Page 10 of Collateral Damage

A glass drags against wood and the sound of tinfoil tinkers at my senses, the air is sucked from my lungs as they rip the tape from my mouth, the sound scraping against my ears as I feel a layer of my skin peel off with it, stinging my lips and the sensitive skin around it like lip balm plumper.

“Open.” They demand. They don’t hesitate but I certainly am. I am already drugged up enough as it is, what could they possibly want to put in my mouth? But their voice is racking my bones and I daren’t disobey. I open my mouth slowly to reap my death as a pill rests on my dry tongue, promptly followed with a glass of water to wash it down as they hold it in place for me to drink. I guzzle, like a lost man in a desert, relieving my tense shoulders as the cool liquid soothes my hoarse throat and I'm found unsatisfied as they pull the glass away and repeat the process. I’m so thirsty for relief that the pill goes down like chocolate.

I don't even gag which is strange considering I fear pills like people fear spiders. It's amazing what you'll do in the face of danger.Why are they comforting my pain though?This doesn’t make any sense, not that I am at all in any position to see sense or conjure up rational thinking right now. I take my pills, and they haven't affected me but I don’t think I'd even be able to tell on top of the drugs already in my system. My eyes feel heavy. I pull my chin into my chest as I fight to hold it up but all I want to do right now is sleep and possibly never wake up. I’m full of drugs and I haven't eaten anything since before I got home. I literally missed my favourite meal because I was sulking -

Shit.

My insulin! I’ve been so caught up in being literally kidnapped that I didn't even take into consideration that I have not taken insulin for most likely over my time frame. But maybe this is a good thing? I mean. I know the side effects are heavy but at least I will no longer be a problem and I will be with my parents. What do I have to gain if I even get out of here now anyway?

Lost in thought I drift off into another timeless sleep from pure exhaustion. Adrenaline is its own drug. When you use too much, the come down is even heavier.

??

Icreep open my eyes expecting to see darkness, and I do see darkness, but this time I see it’s 3D with light and shadows casting the room that I can now see in front of me.Particles of dust fill the air like space as the light seeps into the room between the cracks of the plywood plastering the windows shut to my left-hand side, barricading me from the outside world. They’re isolating me from my life through rose tinted glasses and I’m only seeing the bleak, desolate numbness in the shade of black that is their house,or hide out?Or whatever this is.

It has a poignant stench of trauma and pain that makes my skin writhe. You can feel it in the air. The way the dust is thick on every surface, the stained floorboards with god knows what.Blood? Mud? Dirt?and the crooked picture frames. The way the doors creak, echoing through the building like an old Victorian manor and the way the paints peeling from its foundations.Why would anyone settle here?It's beyond creepy and makes me pray this process quickens its pace.

I turn my head to catch a digital alarm clock, lit up in red. 13:46.

I've been out for over twelve hours!Suffocating on the smoke invading the air and the smell of fear, my eyes are dry and stiff. Surely this much sleep is not good for the body and I'm beginning to smell. I can’t see what I look like right now but I just know that my hair is thick with grease and I have the biggest bags under my eyes, The irregular temperatures of my body during the night have stuck me to this blanket that I can’t even remove and my insulin withdrawal is already having a great effect on me.

Not long after my loss in thought, a door chimes in the distance sending the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.They are here.Clattering and banging in the rooms surrounding me.This time I can pinpoint where the noises are coming from and they are closing in on the door facing directly to my right. I squeeze my eyes shut in fear but they soon burst back open when I see my parents slumped on the sofa, bleeding out. The clown mask in the darkness, how it followed me through the house. How my screams replay in my own head and remind me how helpless I really am. How I am about to face my greatest fear any second now.

The knob turns on its axis, sending a wave of sweat over my entire body. Behind my blind fold I didn’t have to face them but now that I do it makes it much worse. The door creaks open slightly before being pushed harshly sending a heavy force of wind in my direction. They are stood in the doorway cowering in the darkness of the corridor, smothered in black attire and those heavy boots I have come to loathe, a constant reminder of the worst night of my life. But this time the face is different. Still a creepy clown but not so solid, more like paint.

Paint.

It makes sense now.

They gawk at me through the black holes carved into their face, but their eyes look straight through mine, one broken soul to another, a heavy contrast against the moons within and the contorted sculpture of their face that I can now see cutting through the shadows. They are so tall they are almost ducking underneath the door frame mimicking my own paralysis demon as I'm stuck in stone, unable to move or speak and their build is so wide they take up the entire door frame. I have a voice now, but the words don’t come out. Fear suffocates my throat, strangling me tightly as I lie helpless. I suddenly don’t want to see; I want the blind fold back on.

