I am gradually dragged into consciousness at the sound of lose gravel crunching beneath a pair of feet, adjacent to me.
“Come now vixen, get up, don’t take the fun out of this so soon.” I hear the sting of a familiar voice say.
All too familiar now.
Vile builds in my stomach at the very sound of his voice.
I grumble a few generously slurred words in fragmented sentences; barley recognizable, even to myself.
Still groggy from my forced slumber, I struggle with moving my, surprisingly no longer restricted, arms.
I drag them in front of me, placing them before my face.
It feels as though my body is greatly fatigued, but my mind is still sharp and curious.
I lift my seemingly heavy head from the sharp gravel.
A few rocks are stuck in the left side of my face.
Imprints from the ground litter my cheek, and the parts of my body played ragged against it, I’m sure.
I swipe away the mixture of dirt and rocks from my soft skin.
My eyelids drag open over my sensitive eyes; red and irritated from the obnoxious chemical.
I rub the inner sides of my fingers against my eyes, just as a child would after crying.
It is dark outside, yet slivers of maroon and fuchsia are crawling on the ground, ever-so-slowly, creeping closer to me.
I conclude its almost morning now by the calm breeze dancing along my long black hair.
It’s chilling, yet strangely comforting in a situation such as this.
There must be mountains in the distance blocking the full effects of the blooming sunrise. At least I assume so, because I don’t know what else the momentous dark figures from afar could be.
My vision is hazy and tired.
I find myself continuously trying to focus my eyes, blinking hard and squinting in the direction of the sunrise.
“Oh stop, Drama-Queen. Now move, or I’ll give you a reason to.” The man says with a menacing growl.
His tone of voice is far more intimidating than it was in the vehicle before, and I start feeling more and more distraught just being near him.
The closer he is the worse I fear for myself and simultaneously struggle to regain full mobility.
His voice sounds mature, but I’m unable to distinguish approximately how old the man could be. He can’t be too much older, just by a few years. Maybe.
I pull my right arm closer to my face, setting it just under my chin.
I push my left hand out further in front of me and grab a handful of rocks, dirt, leaves, and anything else available to be clenched up into my small left handed grasp.
I retract my hand slightly, bringing it closer to me with small accumulation.
I knead the macadam amongst my fingers, truly feeling it, as if I may be able to recognize it.
Though saddened by my failed process of recognition, I let the collection slowly slip through my fingers, resembling water, as I accept the sounds of the small mass returning to it’s resting place.
I hear rustling in the loose ground, quickly approaching me, then feel a sudden sharp pressure on my left hand.
I can feel the man stepping down on the exposed fingers of my left hand, still partially extended.
“Ow, get off my hand, you dick!” I bellow. I look up in his direction but my vision is still slightly blurry.
“You don’t know how this sort of thing works, do you?…” He pauses, increasing the pressure on my hand and slightly rotates his foot, viciously grinding my fingers into the ground.
“I am your kidnapper, and you are the weak little girl who will do anything I demand, begging at my feet to not murder you in cold blood.” He breathes.
The man is silhouetted against the candy-orange sun as I look up at him with a harsh scowl and gritted teeth.
I am unable to see anything of him besides his blackened statuesque figure hovering above me.
“-To let you go back to you’re loved ones, promising to never tell anyone. You have had no say in what happens, ever since my friend so easily overcame you in your own house. How pitiful.” He continues, his voice changing from sheer confidence to what appears to be disappointment.
“HA! No chance that will ever happen, you self-absorbed lunatic. I will never grovel at anyone’s feet, none-the-less the feet of an obviously deranged man, who thinks he will be getting anything from me!” I sneer up at him from my prone position on the gravel.
He removes his foot from my freshly throbbing hand, as If anticipating my words.
He promptly leans down into a squatting position, balancing on his knees.
“You can Go… ” I begin with a heightened voice, but I am taken back as he grabs my chin in just three of his fingers.
“Fuck Yourse-” I try to retaliate, but he tightens his grip on my face, causing my lips to purse between his fingers; silencing me before I can finish my profane remark.
