I need a break.

"Where are you taking me to? Steven, answer me dammit!" I yell frantically while pulling my body in the opposite direction to slow down this forsaken walk.

"Frank warned you about pissing me off!" He says hatefully. As he drags me through the passages, we make our way through one of the doors and my memory immediately sparks. In the distance, I see the stairs that lead to the dreary concrete basement.

"You don't need to show me your place of birth, you concrete slab. I have better things to do." I'm not lying. I really do have better things to do than to be dragged to a downstairs basement. Like taking a shower, eating, sleeping, avoiding Steven, the list could go on.

Steven doesn't reply. Instead, he picks up speed and yanks my arm closer to him causing me to stumble forward. Luckily, I don't fall this time. We soon reach the stairs and begin to descend them. Steven turns to the left door closest to the stairs and reaches for the door handle. Stop fooling around you idiot! He's going to kill you!  Guess who decides to pay a visit.

Welcome back from your vacation Jess. It's been a while don't you think? Just then, through all the pain this body of mine is enduring, I burst out with laughter at the realization that I asked my conscience to think and find it way too amusing. 

"What's so funny!?" Steven yells in my face.

Rude much.

"Nothing," I say, stopping my laughter. "I just had a moment. But you ruined it, so it doesn't matter."

Steven seems livid with my answer. He growls at me with his tomato red face before turning to open the door and proceeds to push me inside a dark room, him following suit. The door slams shut and the light in the middle of the room flickers on. 

What the- my mind begins.

"Where are we?" I ask nervously as my eyes latch onto the table in the middle of the room containing three rather odd items. A key, a washrag, and a freaking dog bowl. 

These people are weird.  

Steven walks over to me staying completely silent as he drags a chair across the cement floor. He places it in front of the table and glares over to me with a demanding expression as if to say sit down. Before I can protest I find my feet shuffling across the floor, dragging the rest of my body with them. Betrayer, the both of you! I yell internally as I sit and stare down at my feet. Steven walks around to the other side of the table. His body posture changes to that of a soldier.

"Pick one."

"Why?" I question, trying to buy some time so that I can figure out what each object represents.

"You put yourself in this position," he says ever so nonchalantly. Shoulders broad, feet apart, hands on his hips, he's rather confident with his response.

"No," I reply prolonging the 'o' sound, "I'm pretty sure that you did. Yesterday morning to be exact." I can't allow him to believe his own delusions, it's not healthy.

"Pick. One." 

Is he not even going to fight me? This isn't fair. I need to buy more time. I have yet to know which is meant for what. "And if I don't?" I question. Now he has to fight back. He never could resist being snide before. I doubt he'll be able to now.

Without saying a word, in one swift motion, he reaches his right hand behind his pants and pulls out a gun. My eyes widen with shock and I suddenly forget how to breathe. 

His next words don't make my state any easier either. 

"Then I'll pick for you. A bullet for each time you've pissed me off... And you'll be the one pulling the trigger." His eyes grow dark and mischievous, but confusingly that of the teasing type. He doesn't look capable of really killing me.

He can't. Can he?

"You wouldn't dare. Peggy-" I begin but he cuts me off. Not with his words, but a gunshot and panic immediately set in. My body stiffens to such a point it feels as if Medusa turned me to stone. I can't move, not even my eyes are willing to wander around my body to see where the bullet had landed. My eyes are fixated on Steven's face and soon his image becomes a blur. I can feel my body trembling. Trembling in fear.

"That was a warning shot. So for the last time. Pick one, or I do," he says sternly.

Wait, he didn't shoot you? Oh thank heaven, I for sure thought you were done for! Jess exclaims.

Honestly, I thought the same thing. Ironic isn't it? Earlier on I grew a six-pack laughing so hard at the idea of my conscience thinking. And now I find it completely normal. It's still humorous but now's not the time.

I look down to Steven's hand which holds the gun and see it pointed to the floor just next to me. With my heart pounding in my ears, I slowly follow the invisible trail from the gun to the floor and see the bullet damage on the ground. The bullet itself is nowhere in eyesight, it must have bounced off somewhere. I force my eyes to return their gaze to the table. I guess I have no choice but to choose one.

"The washrag." I finally make my choice. For all I know, he'll probably add dog food in the bowl and force me to eat, which I prefer not to do. The key seems too dodgy to even question and as for the washrag, I don't mind playing Cinderella. I just hope my prince comes early without expecting a grand ball.

"Your wish is my command." He places his gun back in his back pocket, before removing the bowl and key from the table. Leaving only the washrag and my curious mind behind.

"I wish that you would leave me the hell alone!" 

He doesn't respond to me. Instead, he walks to the back of the room and grabs a seemly heavy bucket which I failed to notice before. Well, it is difficult to see anything in this room really as there's only one dull lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

He places the bucket on the table in front of me. As it lands, I hear the sound of water splashing against each other. Steven makes his way behind me and removes zip ties from his pocket to tie my hands to the seat. Probably had it on him the entire time to tie me to the bed during the 'Triple E'. Now that I think about it, I'm actually surprised he didn't use it on me then.

Once my hands are secured behind my back and to the chair, he walks to the table. He picks up the cloth in one hand and reaches the other into the bucket. When he pulls out his hand from the bucket, a jug comes out with it. A jug? For wh- and realization suddenly dawns on me.

"Wh-why are you do-doing this?" I'm honestly scared to death and trying not to show it. I need to stall for time again. To convince him otherwise. "Do you respect me enough to obey my every command?" he asks sarcastically.

"You-you're kidding, right? Your respect for me is nonexistent. Why would I obey a heartless troll like you?" Yes, that's right. Let's just keep the conversation going.

"That's enough talking." 

Are you kidding me!? I can't help but scream at myself in anger. 

Steven moves his body closer to me. He grabs me by my hair and yanks my head backward, nearly snapping my neck off. He lets go of my hair and places the washrag on my face, holding it in place. "Please don't!" I yell frantically through the washrag, but he does exactly what I prayed he wouldn't.

Water suddenly explodes onto my face through the fabric. I try to shut my eyes and mouth at the same time, but for some or other reason my brain couldn't seem to cope with such instructions and went haywire instead. My eyes quickly dart close, while my mouth somehow opens wider. I try to catch a breath of air, instead, water brutally makes its way through my mouth and nostrils. Which is busy filling my lungs and I begin coughing, shaking and trying to grasp some air uncontrollably.

I shake my head around like a complete maniac, trying to get the washrag off of my face, but Steven holds it even tighter down. The water still trying to kill me. I can't breathe. My heart is throbbing so badly, each pulse in my body feels like a separate heart wanting to jump out at any time. I don't want to die like this! Not now! Not ever!

Please allow me to breathe! 

The tears stream down my face, my coughing worsens and the air around me seems nonexistent. I find myself wanting to give up, but I can't. I can't throw my life away because some guy in his late twenties decided it's my time to die. I can't leave my family and friends behind. I need to survive.

I have to make it through this.