The Captive

Karen’s eyes blinked from the rays of light trickling down from the closed window above. It was morning or afternoon? She had lost all sense of time as she lay curled against the cold wall in a tiny room in the cold dark and damp basement. Her wrists, tightly bound together with a thick rope, were covered in dried blood from her futile attempts at loosening the knot.

The gag in her mouth had soaked up her saliva making her face hurt and her throat itch. Her jeans and sweatshirt, now torn in places, kept her slightly warm. She was hungry, nauseous, and dehydrated and could see no way of getting out of this situation. She didn’t deserve this. Why oh why, did she ever talk to him?

Bill spread out leisurely on his living room couch while a rerun of last week’s game silently played on the television. The centre table was pulled close and strewn with empty pizza boxes, Chinese takeaway containers, plastic wrappers, beer bottles, and some loose change.

The curtains were closed making the room seem drab and gloomy. If not for the occasional stirring one could naïvely presume him dead. He was surprisingly lean for a man of his appetite and hid the years on him well. It was a necessary evil of his work, after all.

Karen was fourteen, your typical girl-next-door with nothing notably stirring about her. She lived with her mother after her parents’ divorce against her own better judgment. What else could she do? Between his gambling problem and her alcohol addiction, she had to choose between the devil and the deep sea.

At least her home was bigger, cleaner and closer to school. She hardly spent any time there anyway, not that her mother ever noticed. She relied on odd jobs like babysitting, waiting tables at a café, etc for money as time and her coursework permitted.

Bill, with his impeccable manners and brilliant smile, had followed her out of a convenience store when she mistakenly picked up his bag along with her own. She had been embarrassed but he made her feel comfortable. His easy charm and good looks contrasted with her awkward demeanour and misshapen form but he didn’t seem to notice it.

The gentle brush of his hand against hers while he took his bag from her set her heart racing. His dark grey eyes bore deep into her as she strained to make sense of what his luscious moving lips were saying. Is he asking something? Should I say yes? She wondered and that was the last thing she remembered.

To be continued…

This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.

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