Listen to I Was Never There by The weekend and Gesaffelstein

The day blurred together in the unrelenting silence of the basement. I hadn't seen Enzo since yesterday. The cold had seeped into my bones, turning my body stiff, achy, every movement like a struggle against a weight I couldn't lift. The darkness pressed in on me from all sides, and time seemed to crawl, dragging me further into a place where I was barely conscious of the passing hours.

I could barely remember the last time I had eaten. I hadn't seen the light of day in what felt like an eternity. My body was starting to betray me, each breath I took weaker than the last, and my vision would blur every few moments. The hunger gnawed at me like a relentless beast, and the cold—oh, the cold—it was like a living thing that wrapped itself around my body, pulling me deeper into its grasp. My skin felt like ice, and I shivered uncontrollably, but no matter how hard I tried to stop it, my body wouldn't listen.

"Please... someone, help..." My voice came out as a broken whisper, barely audible in the stillness. The words felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else, but I clung to them, even though I knew no one could hear me.

My eyes fluttered shut as my body shook from the fever that had begun to take over, my stomach hollow, aching. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt warmth or comfort. Every inch of me was trembling, my thoughts growing hazy as the cold invaded my bones, turning them to ice. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. My toes were numb. My chest felt tight, and my throat was dry, no matter how much I tried to swallow.

Was this how it ended? In a dark basement, alone and abandoned?

I thought of my family. My parents. My younger brother, Landon. I wondered if they were okay, if they even knew what had happened to me. My mind drifted to them—was it too late for me to make it back? Would I ever see them again? My body felt like it was shutting down, my pulse slowing, each beat more labored than the last. I wondered if it would stop altogether. I could almost hear the quiet ticking of time, counting down, reminding me of what I had lost, what I was about to lose.

I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to stay awake, to hold on for just a little longer. But the darkness pulled at me. It was so easy to give in. So easy to let it take me.

And then, in that last moment, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. The weight of my exhaustion and fear was too much, too overwhelming.

Everything went black.

___________________________________

I woke with a start, my body heavy, as if I'd been submerged in water for far too long. My mind struggled to catch up, to make sense of the haze that still clung to my thoughts. The first thing I noticed was the scent of antiseptic, and the cool sensation of a needle pressed into the back of my hand. My gaze dropped to the IV drip that fed into my arm, the thin tube snaking its way down to a bag hanging from a stand by the bed.

Where am I?

I blinked, blinking harder to rid myself of the fog that refused to lift. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of a monitor somewhere nearby. The walls were painted a muted cream, with a few pictures on them, all the colors soft and calm—so different from the chaos I had been yanked into just days ago.

I looked down at myself. I wasn't cold anymore. I wasn't in the dark, filthy basement anymore either. No—now I was tucked into a clean, crisp bed, wearing a T-shirt and matching shorts, the fabric soft against my skin. It felt almost normal, the way the clothes fit me, the way the bed cradled my aching body.

I couldn't remember how I got here. Was it all a dream? Had I been hallucinating the cold basement, the violence, the fear? I wanted to believe that, to pull myself into the illusion of safety, but something gnawed at me—the unmistakable feeling that it wasn't over.

I tried to sit up, but the effort was met with resistance. My left wrist was cuffed to the frame of the bed.

What the hell?

I tugged at it, panic rising as I realized I couldn't free myself. The cold steel bit into my wrist, a reminder that I was still trapped. No matter how soft the bed or how calm the room, I was still a prisoner.

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. A faint click of heels echoed as the door to the room opened. A woman walked in—her expression neutral, almost too calm, too composed for someone walking into a room where a hostage lay. She was holding a tray of food, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and warm toast filling the air.

She glanced at me, her eyes flicking to the handcuffs, but she didn't say anything.

I glared at the maid, anger boiling under my skin. "Let me go," I demanded, my voice hoarse, but sharp. "I won't sit here like a damn prisoner any longer."

The maid froze, her hands trembling as she clutched the tray of food. Her wide eyes shifted nervously between me and the door, a look of fear overtaking her previously composed expression. She clearly wasn't expecting this kind of confrontation.

"I—I can't," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm sorry."

