Kidnapped (☆Sequel Is Published☆)

Regrets

I wake up slowly. My eyes flutter open to an unfamiliar place. I slowly open them more, realizing almsot immediately of my situation. My eyes wander around the small, grey room. A chair sits to the right and in front of me. Nothing else stood anywhere. Just a wooden chair.

I pull my arms to reach forward, just to have them stay completely stiff behind my back. My wrists were touching tightly. They were tied together with something extremely strong. A zip tie is my best guess.

The room was dark and black curtains covered any visible sunlight through a small window that sat in the corner. It feels claustrophobic in here.

I look forward, just to notice that my feet were tied together, too. I was stuck in a scrunched position with my knees pulled up to my chest. I sigh. I wanted to scream and yell and do anything to get attention, but I'm not stupid. No one else around can hear me but Michael. I'm not risking it this time.

Just as I turn around to get a better view at my situation, a door knob clicks open. His stern face comes through the door quite quickly. He shuts the door behind him and sits down in the chair. "I see your awake now, Emma," he says. I freeze at the sound of his chilling voice say my name so calmly.

He intertwines his fingers together and leans forward. His eyebrows drop down seriosuly. I move my head back, even though we weren't close. I was shoved in the corner of the room and he was sitting on a chair not so close to me.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Want me to know how your feeling?" He asks, getting up. My eyes follow him, never once leaving his sight.

He stops at a wall and pulls a small but sharp blade out of his pocket, examining it. "Don't you want to yell at me or yell for help? I know how these things go" He says, his eyes glued to the knife. I gulp as he turns around and locks eyes with me. Everything in my body pauses as a cold feeling rushed through my bones.

Michael bends down slowly to my level. He playfully pretends to cut my tender neck, quietly chuckling about it. I tilt my head back. Heavy breathes escape my lungs.

His large hand grips my face tightly. "Say something. Tell me how you feel," he says, smiling. The blade rests in his other hand. I look down at it, which I'm sure he catches.

"This?" He says, holding it up. "That's what you want right? You want to kill me and cut the ties and be free, right?" He says, leaning forward. His lips almost touch my ear. "I'm going to use this to torture you until the day you die." I freeze and look at the blade once more.

"Aww, you really want to hurt me?" He says in a baby voice before striking the side of my face. He slaps me with all his power and stands up. I stay still, enduring the pain of my burning cheek. Blood rushes to the spot and I mumble to myself before remembering what he had said.

I turn to catch his stare. Fine. I'll tell you how I feel. "I hate you, you lying peice of shit," I say sternly. The determination to touch a soft spot in him from my voice rang in my head for a second before he sits down and smiles. "Oh, but I love you so much," he pouts sarcastically.

I breathe angrily and stare at his face. He was getting me angry just by looking at me. Without controlling it, I spit at him. It was a moment I wish I had controlled.

He stands up and towers above me, looking down. I look away and avoid eye contact as he slowly meets level. His head it tilted as he opens his mouth slightly. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He says softly. I feel him reach behind me and untie my arms.

Still avoiding eye contact, I feel a burning pain strike my forearm. I tun and gasp. He runs the blade down my arm slowly for a second. I start flinching and pulling away by nature, terrified. I was crying and screaming. "Stop, you psychopath!" I manage to cry out. I try kicking him away, but with no success. Michael halts. The cut stops about 3 inches from my palm. It was an unbelievably gruesome sight.

Adrenaline keeps the injury from hurting too much, but I know I'll suffer by tomorrow. I was in shock, too.

I look at Michael with my eyes wide. Tears were forming in my eyes. My arm shakes uncontrollably as warm blood drips onto the hard, uncomfortable floor.

"Don't ever try shit like that again," he says, reaching to grab my arm again. He holds it tightly and I flinch. Everything goes dizzy as he pulls my arm around to tie my hands together once more. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

"I'll be seeing you soon," he says before I hear him walk slowly out the door. I open my eyes and tremble. I couldn't hear anything besides my dripping arm. The entire spot was sore and stinging. A slight ringing repeats in my ear.

I should have never even looked at him.
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"Jesus, do you need gagged, too?" Michael grabs my hand as I whimper. I knew what was coming, and it was going to hurt like hell.

He grabs his needle and puts fishing line through it, bringing the sharp end to my arm. Just as he's about to stitch the wound shut, I yelp and look away. He sighs and wraps a towel around in my mouth. I scream to test my limits, but it was definitely muffled.

"Be ready after I say 3," he says calmly. The needle was touching my skin. I nod softly. Tears were forming once again.

"1, 2," he says, and without warning unlike he said, he pushes the sharp point straight into the sore skin. I scream and turn to watch. He smiles creepily and goes in and out, weaving the sides of the cut together. I felt lightheaded and tired. Every pull in to "fix" my injury made me feel worse. Every second I felt like I was in Hell.

Eventually, the yelling stops. I lean back and close my eyes as he continues to sew my arm back together. Sometime after he finished, I either fell asleep or passed out, but I'm going with the obvious decision. I think I'm starting to fear for my life.