Page 5 of Kidnapped By the Monster

"No, please," I beg, "I won't say anything. I swear. Please!"

"Fighting will only make this worse for you," the man holding my feet grits out, struggling to maintain his hold with my persistent kicking.

But there's six of them and only one of me, and I eventually let out a scream of pure terror when the outside disappears, replaced by beige walls and barred windows. I arch my body up, claw at the arms of the man at my head, and even try to bite at one who gets close enough. Anything to make them let me go, or hell, drop me to the floor. Anything at all. Anything but keep their hands on me. I hate the feel of their fingers digging into my skin, hands I don't want on me; hands that should not be on me. My chest is heaving, and my heart thunders so hard, I can feel each beat reverberating through my whole body. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, but I command myself not to pass out right now. Not right now.

"The fourth floor," I hear a man say as we approach an elevator.

We crowd in, leaving barely any room with the two men holding me between them, the four men who get in, and another who wears scrubs. I know it's useless to even try, because if he works here, he's just like the rest of them, but when the new man looks at me, I still plead once more.

"Help me, please. I haven't done anything."

He sneers and a chill slithers through me as I realize that I was right. He is just like them, but also much worse. I continue bucking, even though I feel exhausted, and I know I won't get loose, but it feels like a betrayal to give up. Not after all Keri had done for me today and tonight. Not after all that Grace had done for me to make sure that I would never be this helpless again. And look at me; I couldn't even protect myself without them for a single hour.

The elevator doors open and the man at my head hefts me up to get a tighter grip as we begin moving again. The hallway is nothing but closed doors and screams. Men, women, children...their screams and cries mix to form a sound that's horrifying and desperately miserable.

"No," I groan, renewing my efforts.

This time, it earns me an open-hand slap from the man with scrubs against my face so hard that my head whips to the side.

It hurts, but not any worse than hits I took from my father. I stare, wide-eyed, at him as he bends to bring his face closer to mine.

"You do as you're told," he says with a sick smile. "Or I'll show you just what we do with naughty girls in this facility."

His eyes go up and down my body and vomit rises in my throat, threatening to spill past my lips. He just smiles at my closed-mouth wretch, too.

"Bring her in here," he tells the men, gesturing to a room to my left.

The men bring me through an open door and put me on a freezing metal table.

"Take her clothes off," the man instructs them.

I let out a scream that sounds utterly unnatural, even to my own ears. It makes the man at my feet hesitate for just a second, but the man at my head doesn't. The hands that come to my body, holding me to the table, don't hesitate either. I fight like I never have before, hitting and scratching until they get control of my arms and pin them to the table again. I kick out until the man in scrubs grabs my ankles so roughly, it feels like the bones will break. My shirt is ripped away and I bang my head against the table, wanting unconsciousness, now, begging for it.

It doesn't come, not as scissors cut what remains of my shirt away, and then comes to my bra. Not as my pants and panties are yanked down my legs roughly, forcing the shoes and socks from my feet. Every garment protecting my dignity and body is gone and thrown on the ground. Hands are all over me and I scream and scream as they touch parts of me that they have no right to, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs.

"Hey, hey. Come on now," the man who was holding my feet says. He stands to the side now, watching the scene unfold with horrified eyes, as if he did not play a part in this.

But it makes the other men pause.

"Strap her down and then you can be on your way," Scrub creep says.

Straps come across my chest, upper thighs, and calves. Leather shackles go around my wrists and ankles. All I can do is lift my head to look at the room full of disgusting men. This is a living nightmare.

"Our part is done," says the man who thinks he's actually helping me in some way. "We got her here. Let's go."

I close my eyes as they file out, but I can feel that one stays. And before I even open my eyes again, I know who it is. When I lift my head and look, sure enough, it's the man wearing scrubs. Leering at me, eyes ablaze with a sick desire. I can do nothing to hide my body from him, not even cross my legs.

He comes closer to me, and I whimper. I hate the sound, the weakness and terror it betrays. Sweat covers my body. On my face, it mixes with my tears. He reaches for me, and I move away from him as much as the straps and shackles will allow.

"D-d-d-d—" I stammer before the words finally burst from me, "Don't t t-touch me!"

He snickers and licks his lips. Then, a crashing sound makes his head snap up. It happens again and his lip curls as his eyes narrow. He looks back at me and I wither under his stare. It only makes him smile sickeningly.

"I'll come back for you later," he taunts. A warning, but something tells me he means it as a promise too.

Tossing me one more look, another loud bang echoes outside the room somewhere, and a curse escapes him before he leaves. I strain against the shackles on my wrists, and move my body from side to side under the straps. Nothing gives. My head falls back to the table, and I curl my hands into fists, letting out a scream that hurts my throat. Letting out a scream that aches inside of me. Because I know no one is coming for me. There's no one to help. Not a soul who cares or will even notice that I never make it home. I am trapped here, and there's no way out.

I want my sisters.

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