2-

Chapter two.

Darkness. Silence. Pain. Confusion. Inexplainable thoughts. A dank, cold floor beneath me. My vision is blurred. I feel like I'm high, or overly intoxicated with one too many shots of vodka. My shaky hands, which are bound together, lift to my aching head. My throat is practically burning from all the alcohol I have consumed and my slender fingers wrap around the material covering my eyes and swiftly pull the fabric off my face, moving it down so the blindfold rests carefully on my heaving chest.

I've been kidnapped, while intoxicated at a bar to forget my jerk of a boyfriend. A hot guy approached me, he made me comfortable and we drank together, he wasn't drunk but he got me drunk beyond belief, then he promised to take me home, but he didn't. My mind blurs and my eyes well up with tears. I'm never gonna see my family again. No no no, I need to come up with a plan.

I beg my body to move as hangover hits me hard, but I can't lift myself. I look down at my shivering hands and notice rope binding my fragile wrists together, red scratches lining my skin from the uncomfortable movement. I groan and tug at them, desperate to free myself. Cries of frustration fall from my lips and I mentally slap myself for making noise, if there's any way to be quiet and let him to believe I'm sleeping then I'm sticking with that plan. Cursing under my breath, minutes pass before it begins loosening and I slowly slip my hands out of the knots with a large sigh of relief.

I quickly rub each wrist to get the blood flowing again before jumping up, patting myself on the back for taking my heels off last night. I don't even bother fixing my dress, since that's currently the least of my concerns, and simply focus on quietly tip toeing down the dusty hallway. Large, black picture frames are lined along the hall in both directions, each frame containing artwork. Each image darker than the next, each containing horror and death and torment. It's highly disturbing and only adds to my anxiety.

My feet move swiftly along the deep wooden floor boards and I reach the top of the steps, peaking down to see if Harry was in sight. When he's nowhere to be found, I hastily rush down the creaky steps and look around, still not seeing him. Maybe with my luck he went shopping or left the house, assuming I'd be passed out for another couple hours.

I inhale and exhale heavily, nerves chaotically rushing through me, anxiety coursing through each and every vein in my body. Excitement and hope also fills me. My feet move across the wooden floor and my hand reaches for the front door knob, fingers lapping around it and softly turning it. I pull the door open feeling accomplished, knowing this is half the escape plan already.

But when my eyes land on Harry, panic hits me. His back facing me, a cigarette in between two fingers as he exhales a huff of smoke. Everything in my mind screams and echoes, I can't think straight, and I mentally pinch myself in hopes this is all merely a dream and I'm not stuck here, but I've learned throughout life that if you can't wake up from the nightmare, maybe you're not asleep. A small breath fell from my lips but he must've heard the door as he turned around with wide eyes. I scream and slam the door just as he begins to stand, my shaky hands locking the door before I step back and see him start running to the back of the house, so I follow along and run fast as my long legs would take me. Locking the back door, my mind rushes to the next step. He's locked out, but he's kicking the back door, slamming against it in anger and desperation. I'm safe for a few minutes.

I need to find a phone. My body feels stuck in place, like I'm glued to the spot as I simply stare at the backdoor where Harry angrily shouts and bangs his fists. Finally, I snap myself out of it and rush to the living area where I dig around under pillows and newspapers in search of a phone, breathing heavy and body shaking. No words can describe my current emotion, it's a combination of stress and fear but also a splash of anger and hatred. The only reoccurring thought rushing through my mind is 'this man is smart, he tricked me once, I thought he was a nice guy, but here he is, slamming his weight against the white metal back door which is started to budge despite the four locks running along its hedges, if I don't find a cell phone fast so I can contact the police, he will kill me.'

I groan in frustration and tuck the loose strand of hair behind my ear before dropping the two throw pillows in my hand and running toward the kitchen, eyes scanning the countertops before my hands reached to the cabinets and I began digging, in search of my lifeline. This is my chance, I just need the phone, but Harry's shouts are getting louder and his anger is increasing, if I don't call the police my punishment after being caught will most likely end with my blood splattered across this large kitchen. "Kaitlyn!" He yelled, trying to sound calm suddenly, but still inhaling and exhaling heavily like the big bad wolf who's trying to blow my house down. "Just open the door, I don't want to hurt you, just let me in." He repeated the same line three times, trying to coax me.

For a mere moment, I allowed his words to stop me from moving, until the second time he said it and slammed his body hard against the door, making the locks shake at his aggressive behaviour. I snap my attention back to my escape mission, knowing he's trying manipulate me. I search across the room desperately, hearing the back door finally break open in the same moment my eyes catch a glimpse of a phone on top of the fridge just meters away from me.

My breath falters and time moves in slow motion as both of our feet slam against the flooring, my body toward the refrigerator and his toward mine. Beads of sweat slowly trickle down my face, both anxiety and adrenaline pumping in my veins with strength and passion, fear of my death is the only thing keeping my heart beating. My hands reaches for the phone, so I can call for help, so I can be free, keep living a normal life, and see my family again. But just seconds before my fingers grasp the silver phone hidden in the now messy kitchen, a large hand picks up the object and I look up in horror to see a smug grin across Harry's face. A set look of satisfaction in his dark eyes as he holds my lifesaver in his very hands. My mind is running faster than a race-horse but the only thing that hits me like a load of bricks is that I failed, and I'm going to die.

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