11. Confined
Lucas • Sometime Friday morning
My nerves are still jangling around. Minutes or hours go by, I can't tell. Time seems to bend as I stay curled in a tight ball for what feels like an eternity. But I must have checked out at some point because a key turning the lock in my door jolts me awake, and I bolt upright in bed, clutching the blanket tightly around me.
I'm able to release my breath when it's only Matteo who walks in wearing casual jeans and a navy polo shirt. He's carrying a tray and something else tucked under his muscular arm. He sets the tray on the floor and then a small pile of my neatly folded clothes beside it—thank freakin' god!
"Buongiorno," he says solemnly, his eyes weary from lack of sleep.
The smell of coffee hits my nostrils. "Thank you," I say earnestly, happy for even a small moment of normal human interaction. He shoots me a quick look of pity before diverting his gaze, backing out of the room, and quickly shutting the door again.
I wait for a minute while I wrap the blanket securely around my waist. Then, with my eyes on the security camera, I quickly get off the bed to retrieve my clothes, swiftly tugging on my pants and shirt. Once dressed, several knots of tension loosen in my stomach—so much so that I register a new feeling in my stomach: hunger. Bending down, I pick up the tray. There's a pastry, a bowl of grapes and blueberries, yogurt, and a cappuccino. Wow.
Bringing the tray over to my bed, I sit down and pick up the pastry, which looks kinda similar to a croissant. I take one slow bite, letting the flaky texture and silky cream filling fill my senses. I don't normally drink coffee, but it's all they thought to bring me to drink, so I down the little cup in one gulp.
After fishing on my breakfast in less than a minute, I stretch out on the bed in my freshly washed clothes and a full belly. I feel semi-normal—good even. Hopeful. I smile as I stare up at the arched brick ceiling.
It doesn't seem like they want to harm me after all. My family will either pay whatever sum they want, or they'll get the police involved, and I'll get out of here.
However, that small glimmer of optimism wanes as time drags on, and the caffeine kicks in without an outlet. An intense, restless anxiety courses through me, and now I can't sit still. The cool cement feels gritty on my bare feet as I pace back and forth. But the room is too small, and pacing seems to make the walls come in on me even more, so I get down on the floor and do my dad's home fitness routine of sit-ups and push-ups.
My dad can easily do five reps of twenty push-ups, but I can only do ten. Maybe by the time I'm out of here, I can match him. I decide that's a good goal to keep a focus on. After a while, I'm totally physically exhausted and lie back down on my bed like a wet pool noodle, but dread still lurks in the depths of my stomach, slipping in and out of crevices when I least expect it like an eel.
Eventually, the door swings open again, and Matteo enters with another tray of food, and saliva draws into my mouth when I see it. He picks up the old tray to take it away when it occurs to me—I'm also extremely thirsty.
"Can I get some water?" I rasp as he turns to leave, my voice dryer than I thought it'd be.
"Perché?" He asks over his shoulder.
"Um, A glass of water, please?"
"Mm," he hums and then leaves.
I'm not quite sure if that means he's going to get me some or not, but I won't waste another minute—I scramble to the floor, and my eyes go wide with how good it looks and smells.
There's a bowl of perfectly creamy wide ribbon pasta with crisp peas and fish, a slice of fresh homemade bread, a small bowl of olives, a salad, and some ice-cold lemonade. I immediately drain the glass of lemonade and dig in.
My eyes roll back in my head with the first bit of pasta. I think this is literally the best meal I've ever had! Finishing off the pasta, I sop up the leftover sauce with the bread, and I'm nearly melting with how good and fresh it is when I nearly jump out of my skin as the door opens again without warning. I scoot across the floor on my butt like a spooked squirrel caught eating crumbs off the floor.
But it's only Matteo again, and he sets a big pink water bottle down by the door. "Ecco qui," or here you go, he says, and then promptly leaves.
Pink?
A crease forms between my eyebrows. It seems like such an out-of-place color for rough Italian kidnappers.
