Dawson's Secret

Part 2: What Happened After

The next day, I woke up in a daze. I lay in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling. I slowly sat up on the soft bed. And then I realized where I was. Oh my God. Dawson kidnapped me. And I'm in his room. I warily looked around, my eyes adjusting to what little light was provided by the lamps on each side of the bed. There was a hardwood mahogany Victorian dresser, same as the bed framing.

To my left there was a floor-length window, which in turn would lead me to a balcony. The curtains were drawn, with little streaks of sunlight attempting to sneak in. To my right, there was a bathroom and a closet with about 3 feet of space in between. But as I went to emerge from the bed, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward the room. A soft gasp emitted from my lips and I put my hand over my gash, which now had a scab. I quickly eyed everything around me, searching for something I could use to defend myself with.

I found nothing.

The footsteps drew closer. I was running out of time. My adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, I jumped off the bed, ran to the bathroom, and slammed the door. And in that moment, the bedroom door unlocked. I grabbed a chair I found in the bathroom and shoved it under the doorknob. But I wasn't quick enough. The bathroom door flew open, and Dawson entered with an infuriated look on his face.

I took a chance and ran past him, but he grabbed me before I could even reach the door and dragged me to the bed. I kicked and screamed, trying to rip myself away from him, but he was too strong for me. He slammed me onto the mattress and crawled on top of me. "Goddamn it, why do you have to make this hard for yourself, Erica?" Dawson said angrily, the tone of his voice rising from his chest. I didn't answer him, I kept on tugging and pulling away. I did not want him near me.

He grabbed my arms and pinned them side-by-side me. Right then and there, my adrenaline was spent, and fear took its place. I cried out in pain. His grip on my arms hurt like hell. I turned my head away from him. "Please don't kill me, Dawson. Please!" I said, shaking and panting. My heart was racing, as if it were about to beat out of my chest in a second. Hot tears streamed down my face and blurred my vison. I blinked back my tears. Dawson sighed deeply in frustration as he took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" he muttered angrily, "I'm not going to kill you." I shivered, for his hands were like ice on my face. "Then what do you want with me?" I asked whimpering. He smirked and lifted me up into a sitting position. He leaned in closer to me, enough for me to feel his lips against my ear. "I want your blood," he answered simply. Then abruptly, he dug his short — but quite sharp — fingernails into my skin, painfully removing the scab that formed over it. I let out a gasp of pain. He applied more pressure on it, trying to make it bleed more, but only a few droplets came out. He sighed, pulled his knife out of his back pocket, and opened it. As soon as I saw it, I recoiled.

"Dawson, don't," I pleaded, "please." He tilted his head to the side, his eyes following the blue trail of veins down my arms. He shook his head, as if clearing a thought, and he pushed me back onto the bed. "No, please don't!" I protested as I fought to free myself from him. But soon I heard a clicking sound and the next thing I knew, I was handcuffed to the bedframe. I guess he was tired of holding me down. I closed my eyes, trying to fight back the oncoming flow of tears. I could feel his hands fumbling with the buttons of my jeans as he undid them and yanked them off, leaving me with my black spaghetti-strap corset top and matching panties.

I whimpered as I felt him place his hands on my thighs, slowly spreading them apart from each other. Then unexpectedly, I felt a sting in my right leg. I screamed in pain, realizing that he cut me. Blood was seeping out of my thigh, but before it could get onto the bedsheets, Dawson pressed his mouth onto my cut and started sucking.

I bit down on my lip, doing my best not to cry anymore. He continued to drink from me, my body weakening in the process. I don't know how long this went on, but when the deed was done, he had put an Ace bandage on my leg.

When he finished with that, he reached down to caress my cheek, which made me open my eyes in fear. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said mockingly. Then he cleared his throat and added; "Just do what I ask of you and — hopefully — this will be easy over time." And with that, he stood up from the bed and left me to my lonesome in this dark room.

★

I'm running through the woods, my heart pounding, my heels digging deeper into the flustered soil as I try to pick up the pace. Don't look back, my conscience tells me. I keep running straight ahead, for I know if I stop, I will surely die. But as I am, I start to feel weak. Then I trip over something — most likely a log — and fall to the ground headfirst. Now covered in dirt, I push myself up to continue running. But before I can stand, I feel a pair of strong hands clasp around my shoulders.