Page 5 of Don't Say A Word

I barely hear the word as panic engulfs me.

“Breathe through your nose.” His words are clipped and short, almost as though he’s annoyed at my terror.

I’m trembling. The chains rattle. I struggle for balance.

“Through your nose,” he repeats. “There is nothing blocking your nose. You are okay. You are safe. Just breathe.”

If I wasn’t so filled with fear, I might laugh. Safe. No part of me feels safe. But strangely enough, his voice brings some sense of comfort. No, that’s not the right word. A sense of calm. My toes steady on the floor and I begin to breathe through my nose.

He waits, watching me. I can feel it as sure as I can feel my lungs filling with air. The chain lowers a little and my heels embrace the cold ground.

“Next time,” he says, “don’t say a word.”

Then there is the hushed whisper of air as the door opens and closes, the keypad beeps and I am left alone again.

This time I don’t have the luxury of sitting. He’s lowered my chains so I can stand firmly on my feet, but my body is still stretched and my hands are high in the air above me. I am neither hot nor cold. I cannot feel the air around me nor can I feel the parts of my body. Everything has melded into a single lump of existence.

Nothing but panic and terror.

Possibilities of why I am here begin to race through my mind, elevating my panic to uncontrollable levels. Again, I struggle to find air and it is only the memory of his voice, instructing me to breathe through my nose that brings me down again.

“Breathe,” I chant internally. “In. Out. In. Out.”

Panic is not my friend. It will not help me.

I need to figure out why I’m here, so I turn back to my memories, determined to unravel the mystery. Mentally, I scroll through my life. My parents, safe at home in their red brick house. My best friend Roxy. The residents of my small town. Nothing out of place. Nothing different. Nothing that would land me here.

I’ve led a life of quiet innocence. I have no enemies, no jealous lovers or ex-boyfriends. I surround myself with a small circle of family and friends and live in a town where things like this simply don’t happen. We only have one police station. One doctor. One church. Two bars. Everyone knows my name. I am Mia Cooper, daughter of Abigail and Samuel Cooper. They own the local bakery and I work there too. This must be the work of a stranger. An outsider.

There’s an itch between my breasts. Something is tickling me. Not literally but it may as well be. It’s driving me insane. I twist and turn against my restraints but it’s no use. No matter what I do the itch is there. All other parts of my body are numb. Nothing else exists. Just me and the itch. And it is about to be my undoing. Not the chains that hold me, the darkness that surrounds me, my nakedness, the unknown. No.

It is an itch.

I let out a groan or a moan or a whimper that gets muffled by the gag. I try to scream. I fail.

Saliva pools under my tongue. I try thrashing my body but only succeed in creating fresh drips of blood that roll down my arms. At least I can feel them. At least they are something other than the itch.

And then another sensation starts. One that scares me more. I need to use the bathroom. Desperately.

I attempt to ignore the feeling by thinking of something else, anything else but the burning sensation of needing to relieve myself and it is only then that I remember walking away from the bar, the feeling of terror as a hand clamped over my mouth, the eyes gleaming in the darkness and a needle pressing into my skin. I remember fighting, scratching, clawing.

Then nothing.

Nothing until I woke here with panic prickling my skin.

The sharp pain of needing to go to the toilet twists in my lower gut. I cross my legs, pressing my thighs together and willing away the need. It doesn’t help. The need only intensifies.

I don’t want to pee myself. Somehow it seems more humiliating than being chained naked. But the need has increased to blindingly painful. Tears fall at the same time as relief floods my body and warmth trails down my legs. I draw in a giant sob, letting my head flop and my body relax, pulling against the restraints around my wrists.

Then the beeps sound again. The door opens. That rush of air. I whip my head in its direction, desperation and terror filling me.

And shame.

I am ashamed I pissed myself. Ashamed that a puddle of urine surrounds my feet even though I am facing a monster.

For who else could he be other than a monster, an animal?

His footsteps are clipped this time. He has shoes on. Panic swells my chest as he draws closer.

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