was enough to draw a significant amount of bleeding. Eventually, you get me across the room once again, I cannot resist you at this point. No other comment comes from you either. You’re silent, well-prepared and swift with your movements. The noose hanging in the air above me again. You prop me up on my feet.
The previous day was hot, I was out wearing just a short skirt and a loose t-shirt, which made the job for you so much easier right this instant. Without much thinking, you pull my skirt and underwear off and instruct me to step out of it. I do it without hesitation, I have no idea what violent surprise is waiting for me if I dare say no now. Then you think for a moment how to get rid of my shirt and reach a decision that letting my hands loose is not the best idea, so you simply cut me out of it. I am left standing in front of you naked. You push whatever is left of my clothes aside with your foot. The cold and fear begins consuming me and I start shivering. For a minute, I can feel you staring me up and down.
“Good catch.” You are appreciating the view of a helpless, currently somewhat complacent captive. You slowly put your hand around my neck again and squeeze just below the fresh wound, thick drops of blood are running down my shoulders, down my chest, onto my legs, dripping onto the floor below me. You skim your hand down my body, your fingers are are stained red.
You finally reach for the rope. You slide it and adjust it under my chin, making sure I cannot do anything stupid againg and get out of it. You step behind me, leaving my field of vision, and I am afraid to move to track you because I do not want to see what you’re about to do. Suddenly, the rope starts getting tighter around my neck, and I feel the pressure in my head building up. The noose is digging into the fresh cut on my throat. I scream in pain. I slowly feel how my feet are not able to stay fully planted on the ground either. I am aimlessly trying to squirm to stay standing, but I now am suspended by my neck up in the air high enough so I can only touch the ground with my toes.
“It didn’t have to be this bad, you know.” I hear you giggle behind me. I cannot talk back to you, I don’t think I am choking yet, but somehow I can barely gasp for air in shock, just enough to stay alert. I am in pain, I can feel my heart beats in my head, I am cold and afraid for my life. But there is very little I can do in this predicament, if I try getting loose, I will most likely hang myself, and I was still determined not do die.
As I am swinging in the middle of a dusty storage unit, you go on to rummage through some old cardboard box. You’re tossing some of the items on the floor, but I can’t make out what they are. I see, however, you pulling out something that resembles an electrical cord. I squirm around in distress as you slowly approach me with it. I start sobbing, silently, my voice is completely frozen.
“You will now have to count out loud how many times you disobeyed me tonight.” You wrap one end of the wire around your wrist and your hands. You approach me, but still leave a good arm’s length of distance between us. “You won’t look this pretty once I’m finished.”
I hear the cord zap through the air, I close my eyes. It sticks to my ribs and stomach like acid fire. It completely takes the wind out of my lungs, I suffer in silence, I am short of breath, getting dizzy.
“That’s for the time you tried to kick me. Count.”
I cannot speak to you, the pain has completely taken over my mind. You are getting frustrated with me and my silence. You step on my toes to get a reaction. In a dazed confusion, I lift my feet up and immediately regret my choice; my body weight makes the rope dig deeper under my chin, I think to myself that I am surely and positively starting to suffocate.
“Put your feet on the ground you idiot.” You instruct me, and I comply, simply as a natural response. “And say the number before I hit you again.”
“One.” I whimper. After a moment of silence, and without a warning, you whip me again.
“Good. I had to drag you out of the car, remember?” I can’t see you, but I hear a smile in your voice. Second time around it almost felt like the cable cut me in half across my stomach. I felt it wrapping around my body and reaching my arms.
“Two.” I whisper, but it seems enough to you. Tears are running down my face.
“This one’s for not giving a fuck about what I think.” You whip my thighs this time. Somehow it wasn’t as bad as the first two, so I hold myself together.
“Three.”
“And which number is for “fuck you”?” You step behind me and send the cable at my arms and shoulder blades.
“Four.” I say the number but I slowly start feeling that I am losing my mind. Your voice becomes distant, blurred. I cannot focus on anything else but the agonizing pain anymore.
“Theeen, you tried to escape me. You get double for that.”
I say nothing. My body twitches at the whips, as a subconscious reflex to pain, and you seem like you have beat all the pleasure out of me already as I did not hear you complain about me not speaking anymore.
“And this is one is for good measure.” You are ready to swing again, but I feel like if that thing touches me again, I will pass out and I cannot let that happen for my own well-being. I thought I was dying. My entire body felt like it was set on fire, bones detached from the tissue covering them. My head empty, deprived of oxygen. I was becoming limp.
“Please stop”. I screech with the last bit of conscious mind. You hesitate. I close my wet eyes, expecting another strike, but it doesn’t come.
“Beg me, bitch.”
“I beg you, I will do any fucked up thing you want. Just.. please, stop.”
You contemplate whether this was enough of a beating to bring me to submission, but you come to realization that I am more fun when I am breathing. Before you put me down on the ground, you run your fingers over the bruises you left on my torso, my legs and my arms.
“I like how the marks turned out.”
You finally let me down. My knees are not holding me, so I fall to the floor. I am crying, silently, I do not want you to hear it and I hope that maybe you won’t notice, but the only thing I hear from you next is:
“We are not finished.”
Do you want to know what happens next? Leave a comment.
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