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"I said, stop fidgeting!" He raised his voice, annoyed at having to repeat himself for the third time now but she couldn't help it. "Next time I have to tell you the same thing, it'll be the last time." His voice was quiet but the threat was loud and clear.

She didn't know how long she had been in that room with him – nobody had come in and he certainly hadn't left – but what she did know was that for the better half of the last hour, she had held back her need to pee.

There was always the possibility of her just relieving herself where she was sitting, but she quickly shucked away the thought. First of all, that was disgusting and she didn't want to sit in a pool of her own piss for however long he planned to keep her there. Plus, she was pretty sure he would do more than just yell at her if she wet herself, and she didn't want to try to see the consequences of that.

She bowed her head – hating herself for being so vulnerable and worthless, unable to protect herself – and sat on the bed for another half hour, trying her best not to move but when the pressure was so great that her stomach started to ache and she feared that her bladder would burst, she gulped and glanced up at him.

"I need the bathroom."

She cursed the Venti coffee she had ordered from Starbucks before her meeting that morning. It had felt so great then but now, she was paying for it.

It was probably amplified by how nervous and scared the current situation made her.

"Am I supposed to do something about that, sweetheart?"

She cringed at the use of his nickname for her, knowing that he did it on purpose to make her uncomfortable.

He sat back in the chair, his posture relaxed, calm even as his eyes surveyed her from across the room.

She shifted her weight on the bed, feeling like her legs were falling asleep from sitting in the same position for so long – how long, she wasn't quite sure.

"Can I use the bathroom, please?" She hated having to beg him to use the bathroom, for such a simple task. She hated how small and weak her voice sounded, even to herself, but most of all, she hated him. She hated him for taking her hostage, knocking her unconscious, dragging her to this unknown room and forcing her to stay here against her will.

But right now, she hated him because she knew that under that mask, he was laughing at her.

He had her right in his hand. He knew that and she knew that, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

"Please." She gritted her teeth but bowed her head, trying to make herself feel small in hopes that it would appease him.

That must have worked, for he stood up and crossed the space between the chair he was sat on and the bed in a few quick strides, pulling out the blindfold he had used on her earlier from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Why do I need the blindfold?" She asked, her voice panicked. "I just need the bathroom."

He chuckled. "I don't trust you to not make a run for it, sweetheart." When he came to a stop in front of the bed, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her off the bed and onto her feet. "And I can't have you looking around."

She winced at the sudden movement, pins and needles spiking her legs and feet from having been immobile for so long.

A gasp sounded from her as he turned her around swiftly and tied the blindfold around her eyes. She protested when his fingers twisted around a lock of her hair and pulled on it slightly.

She couldn't see what he was doing but she felt him raise the strand of hair, only pausing to brush something against it. If she had to guess, he was smelling it.

That alone made her want to throw up.

She must have pulled a face for a chuckle sounded from him before he wrapped a hand around her upper arm. His grip was strong and firm. She couldn't buck away from him and when she tried, he just tightened it. "Move." He yanked her forward slightly.

She stumbled at first but was quick to regain her balance. Her bare feet patted against the cold floor as she walked behind him, following closely behind the sound of the soft thud of his shoes as he kept a tight hold on her.

She wasn't quite sure where her heels were anymore but she was probably better off without them. There were definitely bigger fish to fry, one of them being her bursting bladder and the second being her kidnapper.

He paused slightly and she halted next to him. A door squeaked slightly as he opened it, tugging her behind him. They took a few steps before he paused again to open what sounded like another door. When her feet felt the coolness of the tiles under her feet, she knew they were in the bathroom.

He closed the door behind her before yanking the blindfold off and slipping it back into his pocket.

She blinked at the bathroom. It was small and minimal with a small toilet and a sink next to it. There was no toilet roll or mirror.

The only exit was behind her and she was pretty sure that he stood guard in front of it, having just entered through it.

No window.

She turned around to face him.

The bathroom was small which meant that she had no choice but to stand close to him. There was no place for her to hide or step back to get away from him. Two steps back and she would end up falling onto the toilet, and she could do without another fall or beating.

"You're not going to leave?" She hated how her voice wavered.

He answered with a slight shake of his head.

She stared back at him, her frown deepening when something glinted in the deep blue of his eyes. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

She would never forget those eyes.

"If you step outside, I'll be out in a moment."

"Not happening, sweetheart. The quicker you do your business, the quicker this will be over and we can get back to the room." He said that as if she would actually want to return to that room.

He gestured towards the toilet behind her.

She spared a glance behind her. The said toilet was old and small, and she feared it would topple over if she – or anyone else for that matter – sat on it for too long.

When she made no move to follow instructions, he took a step closer, the tips of his shoes brushing against her bare toes. "Let me make things easier for you. If you don't finish doing what you have to do in the next 2 minutes, I'm going to grab you and take you back, finished or not. Dressed or not." He stressed the last sentence, his eyes glued to her, watching her every breath, her every movement.

She attempted to swallow the rock in her throat to no avail. Turning around, she clenched her jaw in anger and turned to the toilet.

She didn't want to think about who had used that toilet before her or the last time it had been cleaned. Catching something from the toilet was the last of her worries. She would have to be alive if she wanted to worry about catching something.

She refused to look at him as she unzipped her skirt at the side – thankfully, the opposite side to where he was standing – and hiked it up just enough where she would be able to sit on the toilet, not wanting to flash him. she sniffled and bowed her head as she attempted to relax her muscles to relieve herself.

A lone tear escaped as she began to pee. The sound of her urine hitting the water was long. The one time she needed to pee fast and the opposite happened.

Once she was finished, she pulled up her skirt and zipped it up, feeling disgusted and violated.

She didn't need to look at him to know that he was watching her, that he had been watching her the whole time.

It was the most mortifying and horrific moment of her life.

Reaching back, she pressed the flusher and when it didn't work the first time, she tried again.

She jumped slightly as he spoke. "Leave it." He instructed.

She obeyed and turned to the sink to wash her hands. No soap or handwash. Just water. Freezing cold water.

Her fingers started to feel numb but she was glad to just be feeling anything.

"That's enough." His words were quiet but his voice held just the right amount of warning for her to gulp and turn off the tap. Her hands returned to her sides and she rested them against the side of her skirt, wiping away the water drops.

His ocean eyes assessed her, unwavering, watching her every move.

"Come closer."

She did.

He looked down at her, towering over her by at least half a foot. She flinched away when he raised his hand, afraid that he would strike her. Instead, he cupped her face and brushed his thumb against her cheek, tilting her face up. His hands were rough and his fingers calloused, but his touch was soft and gentle – a beautiful contrast for a dangerous man.

She dared not move away in fear of retribution.

His thumb travelled higher and brushed just under her eye. He pulled his hand back and placed it in front of her, just in her line of vision, presenting the lone tear to her.

She hadn't realised she was crying.

-

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L A Y L A   K N I G H T

10.05.2020