I didn't care. I didn't care that she was terrified or that she was just doing her job. I needed to get out of here.

"Eat. You need your strength." She asked softly.

With a snarl, I pushed the tray of food away with my foot, the plates clattering on the bedside table, spilling their contents onto the floor. I wasn't hungry. I was furious. Furious and desperate.

Maybe, just maybe, this was my chance. The maid was scared. The house was quiet. Could this be it? Was this my moment to slip away without him here to stop me?

I felt the tightness of the handcuffs, but my mind was already working, already focused on the small details. I yanked at the IV in my arm with my teeth, a sharp pain shooting up my wrist as the needle tore free. I winced but ignored the sting. I wasn't going die here.

Before I could even attempt to stand, the door creaked open.

I froze. My heart slammed in my chest.

There he was.

Enzo.

Leaning against the doorframe like he owned the space, arms crossed, his eyes glittering with that unnerving amusement. That damned smirk spread across his face, twisting his features into something cruel. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine, a sickening cocktail of rage and terror bubbling in my gut.

"Where are you running to, love? We're just getting acquainted." His voice was smooth, taunting, and as he stepped into the room, I froze. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in. I hadn't imagined it would feel like this to meet the devil himself.

"Leave." The maid scurried away without a second glance, as though his command held the weight of absolute power.

"You really think you can just run away that easily?" His voice was low, a venomous whisper that slithered across the room. Every step he took was deliberate, every movement designed to remind me of the suffocating control he held. He entered the room fully now, his presence like a storm cloud, dark and ominous.

I felt my heart race. I wanted to run, to scream, but my body refused to move, paralyzed by fear and helplessness. The words I needed to say were trapped in my throat.

"Please..." The word escaped me, raw and desperate. I could barely recognize my own voice. "You can't keep me here. I won't tell anyone... I'll leave. I swear. Just... just let me go."

His smile didn't budge, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—narrowed with amusement, like he was watching a mouse squirm in a trap. Then, as if he found me utterly inconsequential, he reached into his pocket with an eerie calm, pulling out his phone.

His smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with smooth precision.

"Doctor," he said, his voice now cold, professional. "She's awake, and she pulled the IV." He listened for a moment, then sighed, clearly uninterested in whatever the doctor was saying on the other end.

When he hung up, he looked at me with that same chilling calm, as if he had all the time in the world and I was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

"I need to keep you alive for now," he said, his voice flat, detached. "The doctor said you need the fluids and electrolytes."

I opened my mouth to argue, to fight, but he cut me off.

"Once you're nourished, you'll be returned to the basement," he said, as though the words were nothing more than a simple fact, like telling someone the time of day.

My heart plummeted. The basement. The cold. The darkness.

I stopped fighting. There was no point anymore. My body, weak and trembling from hunger, cold, and exhaustion, gave in. I collapsed back onto the bed, staring blankly at the wall as the hopelessness washed over me like a tidal wave. My chest felt tight, my heart heavy, and I couldn't shake the feeling of being completely alone in this nightmare. I had no one. No way out.

I could feel him behind me, even though he didn't say a word. His presence was suffocating, like an invisible weight pressing against my back. He didn't touch me, but I knew he was there, his gaze trained on me like a predator watching its prey.

I didn't have the energy to look at him, to fight or beg anymore. The tears were there, but they wouldn't come, not yet. My throat felt tight, like I was choking on everything I couldn't say.

The door opened then, and I heard the soft shuffle of feet as the someone entered.

Without a word, the person set to work on my IV, inserting a fresh needle into my arm with practiced ease. I winced at the sensation, but didn't even have the energy to protest. I just lay there, eyes closed, doing my best to ignore everything around me.

Enzo didn't speak. He didn't move. I didn't know if he even cared enough to watch. The quiet, oppressive stillness of the room wrapped around me like a blanket, suffocating and thick.

When the doctor finished, Enzo finally turned and left without another glance, the door clicking shut behind him.

I didn't even try to stop myself then. I let the tears fall, the weight of everything crashing down. I cried—not just for the pain, the fear, and the helplessness—but for the part of me that had hoped for something different. That had believed there might be an escape.

But there wasn't.

And deep down, I knew that if I didn't stop fighting, I'd break.