Save Me 18+ Sequel to Protect Me✔️

Chapter 6 A Small Room ✔️

I try to listen.

To be alert.

I try to keep track of how long I am in the trunk of the car.

But all of my efforts prove futile.

After about twenty minutes of driving, the car comes to a stop.

I hold my breath, waiting in anticipation of the trunk opening.

I have wiggled until I have worked myself almost free from my binds, thinking that if only I could get a few more minutes, I could get loose. If I can do that, then I can just untie my legs, remove the gag, and use the safety feature to open the hatch from the inside.

Even if it gave me only a few seconds to react, it could possibly be enough.

It may give me just enough time to get away.

But that opportunity will never come.

Because when John pops the trunk of the car, he immediately reaches in. I have just enough time to see the syringe he is holding in his hand before he stabs it into my upper arm with his finger on the plunger, injecting whatever it is into me.

"Can't have you getting any ideas now, can we?" He asks as his voice starts to fade and his image becomes blurry.
"Sleep tight, my little Flower." He says before my eyes flutter closed.

The sound of the trunk lid shutting and his deep sigh are the last things I hear. His evil eyes staring down at me are the last thing that I see.

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When I come to, I have no idea how much time has passed or where I am.

My head aches and my body is sore, as if I had been in some sort of intense physical altercation.

I look around, examining my surroundings.

The room is small. Concrete block walls are painted a sickening beige color, a color that looks dirty even when it is not.

There is a bed on one side of the room, the kind that has a small metal frame and a mattress that folds up with it.

From what I can tell, the mattress is bare except for a small, tattered blanket, both stained the same nasty color as the walls.

There is a small sink to the left of it, with a dusty, broken mirror hanging above.

Beside that, there is a toilet that looks as if it belongs in a prison and has never been cleaned.

There is a musty odor hanging in the air, thick and pungent.

A mixture of stale furniture, sweat, blood, and human excrement.

My nose scrunches in disgust as I look at what makes up my tiny prison.

There is no window; the only source of light is a bulb hanging from a wire in the center of the room.

The yellow light it emits does nothing to provide any source of warmth or comfort, but instead only makes things appear more bleak.

It is now as my full senses begin to come back and my vision clears, the effects of whatever John had injected me with wearing off, that I take notice of the metal hook in the center of the floor directly under the low hanging bulb.

I follow the chain attached to it all the way to my feet, which have been stripped of my shoes and socks. The iron chain fastened tightly around my right ankle.