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What makes matters worse is he’s so calm. I’m seconds from launching into a panic attack, and he’s sound asleep. Unbothered as if he didn’t kidnap me.
This is insane. He’s insane.
Calamity in its most horrifying form has become my reality.
Terrifying memories assault me as my stress rises.
Marcus pulled up to a house I didn’t recognize. Grabbed me harshly by my arm and chin.
I screamed at him. He told me I was never getting away.
Right before he talked me into a state of conscious sleep.
Behind I heard him slamming the driver door. Heard him open the one at my side. I felt him unfastening my seat belt, then picking me up off the seat.
“Pretty little doll,” he grunted, his voice pure sex and violence as he carried me into the glass house. “Listen to me carefully. You’ve been bad back in Santa Barbara. Told me we should break things up. It ends now. You’re mine. You’ve been mine for years. You’ll be mine for the ages. I don’t care how long I’ll have to lock you up to get my message across. I have the means to stay here for however long it takes.”
Next thing I remembered is him laying me down on this bed. Using a rope to tie my wrists and ankles to metal bars. Releasing the gag by a fraction. But not enough.
Then he snapped his fingers, and I woke up, only to have him tell me to sleep. My exhausted body complied. I had no other choice. He woke me up again. I remember that too.
Just to tell me moon.
And now I’m up.
This is so messed up. So fucked up that I almost laugh again.
Kidnapped by my best friend’s dad. The man I love—no, loved.
I can’t keep loving him.
He kidnapped me.
Manipulated me.
He’ll do it again. There’s no doubt this sick man will keep playing with my head.
Unless I manage to free myself. I have to take advantage of what little time I have while he’s sleeping.
My hands are a good place to start. If I free them, loosening the knots around my ankles will be child’s play.
As quietly and as surreptitiously as humanly possible, I wiggle my arm, over and over. Curl my fingers into a fist and twist my wrist. Nothing happens. The rope burns my skin, not giving out. No matter how much I squirm and pull, I’m still trapped.
Okay, don’t panic. Maybe he wasn’t as thorough with my ankles. I’m flexible and I can pick pennies off the floor using my toes.
There’s still hope for me.
After a few seconds of wiggling, I realize there’s none. Moving my feet around has gotten me fucking nowhere.
I’m stuck.
Oh my God. What if I’m the doll he jerked off to the other night?
I must be. He called me that tonight. He’s bound me to stay still for him. As if I am one.
That’s what he’s been after all along.
Turning me into his sex slave.
