Page 28 of Taking Me

One of the guards let go of me, making me his partners issues as he went to grab a duffle bag stashed in the corner of the room. After one of the guards sit me down on the bed, the other rummages through the bag and pulls out a stack of clothing.

“We gotta clean her up, man,” says the guard holding me upright, his voice tinged with concern.

“Boss’s orders were to get her dressed. Nothing more, nothing less,” snaps another guard in a hateful tone. You can tell he would do anything to stay in Marklov’s good graces, even if it meant groveling at his feet or sucking his cock. The tension between them is palpable, and I can feel their conflicting emotions swirling around me as they argue over me and what to do.

The first guard hesitates, clearly torn between following orders and his instinct to help.

“Look at her. She’s a fucking mess. We can’t just throw clothes on her like this, it’s inhumane,” he insists, his grip on my arm slightly tightens as if to emphasize his point.

The other guard glares at him, his eyes cold.

“I don’t care what you think. Boss said to get her dressed, and that’s what we will do. If you wanna question his orders, be my fucking guest, man. But I’m not risking my neck for her. Besides, we’re not here to fucking make sure what he does is humane. You know what exactly the hell you signed up for.”

Their argument continues, the room growing more tense with each passing second. I sit there, feeling like a puppet with my strings cut, unable to muster the strength to intervene oreven move. My mind drifts, the voices of the guards blending into a dull roar as I struggle to stay conscious. The pain and exhaustion are overwhelming, and I can barely keep my eyes open. All I can do is hope that whatever happens next won’t make things worse for me, I don’t think I will be able to survive it.

The guard who is holding me upright grabs a cloth and a bottle of water. Dampening the fabric he attempts to dab off the blood covering my face. He’s going to need a lot more than that to clean up this shit show.

I appreciate the kind gesture, though. “Th..Thanks,” I let out in a silenced voice, probably unrecognizable. At least I still have my manors through this twisted shit.

He stops, realizing he’s doing more damage to me than any good. Every touch makes my body jolt. And it causes me to whimper out in pain.

The douche guard threw the clothing at his partner, huffing out. “Here, since you want her to be treated like a God damn Princess. You get her dressed your damn self.”

He reaches down picking up the clothing, he slowly pulls an oversized shirt over my body, the fabric sticking against my blood-soaked skin as it covers my upper half. His movements are deliberate, almost methodical as if he’s trying to maintain some semblance of my dignity in this undignified situation. Then, he bends down, carefully lifting one of my legs to slide it into a pair of black pants. My legs are shaking, it is up to him because I have no strength left to give. My legs are dead weight.

The vibrations course through my body, leaving me confused about the whole situation. Despite the pain this man unintentionally causes me, I fight through it because I’d rather be somewhat dressed than sit here butt-ass naked.

“I’m going to check on the boss and see what the next orders are. Keep a close fucking eye on her, don’t fuck it up, Lover boy.”the cocky guard spat out, uncrossing his arms with an air of arrogance before striding out of the room. Now, it was just me and the man who, despite everything, was trying to make it seem like I was still human.

His eyes held a tiny flicker of compassion, starkly contrasting the indifference that surrounded us and consumed me. This small act of kindness, though insignificant in the grand scheme of things, felt like a lifeline amid my turmoil, almost like he knew I didn’t deserve all of this wretched shit from Marklov. He is scarred and I can sense it. I would almost feel bad for him, if he didn’t let the torture go on for hours.

“W..w..water,” I said in a raspy voice, attempting to lift my hand and gesture to it, but my arm wont move. My body feels like a phantom, I feel as if I am doing one thing but in reality I am just sitting here. The guard leans me against the wall and shuffled over to grab some water for me. He tilts the bottle up, holding it for me while I take a sip of it, but my throat is too swollen, and it causes me to choke, my body instantly rejects it.

Pity fills his eyes. A sense of sadness covers his face. I think this man is in the wrong line of work, but luckily, I need this. Blood is gurgling up my throat, something is very, very wrong. The metallic taste is overwhelming, and I can feel the warmth of it spreading through my mouth, contrasting sharply with the cold sweat on my skin. I begin choking again, but this time on my blood. I must be bleeding internally. That is just fuckin’ perfect. I’ll probably be dead soon. Great.

My brain kicks into overdrive, sending urgent signals to stay awake. I know that if I go under now, I might not come back. The guard posts up by the door, he looks like a shaken jar of nerves. He’s jittery, constantly glancing at me and then peeking out of the doorway, probably wondering when his buddy will return. His anxiety is almost palpable, adding to the tension in the room mixed with my ragged breathing. Each second stretches out asI fight to keep my eyes open, my training kicking in to slow my heart rate and keep my senses sharp but it only works for so long until it needs more. My survival instincts are in full gear, and I cling to the hope of making it through this.

Where the fuck did Marklov go in such a hurry?

I am shaking, my skin is cold and clammy. I didn’t eat, and my body’s sugar levels are probably deathly low, adding to the horrific health condition of my body.

My mind is beginning to fade into darkness, the edges of my vision blurring as if a heavy curtain is drawn over me. Each breath is a struggle, my chest heaving with little effort to keep going. As my thoughts start slipping away, I hear loud and muffled noises. They seem distant, yet they pierce through the fog in my mind, jolting me back into my haze state.

My survival instincts kick in even more, and I fight to stay conscious, driven by a fierce determination to survive long enough to figure out what the hell is going on out there.

Suddenly, the muffled noises become clearer, transforming into the unmistakable sound of gunfire. And a shit ton of it.

I angle my head, pointing my right ear around to get the three “D’s: Distance, Direction, and Description. I can’t see much, so that would be absolutely no help in this situation. And the fact I am in a basement.

The distant gunfire grows louder, echoing ominously through the walls surrounding me. My heart races, each beat painful, staggering and painful. My body tenses letting me brace for the possible danger closing in on my position. The guard takes a look at me, and back down the hall. He tries radioing to his partner but the line is dead. He runs out of the room leaving me to defend for myself.

With no protection, no weapon, just my bare hands and sheer determination, I just have to brace myself for whatever the hell is about to happen. If Marklov and his men burst in, I’llfight with everything I have. I just need to muster up just a little strength to regain control over my body. One thing for sure is I am not leaving this place with Marklov. Sweat mingles with fear and a mixture of my blood that covers my skin, but I can’t let it paralyze me. This might be my only chance to escape this prison and reclaim my freedom.

The walls seem to close in on me, their oppressive presence almost suffocating. Despite this, my willpower only grows stronger. I must survive, escape, and end this nightmare, no matter what it takes. The thought of freedom fuels my determination, even if it means risking everything, even my own life. At least I would have died trying, fighting with every ounce of strength I have left. The desperation and resolve intertwine, pushing me forward, refusing to let this be the end.

Attempting to gain any balance and what strength I can muster up, I force myself to grab the headboard and pull my weakened and frail body into an upright position. My muscles scream in protest, every inch a battle against the fatigue that threatens to overpower my body.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having a heart attack—my chest aches, and the tightness is absolutely unbearable. It feels like a vehicle has crashed into me and now lies on top of me. The line between anxiety and heart attacks is almost indistinguishable without the proper knowledge.

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