Davina

Chapter Eleven

Davina's POV

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I wake up to the sound of muffled voices and ascending footsteps. It feels like I've been hit in the head, might I mention I don't remember anything that happened in the past...I don't even know how many days.

My eyes flutter open, and I immediately shut them tightly when the first thing I see is a bright light right above my head. After a while, I open my eyes again and eventually adjust to the unnecessarily bright light, and I examine my surroundings, which isn't much. I look down at my body and am happy to not see any visible injuries. I'm still intact, that's good to know.

I'm in a room where the floor, walls and ceiling are just grey cement, reeks of a horrid smell and I'm unable to move my hands. Unable to move my whole body, actually. My hands and feet are tied together with brown rope, and another rope is securing my waist to the dirty metal chair in the middle of the empty room.

I'm pleased to see I'm clothed, not that this floor-length dress is comfortable but better than me being naked in a place I am completely unfamiliar with. Not to mention the fact that it's fucking freezing. Who ever put me here couldn't have been decent enough to give me some sort of blanket?

Wait...have I been fucking kidnapped?

Right when my vision has started to become somewhat clear, the tall door in front me, slightly to my right, opens and a man walks in. My shitty vision is not allowing me to see the details of his face, but he's dressed in an all-black suit. What is it with men and black suits these days?

Behind him, he's dragging another metal chair, identical to mine, into the room and the door is closed, leaving the two of us here alone. He puts the chair down right in front of me, sitting down on it, facing me. Not that close but close enough for me to smell his cologne. The room is pretty small, you could probably smell him from any part of it.

Suddenly his deep, husky voice breaks the silence. "Davina," he speaks.

Oh, fuck me. I angrily say in my head. My brain might feel like jelly right now, but I recognize that voice immediately.

"Eric?"

"Mhmm," he hums.

We both sit there as I try to process what's going on in my head, and he waits patiently. His legs are apart and his tattooed hands are clasped in front of him in his lap, and he's leaning back in his chair. The chair that I know is fucking uncomfortable but he makes it look the opposite. Probably because his large body is covering most of it.

I then return back to reality.

"What the fuck?!" I scream, scrambling around in my chair. "Where the fuck am I, why the fuck am I with you?!"

He sighs, remaining calm in his position knowing that unless I have some sort of knife, I won't be able to get myself out of this shitty chair and shitty rope.

After a good thirty seconds of me unsuccessfully trying to wiggle my away out of this trap, I stop, out of breath. I look at Eric, and he's staring at me dead in the eyes, waiting for me to calm down, which I eventually do.

He clears his throat. "Are you done?"

"Fuck you."

He chuckles, looking down then back up at me. "You were much easier to control when you were drunk. Even more easy when you were sedated."

I look at him with furrowed eyebrows. "I was drunk? I was drugged?!"

"Well," he sighs, sliding one hand down his thigh, looking to the side. "Yes. I wasn't there to witness you drunk, but from what Ronaldo told me, I'm sort of glad."