Whispered Kiss

Blood Addiction

It's easy to judge, easier to read an article, easier to listen when someone recounts a horrific experience. You sympathize. You might even understand and imagine the peril but reality and one's imagination differ day and night. You can't truly comprehend unless you yourself lived through the same ordeal. From my time in the psychiatric ward, I heard, saw and read many accounts of addictions, bad experiences and bad choices.

Among them was a kidnapped girl who almost starved to death. A drug mule held her captive in a dingy basement with intentions to sell her as a human slave. After listening to countless shaken up accounts of her being raped, drugged and left to starve, they decided to move her to the rendezvous location. Police intercepted a message of the meeting point and brought down the syndicate. She was one of countless to be saved and if her body didn't hold, she might have died in a damp and decaying room.

Alone, numb and hungry, sitting in an unknown basement of sorts, the girl's retellings poured through my mind. Her jumpy eyes, eyes that no longer held a shred of joy or peace, haunted me. I remember holding her hand during group sessions. She always clung to me as she expressed her aversion to men and of being alone. The poor girl got broken physically and mentally. She spoke of the walls closing in and the despair which engulfed her each time she stepped outside. She retold the terrible nights she spent crying and the feel of being standardised to nothing but a common whore. I had listened and imagined myself in such a situation, after all my own ordeal held similarities. I envisioned all the things I would do to escape and fight for my life. I cried for her, prayed for her, sympathized with her situation, and gave her support as much as she needed, but in the end, I had been wrong.

I understood now as the walls ganged up on me and I longed for nature and clean air that conceptualizing didn't compare to reality. For hours I trashed on the ground trying to release my hands from their bounds. I scraped my palms raw against the brick in an attempt to chew through the rope, but nothing helped. My head spun and my energy levels were depleted to the point where moving exhausted me more. My muscles weren't happy either. I didn't know my shoulder blades could ache in so many different places.

I had no sense of time either and the world around me faded into a swirl of agonised seconds and minutes. I leaned against the wall, staring at the window, trying not to allow a thousand thoughts to consume me, despite the clawing panic swirling in my chest. I lost myself once and I wasn't even sure I found myself again, but I knew the incident drove me over the edge and destroyed my life. I couldn't go back into the chaos. I feared it and dreaded it. I lost too much. If I allowed another setback, especially with my fragile state of mind, I wasn't quite sure I'd ever have the chance to bounce back.

At least my imaginary follower isn't present to gout me.

I pushed the thought aside; fearful I might call the hallucination forth. Instead, I focused on the tiny window above me as a captivation point and watched the moon's rays disperse and the soft crimson-yellow of morning set into its place. My eyes burned, begging to sleep, but I couldn't, wouldn't. I didn't want to be caught unaware or miss an opportunity to escape.

"Open."

The command reverberated through the door, slashing into my enclosure. My heavy lids forced themselves wider.

The door popped and snapped open. I straightened, pin-pricks of pain exploding throughout my body. It didn't matter. I ignored the pain and forced my brain to focus on what came my way. A slash of terror or adrenaline, I wasn't sure which coursed through my veins. I wanted out of this cage, and if the possibility rose, I'd run.

My assailant entered and unlike our meeting last night, the female revealed herself. A heart-shaped face with penetrating crimson orbs, gazed down at me. I stared back, unable to withdraw my attention, whether out of fear, or fascination, I didn't know. She was an abnormality in the dull backdrop. From her lower right eye, a red line cascaded over her cheek pooling into a droplet. A tattoo maybe? Or a symbolism of some sorts? Her eyes threw me the most. Contacts maybe? An intimidation tactic? The only red irises I ever saw was in the movie Twilight and by no means did I believe it to be true. However, my mind considered the possibility as I continued to observe her. My vision wandered down her neck to a necklace hanging low against her belly. Another droplet-shape, bigger in size, swayed to the side as she stepped forward.