Viscious

Heatwave.

My throat is hoarse and dry from all my screaming and crying. For what was probably my first hour out here, I went into repetitive panic attacks. The dark and the dead bodies making me even more terrified than I already was. I can hardly see, didn't want to see them, but paranoia convinced me if i looked away they'd move.

Sweat trickles all over me, making my skin crawl with the need to wipe it away, but it's hard to maneuver my hands on such short restraints. It's hot. So hot I can hardly breathe, and my dry throat feels like it might close off any seconds. It's hard to make out anything, even though it must still be daylight out, the barn is so dark. I get only a hairline crack of light through the boards.

Did I mention that it's the temperature of the sun in here? The heater of whatever sort, and the spring sunshine acts like an incubator inside the barn. I'm sure I'll die before he returns. The heat only amplifies the stench of death, aiding in my nausea and mental instability.

I still don't know what that medicine was, but I believe it is the reason my heart won't stop racing. If not the medicine, it's definitely the head. The head and face of the girl this morning, disfigured and discolored staring at me with blank, yet accusing eyes. I can't pry my eyes away from it.

Every sound makes me jump, and I'm hyper aware of my vulnerability here. I'm nude, restrained, and I can hardly see. I can hear though, and I can smell. The scent of a charcoal grill and charming meats nearly makes me dry heave again. Combined with the scent of decay, it overpowers all my other senses, even my common sense. I screech out curses in my weak, raspy voice even though it's a waste of energy.

As big a waste as my attempts to kick boards loose around me and thrashing to try to damage my restraints. I only succeeded in injuring my shoulder. I slump yet again, picking apart all of my life's decisions and berating myself internally.

I keep seeing movement in the corners, and I jolt and whine everytime even though I know that it is my mind. I have to keep telling myself that though, or I'll succumb to the damage he's trying to create now. It makes sense now. This is all to destroy my mind so that he can rebuild me. He is counting on me to snap and become meek and obedient. He doesn't want to deal with a woman with a sharp mind. He wants a mindless  puppet.  At least I'm guessing. I don't entiry know. I know nothing about him, really. I know nothing about why he does this to people. All I know for certain, is that Trevor is not his real name, and that he is a serial killer. He even admitted all the others, ALL the OTHERS, are dead. However many there were, he has killed them all. And he will kill me, if I don't figure out exactly what he desires.

This has little to do with my interfering with the girl or seeing him, it was decided the moment I moved here. The rash, loopy redneck he portrayed is obviously fake too. His voice, his mannerisms outside of his posture and walk, his wording, it's all different now. Who even us this man? How on Earth would I even report him to authorities when I don't even know his real name?

I wish I could sleep, or even lie down comfortably. With my scorched throat, burning body, hammering heart, and I phobia of the dead bits of bodies around me there is no way I would or could ever sleep in this Hell hole. I'd probably die in my sleep, and become the next carcass in here. Maybe I'd get lucky and he'd just dump me in the woods where nobody else would have to suffer the sight of me. I freak out again trying to free myself or at least damage something, but I'm far too weak to make any progress. That's it! Maybe, just maybe if I flop down and pretend to be unconscious he'll get me out of here or at least give me more chain. It won't be hard to fake, afterall I can hardly breathe or hold myself up. I'm in serious danger of heat stroke or hyperventilating.

I finally succumb to my exhaustion and collapse. My plan was to wait for him to make noise outside and to sprawl over like I had fainted, but at this point I might actually faint before he gets here.  I'm so tired, so thirty, I need to pee, and I know I have a migraine. I can't breathe and my vision blurs. On a positive note, at least I will die on better terms than he likely intended for me.

Time continues on. I hear owls and other nocturnal creatures makes their sounds. The temperature has yet to let up, the heater still going full force. I can't see now for my pounding head. I don't feel tears when I cry. I believe I pissed myself, and as shameful as that is on it's own, I wouldn't be able to tell because everything is soaked in sweat and everything hurts too bad to focus. I have to be dying. I'm so consumed by my suffering, I do not hear the barn door creak open.

The lights come on and my eyes are searing. I try to groan but all the comes out is a wheeze. I hear his feet as he enters, his steps get louder as he makes his way towards my 'stall'. He unlocks the door and stops, probably assessing my condition. The door is open, I can feel the light through my closed eyes, but he leaves the stall. He drags something a few minutes later when he reappears.

"You're filthy." No duh. I'm in a stall of blood, guts, sweat, vomit and piss. Even in my daze, I still can't keep my sarcastic thoughts at bay. Silently, I pray for him to trip and fall face first into the vomit or the decaying girl. I wheeze so hard I think my mouth bleeds when a violent stream of ice water runs over my roasting body. This causes my nerves to spasm and jerk.

"Hey! Hey!" He rushes in and shakes me. I try to make sounds, but all I can do is wheeze and pant. He pushes me upright, but I can't stabilize myself and I topple over. He leaves me again and I hear the heater shut off.

When he returns he shocks me by undoing my restraints and packing me out of the barn, locking everything behind us. I want to strike him and run, but what good would that be when I can't even hold my head up? He walks slowly, balancing me on a shoulder until we get to the house. He carries me bridal style inside. I really want to look around, but it is excruciating to try to open my eyes. And I'm so cold now from being doused with the hose that I'm shivering. We end up in a room,and since it is dark I can crack an eye far enough to see.

It is a bedroom, no furniture though. The floors sound wooden, and a tiny bit of light shines through a crack below a door. I shut my eyes. A bathroom? He maneuvers us through the door and places me into what feels like a bathtub. My head rests on it's edge as he turns on the shower. He adjusts the temperature, thankfully, and sprays me off as I lie there meekly. Once I'm assuming the dirt has washed away, he plugs the bath.

A soothing, warm water rises in the tub and I manage to get my face down to it so that I can greedily slurp. I end up choked and then getting sick, I puke over the tubs edge and I worry for my well being. Surely I will be reprimanded. I remember how brutally he had stomped my face in it before and I gurgle a cry and try to climb out of the tub so he won't drown me. He shoves me back in and stares at me.

"What was that?" I open my mouth but it hurts to speak. I gulp more tub water, not even caring that it's gross. "Speak." I croak and wheeze until I can put together something close to a sentence.

"Y-you'll drown me...c-cause I...puked." He considers me for a moment.

"You were going to clean it?" No. I was going to run. I nod frantically, even though it makes me dizzy. "Good girl. Let's get you clean and fixed up." He grabs soap and I smell the scent of it, sweet and floral.

I sigh in relief, so happy to smell something other than death. I'm too shaken up to be self conscious of my nudity or that his hands are lathering me in the soap. My eyes are so heavy, and my heart is finally slowing it's rapid beat. When he moves to my hair I whisper for water before I feel myself drift away.