Page 15 of Nine

“I’m going to open this door. I expect you to behave.”

I nod.

He opens it and walks me up a set of stairs and down a long hallway to the bathroom. The first thing I notice is sunlight, because I miss it. The house is quiet and just as torn up as the basement is. He guides me into a room at the end of the hall and stands there as I walk toward the toilet. I swing around to see him eyeing me.

“So, you’re just going to watch me pee?” I ask.

“Nothing I haven’t saw before, sweetheart.”

“Well, since you tied my hands, can you at least help me?” I nod down.

Trig walks over and kneels in front of me. He hooks his thumbs on the top of my panties and slowly pulls my underwear down, not once breaking eye contact with me. I feel my breath stop somewhere in my chest and it takes a while for me to remember to breathe again. He stands up and walks backward toward the door. I hurry and sit down. His eyes are still on me.

“I can’t pee with you just staring at me like that.”

“Fine,” he says, and turns to his side.

After I finish, I do the best I can to wipe and flush the toilet. Trig swings around. I’m standing there with my panties around my ankles. He eyes me from head to toe. I clear my throat and hold up my hands to remind him that I’m still tied up. He nods and walks back over to help me pull my underwear up. I feel his warm fingers graze my bare skin in the process. I involuntarily moan, which causes him to look up at me. He slowly rises, and then stands directly in front of me.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he says. His eyes search my face.

I lick my bottom lip. He takes his hand and reaches out to touch my cheek. I flinch as his fingers brush against a tender area. He pulls back in response, and part of me is saddened that his hand is no longer on me. Is this what being locked away does to me? Am I that starved for attention that a simple touch from Trig makes me feel good? I’m not comfortable with what I’m feeling now. The fact that I get some type of pleasure from this is wrong. I look down at my wrist to remind myself that I’m a prisoner. The reality sinks in that this guy is going to kill me soon. I pull my knee up hard into his crotch, and then I make a hard exit out of the bathroom. Trig leans forward and groans in pain. I run toward the living room to get to the front door. Just as I place my hand on the doorknob, I hear the click of the revolver next to my head. I turn to see Trig standing behind me. He’s pissed. He has one hand holding the gun and the other holding his dick.

“I swear to God, Nine. I will shoot your skinny little ass, right on the spot. Don’t take my kindness for weakness. Back to the basement,” he yells, and waves the gun toward the hallway.

I walk past him with my head down. As soon as I get to the basement door, I spin around. I feel panicky. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be some basement bitch sitting around in her panties waiting to die. The anxiety alone is killing me.

“Don’t,” Trig warns.

“Why don’t you just kill me? Shoot me and get it over with. That’s your job, right? Boss’s orders? I have no info for you. Pull the trigger, Trig. Just fucking do it,” I yell.

He backs me up against the door and grabs my face firmly in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t push me, because I’ll have no problem doing it,” he says through his teeth. “Remember, you’re not in charge here, pumpkin. I’m not one of your customers. You can save that tough act for your bedroom play.”

“Fuck you,” I yell.

I pull my face out of his hands and stare at him in disgust.

“Maybe another time.” He smirks, as he grabs my arm and shoves me inside the room.

He stands in the doorway, strips off his white shirt, and tosses it at me. I catch it and stare down at the ball of fabric in my hands, and then back up to him. I take in his tribal chest and sleeve tattoo that runs down the left side of his body.

“Cover up that shit…You’re like a goddamn temptress.” He waves his hand toward my body.

I slide it over my head and stare at him in irritation. He takes a step back and slams the door.

Trig’s scent is all over the shirt and I can’t help but pull the collar up to my nose. He’s wearing the same cologne he did that night in the elevator. I quickly release the fabric. I hate thinking about what happened in that room. I’m still in pain and every time I move I’m reminded of Victor.

I turn my head and look over to the table to see the plate of food that Trig had brought in earlier. I’m famished at this point, so I run over and start shoving eggs and pancakes into my mouth, as if I’ve never eaten before. I drown it all down with the bottle of water he left me as well. After I eat and damn near lick the plate clean, I look down at the fork on my plate. It’s not my weapon of choice, but it will work. I grab it and place it in a position where I can use it for self-defense. The handle is gripped between my fingers, and the prongs are sticking out. I sit down in the chair and wait, and wait and wait. I’m waiting so long that my ass hurts. Trig never returns. Hours are passing and I’ve now gone from sitting to standing to laying spread out on the floor. I hear the door unlock, and then it creaks open. I pull myself up to a standing position. Trig takes one look at me and laughs.

“Are you going to stab me with that fork?”

“I might,” I respond, as I pull my chin up.

I look down to see that he’s carrying a small brown paper bag.

“Or you could just use your fork for this.”

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