I get up off the bed to retrieve it and look it over. It has an anime boy and some girly heart stickers on it. The young girl's voice I heard in the hall wafts back into my memory. Huh. The notion that it could be hers makes it feel so... personal.
I feel strangely comforted and... something else. I mean, it feels nice, whatever it is. This house can't be so scary if a girl could live here.
I open the cap and take a sip. The water is so fresh and cool that I almost drain half of it before I realize that it's probably going to be the only water I get for a while. I cap it and return to finish off my lunch.
Hours go by with nothing to do but pick my nails and count the stones in the walls and bricks in the ceiling, and soon, I lose all perception of time. Have I been here all day yet? I keep having the urge to reach for my phone. I know I don't have it; it's just a habit, I guess. I wonder what my friends are up to. I imagine them getting ready for the school pool party. Fuck. How I wish I was there instead of here. Damn, I miss them. I wonder if any of them are... missing me.
Swallowing down a little lump in my throat, I try to imagine Lindsey Honeycutt in her pink bikini playing pool volleyball with me, but it just makes me sad again instead. Pressure builds in my chest, and I turn over to face the wall as my throat starts to squeeze around another sharp lump. I blink away the stinging moisture forming at the edges of my eyes before one stupid tear breaks loose anyway and rolls down my cheek.
Fuck, this sucks so hard!
Looking quickly over my shoulder, I see the abyss of backness that is the security lens. That fucking camera's still on me! I turn back over, bite my lip, and will myself not to completely break down in sobs. I don't know why I even care, but I guess I don't want to make myself look as weak to them as I feel.
Dinner comes and goes, and I'm zoning out—just staring at this goddamn brick ceiling. But my bladder is now screaming at me, so reluctantly, I get up to finally use the bucket they gave me. I wedge the bucket and myself as far into the corner as possible, zip down my fly, and relieve myself with a groan. Funny how good a piss can feel when you've held it in all day.
As I stare at the light switch by the door, I come to the conclusion it's probably a good idea to try to sleep again because what the hell else am I going to do? But I just can't bring myself to turn the lights off, so I return to my bed and attempt to sleep with them on. It's so hard—I'm so exhausted, but my mind won't let me sleep. As soon as I try to close my eyes, they immediately pop open again. I just feel way too vulnerable with them closed... even with the lights on. They open and shut, open and shut, and then they catch on the dark red patch on the floor.
Scrunching my eyes closed, I try to think of something calming, but it's too late. Beyond my control, my heart starts thumping, quickening its pace. All I can think of is Wolf Eyes coming back into the room with the gun and making a new stain on the floor.
It's okay. They don't want to hurt me. They just want their money. My parents will come for me eventually... if I haven't snapped by then.
How long will I be in here? A week? A month? Isn't this like solitary confinement? Will I lose control? Go stark raving mad. Start scratching the walls and my body?
Oh fuck.
I start to feel reality slipping through cracks in my mind like sand, which only spikes my alarm and panic all the more.
Calm down. They probably aren't coming back till morning;
What if I need more water?
The more you drink, the more you'll have to pee in that gross bucket. Fuck, I think can smell my piss from over here.
Cortisol is flooding my arteries, making it hard to breathe.
Is there even air in here now with all these ammonia fumes? How long until I suffocate?
The weakened logical side of my brain screams that I need to try to claw back control, so I do what my mom has taught me.
Count five things I can see: security camera, door, light switch, water bottle, blood stain. Shit. I shake the thought out of my head. Moving on. Four I can touch: My leg, the mattress, my blanket, the concrete... with the stain. Stop thinking about it! Three things I can hear...
Damn it! The only thing I can fucking hear down in here is my own out-of-control heartbeat!
I abandon that and just count and breathe. Curling up into a ball on my side, I clench my eyes shut and assure the terrified five-year-old inside me that I won't die. I start counting, and at somewhere around one thousand, I fall asleep.
