A couple of weeks passed by, with the same routine.

In the morning, Brandon would bring me a granola bar and a water bottle. I would stay locked inside of the basement 'till the afternoon. Brandon would guide me to the bathroom upstairs. He would give me new clothes to wear.

Brandon would let me out of the handcuffs for a couple of hours. Escape? Nope. The door was locked, and the only window was sealed shut somehow.

No vents, just a cement floor and a brick ceiling. Chains and handcuffs. A bloody mattress as well.

Around dinner time Brandon would put me back in the handcuffs. I don't know why. He would then give me something like a microwave dinner to eat, and water.

Brandon came down the steps. He had another microwave dinner in his hands. He looked at me and smiled.

"Hungry?"

"What such a dumb question," I remarked. "Of course I am."

Brandon dropped the container onto the floor with a plop. He speed walked towards me and slapped me with his right hand, hard.

I cried out. Every time I said something sarcastic or wrong, he would hurt me. Slap me, punch me, kick me, etc. I wouldn't be surprised if I have bruises all over me.

"You don't deserve this dinner," he snarled. "Good thing I'm a nice person."

He slid the container in front of me.

I said in a kind tone, "I can't reach it. I'm on a mattress."

"Find out how to eat it. Good night."

"Bitch," I whispered under my breath.
He walked up the steps and shut the door.

It's so creepy, with the one lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. I should be used to that by now, but it seems impossible. This dream, this nightmare, is too much for my brain to handle.

I leaned down and smashed my face into the food. My arms hurt so freaking bad from being stretched out for so long. When will he trust me enough to take these damn cuffs off?

Mmm, potatoes. Salisbury steak. Sweet carrots.

Once I finished my food, I laid down onto my side. It took me an hour to fall asleep.

***

I woke up with a tongue sliding up my face.

I shot up. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I opened my eyes and a golden retriever panted in front of me. It's saliva dripped all over the floor. It looked like the dog was smiling.

"This is your new dog," Brandon announced. It seemed like he magically appeared behind it.

"Why the hell do I need a dog?"

"To keep you company down here. It's a boy and his name is Mandon."

I tilted my head. "Okay, cool! I have a dog! I don't know where the hell he came from, I don't know why it's a boy, I don't know why his name is Mandon, and I don't know how old he is! But I'll just go with flo."

Brandon walked over to me. He kicked me in my stomach.

I leaned against the wall, and I started hyperventilating. I started to cry.

"Stop being dramatic, drama queen. And there was no need for sarcasm. I found him waiting outside, in front of the door. Just as I was about to head out and get supplies, I almost stepped on him and I brung him in. Shit, I don't know why it's a boy either. I named him Mandon because it's a combination of our names, Miana and Brandon. Finally, he seems about six years old."

I simply nodded.

"So don't treat him bad."

I wanted to say, 'Like I do you?' But I kept my mouth shut.

"Man..." I trailed off. "I wish I could pet him."

Brandon took my neck into his right hand. He glared into my eyes and spat, "I try to do nice things for you. But you just don't know how to keep ya mouth shut, huh?!"

I stared into his pupils with panic.

"I had enough of your bullshit!" He unlocked my cuffs and dragged me up the stairs by my neck.

Author's Note

Wooo woo woo! Miana's sarcasm is gettin out of hand huh?