He simply stares at me.
He lifts his free hand to his face, hidden behind an ironic black ski mask, that I am now able to see he is wearing.
He pushes his lips out, muzzled behind the mask, brings up one finger, then aligns it vertically against his puckered lips.
He makes no sound, only the silent gesture, to ‘shush’ me.
The mask has two conveniently placed holes where his eyes are, but no others. My eyesight is finally beginning to normalize.
I see a small glimmer, of what appears to be red, in his barren eyes.
I jerk my head away from his grasp, but he has no trouble yanking my head right back into place, set yet again between his fingers.
My arms seem to be regaining strength but are still too heavy and tired, in comparison to what they would be if under regular circumstances.
I try to reach for him now that I have the chance, but the opportunity is wasted as my hands only make it up half the distance between us, in the dazed attempt to claw at his face.
Damn, my fragile condition!
I realize using nails isn’t the best strategy, but I’m too drained to punch him… yet… so they are all I have to work with as of now.
I hate the very thought of ever having to “fight like a girl”, but I’d rather do that than die, battling myself over pride. My arms might as well be oversized noodles; useless!
I feel so robbed, so weak, and so pathetic.
My arms are of little use to me in the time I need them most.
My legs, surprisingly, aren’t as weak. My legs have regained a larger portion of the rebuilt energy that had previously been stolen from me.
He notices my attempt at him, then shoots his free arm to my right side, snaking it around my ribs.
His eyes narrow into a hard glare.
He lifts me off of the ground, dragging me up to my feet by his duel grip on me.
He stands me up directly before him and instantaneously pulls me close to him, slamming my chest into his.
He sweeps his hand further, across my back, and leaves it there.
There are only a few inches left spaced between our faces.
I can feel his sinful breath against my face.
It is warm, yet slightly muffled by the material of the mask.
It smells of cinnamon gum.
I’ve never hated cinnamon more than I do right now.
He shifts his rough grasp on my face to a soft touch.
His fingers now almost fondling my chin, out of what seems to be sensuality.
You make my skin crawl.
Stop touching me.
Let go of me.
I swear, as soon as I have my strength, I’m going to punch you in the throat as hard as I can, and run as fast as I can.
I don’t know where I’ll go…
Anywhere, but here.
“I’ll give you a head start…” He hisses to me as if he read my mind like a book passage.
What? - can he hear my thoughts?
Can he hear me now?…
Can you hear me?… Screw you!
If you can hear me, I hope you fall in a deep hole and rot for the rest of your twisted life.
His breath pushes harder against my face, warming my nose and cheeks.
He is now close enough to my face to transfer the same air.
Gross. Gross. Gross.
“What?” I say over his strange touch.
“-To run. Try not to fall, don’t become tired too soon, And get as far as you can; I won’t wait long to come after you..
-Now that, who you referred to as, so-called ‘Mommy’ isn’t here to ‘protect’ you, I finally get to have my fun with you…” He pauses, taking a long drawn out breath. He moves his right hand from my chin down to the base of my neck, where it links with my collar bones. He clasps the skin of my throat firmly, yet strangely doesn’t hurt me.
He leans in close, stopping next to my right ear; His breath is hot against my exposed skin.
“I’ve been waiting sooo loong for this…” He whispers slowly into my ear, really drawing out a few select words.
“Make it worth my while for as long as you can, vixen, I bore easily” he purrs, attempting to camouflage the harsh nickname he has now apparently given me.
My sight clears fully and I notice just how close he really is. He is practically nuzzled into my neck.
He is also quite tall.
He doesn’t pull away for a few more seconds. He lingers in my personal space, hovering just over my neck with his hand painted around the base of my neck.
As he finally withdrawals, it feels as though he is a snake slithering over my shoulder. His hand is the last to be removed.
Chills are involuntarily sent down my arms and I can’t help but shiver.
He must notice, because he backs quite a few feet away from me. He steps back, far enough in front of me, that I can see him full view-head to toe, through finally focused, and unbound eyes.
He reaches his hand up to the back of his head and balls the material of the mask into his loosely gathered fist.