One day turns into two, and it's sometime in the early evening... I think. I had lunch a while ago, but I have no goddamn idea what time it really is. Today, I ate my food slowly, savoring each delicious bite. It's my one pleasure, and it's the one thing that also breaks up my days and helps me tell time. If it weren't for Mateo to bring in these trays, I think I would really go crazy.
God, I wish I had my phone. Besides being able to call for help or even talk to someone, I'd love to play a video game, listen to my music, or just know what the hell day it is!
My new activity is trying to estimate the time before my next meal arrives, and I'm counting up to three thousand six hundred, which should technically take me an hour. It's very boring, yes, but it keeps my mind away from other things I don't want to think about and helps me stay focused and relatively calm.
The startling sound of quick, light footsteps coming down the hall has me sitting up in bed, making all my senses light up—attentive. Hold up. That doesn't sound like Matteo...
As the footsteps slow and stop in front of my door, I inhale sharply, waiting for the key to enter the lock and the door lever to move, but, yet, it stays unnervingly level.
"Hello?" I call.
No answer. Instead, a dark shadow moves over the keyhole, and an eye blinks.
What the hell?!
"Who's there?" I say, both highly curious and slightly freaking out.
I wait for an answer, but the shadow vanishes, footsteps quickly echoing a short distance away, followed by the sound of a door quickly opening and closing. What just happened? However, before I can fully grasp this odd event, two male voices resonate from further down the hall.
"È passata una settimana, per quanto tempo lo terrai rinchiuso qui?" One voice rattles off and I make out the words 'how long' and 'locked up'.
"Non lo so," a second voice spits in frustration, saying he doesn't know.
"Cosa sta succedendo?"
The first guy asks what's going on, and I get out of bed and creep to the door to hear more. The men talk about someone being unable to pay in full and only having three-quarters of the amount they want. I'm pretty sure they are talking about my parents, and my stomach packs itself into a heavy ball.
"Ma i Regali sono ricchi. Ci credi?" one of them asks, not believing that my wealthy family can't pay.
"Boh. Ho un idea," the second guy growls. Then I hear heavy footsteps approaching, and I quickly stumble back from the door and land on my butt on the bed.
"Aspetta, Vito!" Wait Vito, he says. "Che cosa hai intenzione di fare?" He asks what he's going to do.
"Nessun problema, Matteo," the voice drops lower, transitioning to English as the key turns in the lock, "This will be quick."
The next thing I know, the door is flung open with a bang against the wall, and Wolf Eyes, whose real name is Vito, I guess, walks through. My heart rate spikes as adrenaline deploys like a missile through my arteries.
"Dai! Up, up," Vito commands, gesturing with his hand.
I swallow. "W-why?" My voice box feels dry and weird from lack of use.
A smile crinkles the edges of his icy eyes, freezing me over with fear, and I pull the sheets tight around me. Then he pulls out his sleek handgun out of his dark blue suit. "Your parents seem to need a little more... motivation."
"But, I, I," I stutter.
"Get over here now!" He commands, gesturing in front of him with the gun.
"Kneel."
"What?" I croak.
"Don't make me repeat my words, raggazzo. I get nasty when I am irritated. You wish to see that?" He cocks his head, and a razor-thin line of light bulb reflecting off the gel in his slick jet-black hair slices into my eyes.
I shake my head. "Okay, okay," I whimper. Every bone in my body is shaking as I lower myself to my knees before him.
His hand moves slowly down toward his pants, and I wince, but then it dives into his pocket, and he pulls out his phone. He taps the phone a few times with his thumb, and I hear a tone.
"Get ready to say hi to your parents."
https://youtu.be/5vrP3YB7iAg
**Book Shoutout**
If you are enjoying the suspense and drama in this book, you should also check out the duet "Flames of the Forgotten" and "Embers of the Remembered" by the talented HeidiCarroll. These books are gripping, dramatic, romantic suspense stories of survival and young love with a mafia connection. Everything Heidi writes is amazing, and her characters are always so complex and real. I highly recommend her work. ♥︎ Louisa
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