Page 15 of Creep
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Save us. Someone please come save us.
Hundreds of nights I sat there, making that wish, thinking for some pathetic reason if I devoted myself to it, my wishes would actually come true. But two years later, every single dream I ever had, every single shred of hope, of being free, was ripped to shreds in one night.
Losing yourself that young, you finally realize how fucking dumb wishing is. You can’t depend on anyone but yourself. Nothing or no one was coming to save Holley and me. We were on our own. The day my innocence was ripped from me, I made the decision to protect us. If the stars couldn’t save us, then it was up to me.
All of a sudden goosebumps crawl their way across my skin. I slowly turn my head to the corner of my room, a strong desire pulling me to look in that direction. Vincent’s sitting in the chair in the corner of the room with one leg crossed over the other, resting on his knee.
He has a cigarette dangling from one hand, while the other is holding onto something I can’t quite make out in the darkness of the room. Not knowing what to do, per usual, I sit and stare back at him, thankful my thoughts are taken away from my childhood for the moment.
It feels like we sit with our gazes locked on one another for an eternity, but it’s only long enough for him to smoke two cigarettes back to back. He smokes each one without ever moving his eyes away from mine. I don’t know how he didn’t burn himself with the lighter, but somehow he managed to light each one effortlessly as if he’s done it many times before.
The tension building in the air is nearly palpable. I shift, making myself comfortable again when I notice the bandage on my arm.He bandaged my arm?
“Why do I have a bandage on my arm?”
He grunts out his response as if it’s obvious. “I didn’t want your blood all over my bed when it’s not because of me. You already bled all over my bathroom floor.” He takes one last drag of his cigarette before smashing it into the ashtray on the end table next to him.
“I don’t understand how this hasn’t gotten into your thick skull already, but keep your fucking hands off of me. You fuckingknock me outand then think it’s okay to bandage me up like you give a shit? Please, don’t even fucking bother. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so get the fuck out of the room so I can go back to bed.” He smiles as I talk, making me more wary of him.
How the hell does he go from a completely blank face to smiling that sinister ass grin at the flip of a switch? It’s getting fucking creepy.
With the same eerie grin plastered across his face, he begins swinging something around on his finger—the same object I noticed him holding earlier—but I still can’t make out what it is.
“What the hell is that?”
“You wanna know what this is, baby doll? I’ll show you.” He gets up and makes his way to me, his smiling growing wider. But now that he’s moving closer, my defenses rise to the max and I crawl backwards across the bed to move away from him. Before I can move more than a few inches, he shoots his arm out and wraps his long fingers around my arm in a hard grip, his fingertips digging into my fresh wounds, causing me to hiss in pain.
“Sit fucking still little girl. You’re not going anywhere. You’ve pissed me off enough already today, so if I were you, I’d play nice. It’s the only way things won’t get worse for you.” He yanks my arm until my body is flush against his, both of my legs wrapping around his knee which is resting on the bed. Our chests touch with every heavy breath I suck into my lungs. “I’m sure you know by now how much I hate to love you acting up. I have a room full of things I want to use on you baby doll, but don’t worry, we’ll get to that. So, please keep running your pretty little mouth. I’ll show you real fucking pain.”
He seizes my chin, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and also making my lips pucker from the pressure of his fingertips digging into my cheeks. Soon enough, I’ll be able to play connect the bruises on my face.
I can’t help the rapid rise and fall of my chest, which worsens the tighter he squeezes my face. But not from fear, no. My pussy throbs and my panties dampen with what I can only assume to be arousal. I think I’m getting turned on by this fucking maniac.
What the actual fuck?
“Ready to play, baby doll?”
Oh, hell no.There is no way I’m doing whatever the fuck it is he has in mind. And I’m sure it’s nothing good, but he doesn’t wait long enough for me to react before he’s pulling both of my arms to the junction of our bodies and wrapping rope around both of my wrists. The bandage covering my cuts is ripped off of my right arm in the process and I struggle against his grip, completely panicking.
Once he gets this rope secured, I’ll be trapped—completely at his mercy.
Would it really be a bad thing?
Yes.I force the thought to override the other and repeat it over and over in my head like a chant.
Of course, while lost in my thoughts, I lose track of what’s going on around me and it takes me a moment to realize my hands are already tied and bound together. I didn’t even get a chance to fucking fight him off because of these damn thoughts that won’t shut up and my stupid fucking body reacting in a way it shouldn’t. In a way which terrifies me.
My hands shake as they rest against my lower stomach. Vincent’s face is back to the blank mask he wears so well, but his eyes, however, tell a different story. They burn with anger and need he has no problem showing me as he drags me over to the foot of the bed. The ropes around my wrists chafe my already raw skin. A drop of blood forming on my right arm—the arm I mutilated mere hours ago—catches my attention. I zone in on the blood and watch as the drop doubles in size before falling to the mattress below.
Apparently he doesn’t give a shit about blood on his bed now. Cue eye roll.
I thrash around on the mattress, flailing my legs hoping one clocks him in the face but he still manages to keep his grip and tie the ends of the rope to the foot of the bed, leaving me bent at an angle so moving my arms is virtually impossible.
He moves to the chair he was sitting in before and grabs a few objects which are gathered on the floor next to it. He slowly turns around with them in hand and drops them right next to me, a few of them smacking against my leg. Even in the dark of the room, the close proximity and the available moonlight gives just enough light to see what he dropped.
My heart hammers and my skin gets clammy with my anxiety. My breaths become more rapid and shallow as it becomes harder to breathe with every second passing with no reprieve.
I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.