He drags the mask over his head then drops it to his feet where he stands.
My eyes want to fly out of my head at the surprise; Stalking the mask all the way to the ground. It rests itself on the tip of his left foot.
I figured all kidnappers would never take it off on account of intending to keep their identity concealed.
How stupid are you - to let me see you? You’re sooo going to jail when I get far enough away from you to get help…
If there is any, at least…
I’ll figure it out…
Now is not the time to panic.
Stay cool Viddía.
This guy must be stupid, so you could have a real chance!
Once my eyes spring back up from the ground to behold his face, I seize the opportunity to firmly focus on him for the first time.
To my absolute and utter shock, he is so innocent looking, so familiar looking… and so… attractive.
It feels like poison to even think such a thing.
Who?- How? -The hell is this?
Aren’t psychos supposed to look like decrepit older men? Yet here this one is looking like he’s in his 20’s. He seems so familiar though… Why can’t I shake the feeling?
He has a thin layer of beard spread evenly from one side of his jaw to the other; perfectly trimmed, edged, shaped, and kept.
He also has a small mustache coating his upper lip, meeting down to link with his thin beard.
His eyes, dark chocolate brown, are similar to his hair.
Though his hair appears almost black in this very dim light.
It is perfectly gelled upward, despite the mask, with a few pieces and strands struggling to break free from the unwanted form.
Beautifully structured cheek bones and slim cheeks shape down to his lips.
His lips are slim, yet oddly still full.
He is wearing a dark leather jacket over a blood red t-shirt clinging to his chest.
It’s not very big in comparisson to other large men, but still big enough to easily notice. He has a lean body and matching muscle definition, such as a sported swimmer.
Tight black jeans wrap firmly around his legs, followed by large, ankle-high boots. The boots, being laced all the way to the top, match with the colour of his jacket.
He appears to be a normal young man, but something is off about him; Extremely off. And its making me even more nervous. But I can’t figure out what it is.
As I am feeling more and more anxious with each passing moment, I begin to uncontrollably fidget on my feet.
I feel his thick brown eyes burn into me as I quickly look back to his face, noticing his sight is already focused dead on mine.
I can’t force myself to look away.
This is all just so strange.
What is he thinking?
What does he want?
Is it me he wants?
But if I was his ‘objective’ then why would he be dressed so nicely to supposedly murder me?
His eyes harden, a sinister smirk plays on his face, and he slowly begins to take small steps toward me. It feels like he is taunting me.
With each moment that passes, his eyes become darker and enraged.
He resembles an angry bull rearing his horns at me, as he approaches closer.
As he attempts to close the now smaller gap between us, he pulls a moderately sized pocket-knife from behind his back.
He moves to hold it in front of him as he flips it open. I mentally find my feet and start to back away.
My feet mimic his, as he builds speed, walking in my direction
With each step he takes towards me, I take one of equal, or less value backwards.
He lowers his head but keeps his eyes locked on me, causing shadows to overcome his face, leaving only his eyes illuminated in the weak rays of sunlight..
Rocks and sand grind together, slowly giving away in unison, beneath our feet.
I seize my spontaneous uproar of adrenaline.
I turn to run but I’m cut short by a truck parked conveniently behind me.
Unable to stop myself, I ram into the back-right door of the truck’s cab. My hands, feeling the full effects of my adrenaline surge, fly in front of me instinctively to block my face from hitting the vehicle, and are victorious.
He jumps at my sudden rush of movement and lunges at me.
Gravel violently kicks back, flying through the air, from his force against the ground.
I turn around against the truck just in time to see him now only a foot away from me. He is fast.
He has the metal gripped tightly in his right hand, as he is thrusting it in my direction.
Without thinking, I dive to the ground, landing on my hands, chest, and stomach; as he reaches me, just barley missing his attempted assault.
Rocks dig into my hands, and tear numerous small holes in my jacket.
I hear a tremendous shattering noice.
I look back over my shoulder in shock, through the hair freshly draped over my face and see the once solid window is now littering the ground beneath him in millions of fragmented pieces.