Page 4 of The Key To Waking Up

The troglodyte smiles. His teeth look rotted, and his breath smells of wilted collard greens.

With a mocking laugh, he shakes his head. "Your friend is dead. Well, maybe. I'm not entirely sure–not that I care anyway. You shouldn't either because I didn't need her; I needed you. She wasn't pure or clean. But you…" Bringing his hands up, he slowly begins to caress my body. Starting just below my collarbone, he slides both hands over my breasts.

"Stop!" I cry out. "Please, at least stop touching me."

The frightening man grabs my hair close to my scalp. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do!" He shouts so loud it feels like my eardrums might explode. Letting go, he puts his hands back on my tits.

"Ah, how perfect." Instead of playing nicely, the man uses his fingers to latch onto my nipples. He twists until I think he’ll rip them off. He moves his hands lower and lower until he slightly brushes over my navel. Going further down, his face turns red in anger. Troglodyte grabs me by my pubes, just like he had my nipples and tugs. I try kicking him but can't seem to get my legs to work.

The pain is scorching hot, and I feel like the skin will peel off. I've never shaved down there because I never felt the need to. Now, I wish that I had. Pulling my pubes taut, he twists them between his index finger and his thumb.

Dropping his hand, he walks behind me and across the room, smacking my ass in the process. I’m unable to see what he’s doing, but it sounds like he’s rummaging through a multitude of items.

Then, he stops moving.

The next thing I know, he is touching my body. Again. He isn't using his hand, but something ice cold. Not able to comprehend what he is touching me with, I start to squirm as much as I can. He isn't hitting me, just brushing the object along my neck. He brings the chilled item down, moving it across my back. From there, he travels further south to my ass.

Before I can even try to maneuver myself away, I feel the tool being wrapped around my neck. It’s a chain. The man doesn't pull it hard enough for me to lose my breath, but enough to get his point across.

"You want to stay pure, huh? I'll do whatever I please to your body, and your pussy will still get wet. That's the best thing. No matter what I do to you, that slit between your legs will still leak juices down your thighs. It will still make that decadent sound. The perfect music to my ears."

I don't dare make a sound. I try my hardest not to move, not to breathe. Maybe he won't want to touch me if I don't move. I stay still so long that he pulls the chain tight in anger. He brings me to the edge of passing out before letting the chain drop. It clatters by my feet in a disorganized pile.

Something presses up against my ass, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is. He’s hard from listening to and watching me struggle. Grabbing me by the hips, he moans into my ear and starts to wiggle his fingers closer to my cunt. I don't react right away but twitch in place. Getting more frustrated, he stomps away and walks out the door, slamming it behind him in the process. All I can do is hang from the beam, cry, and wait for what comes next.

I feel so used, dehumanized, and degraded. What kind of sick fuck gets off to the physical pain and struggles of another living being? This will be a feat that I’m not sure I can make it through.

Especially not alone.

An undetermined amount of time passes while I hang by my aching arms. I’m alone with my thoughts, which is a bad idea. I go through all five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Denial:

For a while, I think I’m in a coma in the hospital or maybe even asleep on the beach next to Aimee. Denying that I’m hanging from a shitty rope, in a shitty room, with a shitty human as my captor.

Anger:

I’m furious that I’m tied up, naked, in a dimly lit room, and alone. Angry that this unknown stalker has barged into my life and disrupted it.

Bargaining:

I mentally calculate every possible conversation I could have with this man. Considering all the ways I can get him to let me call my parents and bargain for my release. Trying to think of how I should act next time he comes in and beg to be let down from this rope.

Depression:

This one drags on for a long time, even though time is irrelevant where I am. I still don’t think that I can move past this.

I’m alone.

I’m cold.

And I’m scared.

Acceptance:

This is always the hardest part.

Handiwork

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