Kidnapped By Johnnie and Jake

Escape in Death

I walked back out of the room, feeling totally bossed around. One minute Jake was pushing me into the room, and the next I was being ordered out of it by Johnnie.

He began walking straight back up the stairs to the bedroom I'd come from, and I followed him there.

He walked over to the bed, not caring about kicking past things on the floor on his way, then sat on the side of it, and patted the space next to him, so I took a seat.

"I need to make some things clear with you," he said, staring at me with...almost sweet eyes. "You don't try to escape from us. You've seen what happens when you do: people lose their lives. The only way you'll ever leave us is if we decide to discard you, and we won't leave anything behind if we do. If you don't want to be discarded, then just do as we say. Don't cause us trouble. Do you understand?"

"But...what am I supposed to do, then? What am I even here for?"

"I told you already. I chose you," he said, standing up, ready to walk away from the conversation.

"But you haven't told me why," I said, standing up next to him, blocking his way.

He looked down at me, placing his tattooed hands on my shoulders. "I don't need to." Then, he lifted my chin with his finger so that I was facing up to him, and he kissed me on the lips for the second time. But, this time, it was a long kiss. One of his hands slid down my back, while the other cupped my face.

He began to press his body closer to me, and I could feel the warmth of his chest, and his strength, against me, as we kissed.

But then, all of a sudden, I pulled away. What was I doing?! How could I even stand in the proximity of the man who killed my best friend, and almost choked me to death, without trying to tear him apart?! Let alone make out with the guy! I stepped backwards.

"What?" Johnnie snapped, grabbing my wrist.

I snatched it away. "You're a psycho!" I screamed.

Johnnie's expression turned to frustration. "And you're bipolar."

"What happened yesterday?" I questioned. "Did you intend to choke me till I died?"

"No."

"Why did you do it then? And why did I pass out?"

"I did it to make a point, which, God knows how, you're still not getting. And you passed out because I injected you with anaesthesia."

"Yeah, no shit I'm not getting it!"

"That's not my problem."

"Well, it's gonna be your problem, because I'm not gonna submit to you unless you give me a valid reason why I should!"

Johnnie grabbed my shoulders again and shook me once. "The reason you should, is because I'll kill you if you don't!"

I shook my head slowly. "I just don't believe you will."

With that, he shoved me onto the bed, went to lock the door, picked up the mirror I'd seen my reflection in earlier, and smashed it on the counter. He was then holding one sharp piece of it, and stalked over to me. My heart began beating out of my chest, and I scrambled up to the headboard. I felt trapped; there was no way out of this.

Johnnie got onto the bed, pulled me underneath him so that his knees were either side of my hips, and pinned both my hands down using one of his.

"Fine, I do believe you'll kill me. In fact, I hope you do," I said while struggling underneath his grasp.

The muscles in his arms were tense as he held me down. "Then why are you struggling?"

"Because you're going to torture me."

"You've learned something."

He took the shard and held it up to my neck, forcing me to lift my face up to stop it from slicing into my skin.

I tried to knee him away, and to pull my hands away from his, but it was no use.

"Don't move," he murmured softly, as he glided the blade across the surface of my neck, letting a few droplets of blood trickle down. He placed his finger beneath one of the streams of blood, let it pool onto him, and then put his finger into his mouth.

"You're completely fucked in the head," I hissed. "This isn't even necessary."

"You'll get used to it."

And then I thought. There was no way out of death, sure...but there was one way out of this torture, and that was death itself. "No. I'll never get used to it. I won't be around to get used to it, because I'd rather die than be tortured by my best friend's murderer every day. This is worse than death," I said slowly, before letting my head fall, and my neck lower, the flesh splitting on the blade.

Johnnie snatched the blade down, away from my neck, but he wasn't quick enough—it had cut me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he shouted, throwing the bloody piece of glass onto the floor. His hand was now covered in the blood, too.

Still on top of me, he pulled his shirt off over his head and wrapped it around my neck.

I looked down at my own shirt, the fabric soaking up the blood like a sponge. The others must have heard Johnnie yelling, because he got off of me to go and open the door, and I saw them enter the room.

My head fell back onto the pillow, too weak, and my consciousness faded away.