He slid his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a small key. Bringing the key closer, he unlocked the chain hook from the wall. I recoiled back instinctively. I was free from the wall, but my hands were still chained. I tried to stand up, but after sitting for so long, my legs had become numb. The diary felt uncomfortable, hidden beneath my shirt.

He stood up and walked to the closed door.

            After a few unsuccessful attempts, I stood up. I waited for a few seconds and took a step forward. His keen eyes were observing my movements intently. My stiff knees began to tremble and I was afraid that I might lose my balance. The last thing I wanted was to fall in front of him. I pushed back my tears and trudged forward awkwardly, the chains clashing between my hands. With folded hands, he watched my slow gait with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

            As soon as I neared him, he turned and unlocked the door. I thought of breaking into a run when the door opened, but then realised that it was utter stupidity as I could n't even walk properly and the door to the building was probably locked.

    I stepped outside. I could feel his presence right behind me, his breath fanning the back of my neck. It seemed like we were playing a mind game. He knew what I was thinking, what words I wanted to scream. He knew my deepest secrets, whereas all I could see was the darkness in his eyes.

It was not a large building as I had imagined it to be. It was a cottage. A cozy warm cottage, where retired people live when they become too old and tired for life. A bare mahogany table rested in the middle of the room. There was a small refrigerator in the corner. But what surprised me was the massive number of books and journals, which were arranged neatly in shelves across the room. Before I could look closer, his rough hands shoved me in the opposite direction.

I tumbled forward and walked a few steps ahead. There was a large opening in the wall, that possibly led to a room of some sort. I noticed that someone had removed the door, as the hinges were broken. I could n't see what was inside. Vague curiosity and fear compelled me to drag my body inside.

      It was a tiny bathroom. The white tile was cracked at places. There was a toilet and a faucet in the corner. There was no bath tub, just an old shower that looked like it could fall on my head any time. Like all other things in this house, it was spotless and clean. My kidnapper stood just outside the threshold, his body blocking the entrance.

I opened the faucet. Clear water rushed through the pipe, breaking the still silence. The metal chains weighed down my hands painfully. I bent down and placed my mouth near the opening and let the water wet my papered lips. My hands rested on the basin edges. I hadn't realised how much dehydrated I was until then. The water felt cool against my parched throat. I drank as much as I could and closed the faucet. An involuntary sigh escaped my lips in relief.

           I turned to face the figure standing still like a crude statue on the doorway. His eyes wandered over my body, covered in dirt and filth. He was not moving. What? Does he want me to take a shower? Because that is not going to happen. There is no way I am going to bathe in front of this creepy asshole.

As if hearing my thoughts, he pulled out something from his back pocket. The object gleamed, catching the light rays coming through the doorless opening.

   A rusted pocketknife.
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Author 's Note:
The dude is crazy, isn't he?
Tell me your thoughts in the comments ( suggestions for improvement are welcome too) and don't forget to vote. ❤️

P.S: Tell me one good quality about yourself.
Mine: *thinks hard* Kindness?! Maybe, Idk.