They tilt their head like a creepy doll, analysing me as if they didn’t take my blindfold off, breaching the room, one foot afteranother, edging closer towards the bed until they are hanging over me gripping the metal bars tightly above my head.

“I thought I almost lost you there…” Their voice is so husky and light on their tongue I feel my spine shuffle at their words. A line with so many meanings. I feel like an abused pet in a cage. Given scraps and chained to a post wanting to retaliate with inner rage but I know I will come off worse. My face remains on them but my eyes wonder, looking for any means of escape.

“There’s no way out of those Cuffs.Puppet.” My skin crawls at their hideous nickname.Puppet. That is exactly what I am right now. I’m even hung like one. It’s like they could read my mind. How many times have they done this before? How many girls have been on this bed? How many frightened innocent lives have been exposed to this nightmare.

“Are you going to kill me?”Why did I ask that?They are a murderer. Fluttering your lashes and playing innocent is not going to change anything.

“I mean you no harm, but I will if you piss me off. So don’t piss me off.” That was a warning and a warning I should probably listen to but my fight or flight mode is telling me to do stupid things to survive. They have pledged to keep their hands off me but how am I meant to take their word for it.

“What do you want from me?” My voice is shaky, and my fear is causing tears to travel up my throat. There must be some sort of motive to this sick game they are playing.

“Nothing.” They whisper with upmost confidence. I don't know what is worse. Being held captive because they want something from you or being held captive to be their new plaything.

“Then why am I here? Let me go. I promise I won't say a word. I don’t even know what you look like!” They took my blindfold off meaning they trust me; they said it themselves. They know with their face paint and creepy face masks that evenif I got out and was able to get to a police station. It would be impossible to identify what they look like. It’s why they do it. Why you wear a balaclava when you rob a bank. You’re hidden in plain sight so you can commit a felony without repercussions and walk amongst the busy street in broad daylight with no suspicions. The mind of a killer is always something I have been so fascinated with and now I have the chance to learn and understand one. All I want to do is crawl into a six-foot grave and bury myself. Being chained to a bed and starved is not quite the same as an interrogation room. They are meant to be the ones cuffed, not me.

“You’reCollateral Damage. Nothing more.” Is that meant to bring me comfort? I have so many questions I'm afraid to ask. Their eyes rip through me like a sharp blade as I endure the sting, conjuring up my courage to ask the most embarrassing question.

“May I use your bathroom?” I know I shouldn't ask but if I don't I'm literally going to piss all over their bed and I would rather keep away from any sort of punishment until I know what I'm really dealing with here.

“As you asked so nicely,” my eyes widen at their compliance, suddenly thinking of all the ways I can escape this building once they untie my hands. It can’t be sudden as I know I will barely be able to pick myself off the bed, but earning their trust is the closest thing I have right now to meddling with my freedom.

“While we’re at it, you can have a shower.” Before I even have a moment to reply they are keying my cuffs and my wrists fall limp against the damp bed sheets, mixed with sweat and humid air. My body is so frail right now I don't have the energy to fight or conjure up an escape plan. I tug my right leg to meet the edge of the bed, followed by my left one letting out a bellow scream from my throat as the wound grazes against the bedsheets and the now crusted band-aid. I will barely be able tostand on this. I holster my body up right, my feet touching the grainy wooden floor beneath me, cringing at the texture.

“Walk.” They grab my forearm, yanking my dead body weight up off the bed. I hiss and clamber for stability only to realise they have perfect hold of me. I must be featherweight to them and their height has me quivering. They lead me out of the bedroom door, towering over my tiny body, I’m hobbling like a granny and I feel like one. How do these people get pleasure out of doing this? They essentially turn themselves into a caretaker for dummies. My leg is pulsating like my heartbeat through my skin, reviving its rest as the blood pumps through my dormant leg dragging me towards the door ahead that leads to the bathroom. As if the bedroom was not bad enough, the bathroom looks like the set of the first Saw movie. I stand by the entrance to the room for a moment and peer inside, taking in my surroundings. They don’t seem to like that very much, tugging me inside where the tiles sting the bottom of my feet.

“You have two minutes.” I situate myself as I watch the door close and lock behind me.Who has a lock on the outside of the bathroom?I run my fingers over my sore wrists, gliding them across the delicate skin. The restraints weren’t tight but being strung for near on twelve hours puts a strain on anyone’s skin. A bath is to the right of the door, grimy with limescale, a sink is bolted on the left wall with a cracked-up mirror you can just about see your reflection in and there is a shower and toilet in front of me. It’s a walk-in shower which is definitely an upgrade for these kinds of slumps but all my mind envisions is pain and blood on the walls, seeing things that are not there. My eyes search for any means to escape but only a tiny, vented window sits up above the toilet, not even big enough to fit my body through.

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