Kidnapped (☆Sequel Is Published☆)

Pulling It Out

I get thrown down onto my knees. My breathing gets heavier as the pillowcase is pulled off my head. I take a huge gasp of air, finally able to breathe normally. My hair felt sticky and staticky. My arms were pulled behind my back tightly.

I look around the small room. A couch to my right, a TV to my left, which was illuminating the only light around. I was confused. This was just a small motel room.

"You look worth the money, girl," the man says from behind me. I pause and look down. I didn't want to look at him. I'm afraid he'll beat me.

I hear his footsteps to my left. He walks slowly, eventually stopping in front of me. I keep my eyes down, examining his dirty, black shoes. I was beginning to shake again.

"Look at me, Emma. I don't bite," he says deeply. I knew his eyes were glued to me. I could feel it.

I slowly raise my head up, catching his dark brown eyes in a stare. I gulp, my breathing hitched.

"So beautiful, aren't you," he remarks, moving his hand down to softly touch my cheek like he did when I was with Michael. I cringe, chills running down my spine.

I shutter and pause as he bends down, his hand softly rubbing my jaw.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name," he whispers raspily. I gulp and turn my head away. My heart was racing. I was really embarrassed and scared. He had sold me for sex.

He pulls me up, holding my arm tightly. I vocally breathe out as he grasps the cut arm that had not healed properly. I cringe and suck in air though my teeth as he continues to hold my sore wrist. I felt dizzy and I was shaking.

"Holy shit. What happened?" He asks. I open my mouth in complete and utter pain as he tugs at the fishing line sewn into my wrist. Everything felt staticky and fuzzy in my head and chills ran all through my bones. I keep my eyes close and hum to keep myself from yelling. I shake harder.

"Stop!" he yells loudly. I pause from the sudden anger coming from him. He had stopped tugging at the infected wound, but now interrupted, it was burning like absolute hell.

He smacks me, but it was a relief next to the pain on my arm.

After a few minutes, the tie is released and he holds my arm tightly as if his life depended on it. I look at him, dead in the eyes. He looks me up and down, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Follow me, baby," he says.

He takes me to his bathroom, demanding me to sit on the toilet. He closes the lid and points to it. I sit quickly, looking down.

"I'm taking that shit out of your arm. Even if Michael doesn't want me to," he glances at me, looking through his wooden bathroom cupboards for something.

I freeze. My throat felt dry and my eyes were wide open. I was mortified at the thought. The pain, Oh God.

"No, please. You don't- " I say. A lump was forming in my throat. I pause and look down. I'm not going to cry in front of this man. I take a deep breath.

"I'm begging you, please," I say. I stare at him, my eyes furrowed in a sad kind of way. My heart hurt. I couldn't begin to imagine the pain of him ripping the line out. Some of it had grown into my skin by now. The part that hadn't was raw and sore, still cut completely open. Even infected. It was a mess that needed medical help, not to be yanked out.

"I didn't tell you you could fucking talk, did I?" He wonders sarcastically. I start to breathe heavily as he pulls out pliers. I gulp and cuddle my arm. I was beginning to panic.

"He said to take care of me, remember?" I say, tears forming around my eyes. He ignores my pleading, bending down in front of me. "Please, I beg you. Michael will-" I'm interupted by a growl and a smack.

He holds my jaw and stares at me with fury. I pause and sit, frozen. The whole situation wasn't even on my mind anymore.

"I didn't pay $1500 fucking to be yelled at and judged by a stupid, fucking whore like you!" He yells in my face. I nod and watch him.

He clasps the fishing line between the pliers and looks up at me. I was really crying. Tears were falling down my cheeks. I was scared of the pain and the scarring that would happen. Nothing good would come out of this.

Just as soon as I take in a deep breath, he pulls. I watch the now-red wire pull and slither out of my skin, closing the wound together. I sit, paralyzed. The pain was worst than I could have imagined.

The line burns through my skin, ripping many parts of my wrist in half and destroying the healing process. I scream and let out a cry. I try to comfort myself from the single pull, just to have this man push my arm away from the scene. I sit and breathe heavily, waiting for the next tear-jerking pull with my eyes shut tightly.

He tugs again, making my brain fuzzy. I let out another heavy cry. Tears were seeping out of my eyes, falling down my cheeks. I hum in utter agony, rocking back and forth. The tug tightened the wound, but soon would be ripped out completely.

"Last one," he mutters, more to himself.

I close my eyes, my hand gripping my badly shaking arm. I was waiting for the pull, just to have it happen immedialty.

I feel the fishing line writher out from my skin in the most painful way ever imaginable. I scream, slamming my head against the wall. I pull my arm away. Blood was seeping out from the infected stitch, dripping onto his tiled floor. I sit with my mouth wide open, sounds of agony and heavy breathing coming out. I close my eyes and swear under my breath.

"That's it. Let me get you a towel to wrap around it and I'll expect you in my bed in 5 minutes," he says, simply getting up and walking away. His footsteps trail away.

I had barely heard him from the feeling of almost passing out. I couldn't focus on anything as I cuddled my throbbing arm in pain. I was still crying, tears escaping the sides of my eyes.

I sit on the mans toilet. I was shaking, and beginning to get cold. Never once had I ever been this miserable. I look up, the pain not easing a bit. God, please save me.