Overexposed

Questionable Motives

Chapter 10: Questionable Motives

Hour one. I haven’t heard or seen anything that indicates someone is coming for me, but this only makes me more anxious. The initial burst of adrenaline has worn off, leaving me with the crippling sensations of dread and hopelessness. Each sound makes me stiff with terror, impeding my ability to form coherent thoughts.

Hour two. Shadows have been passing along the lines of light that stream into the shed, the stark contrast in brightness making it impossible to see exactly who might be moving in front of the enclosure, but still no one comes for me. Between these brief not-confrontational visits, either patrols or dealers passing me coincidentally, making my heart attempt to hammer free of my chest despite their unknown identity, I am now confident enough of the non-imminence regarding my retrieval or torture to endeavor to escape. The switchblade in my pocket is my only readily available tool. I just have to figure out how to get it.

Hour three. There’s good news and there’s bad news. The former first, I’ve managed to get the gag out of my mouth, but don’t dare utter a sound with Abscido so close at hand. However, with my wrists bound together behind my back using a plastic zip tie, it has proven impossible to get a hold on my only weapon. I can’t reach around, I can’t wiggle it out, I can’t get my arms to my front. Frustration and despair cause me to search elsewhere.

Hour five. I REALLY have to pee. My stomach is turning itself inside out. My mouth has gone dry, despite the fact that the cloth is no longer absorbing saliva. Because I can’t get to the switchblade, I have begun rubbing my apparently tough finger nails against my bondage, but this means movement in my wrists, the abrasive nature of the plastic leaving them raw. Soon enough I can feel the sharp sting of open cuts.

Hour ten. The sun is now directly shining through the two horizontal slots in the shed, blinding me, making me sit against the door. I’ve managed to take care of my bathroom needs in the corner. I’ll spare you the details, but it involved intricate shimmying partially out of clothes and wall sitting. Warm, sticky blood coats my hands now, dripping from my wrists and fingertips, my nails sawed down to their beds. The gag is in my mouth again, not because someone replaced it as no one has come for me yet, but because I needed something to bite on to keep myself from screaming in agony. Montreal has left me alone and I don’t want to produce the noise that becomes the catalyst to the start of my torture. The less attention I bring to myself, the better.

Hour twenty. The sun has long since set, leaving me in close to complete darkness. There is nothing left to saw at the ties, so I resort to twisting my wrists to try and make SOME sort of strain on the material. My jaw hurts from constant clenching and my cheeks are soggy from silent tears, though they’re beginning to dry up. Is this how Tess felt when she was being held by Abscido? Desperation hangs in the air like a bad smell. While there is no evidence to support my thoughts, my anxiety begins to rise again in the dead of night, the atmosphere change making me believe that he will come, Montreal. But he hasn’t and he doesn’t.

Hour twenty one. Exhaustion has put my body through artificial torture, adding on to the list of things making me miserable. The patrols or passersby have taken to hitting the side of the shed with something metal, making me start awake every time I begin to drift off. After thinking the first one was a gunshot and then realizing that nothing had really happened, I’m only partially startled as they continue the action at uneven intervals. All the same, I’m still prevented from sleeping.

Hour twenty three. My eyelids are so heavy that I can barely keep them open, even when the occasional dog barks viciously, distant sirens sound, or the Abscido assholes come around, banging on the side of my metal coffin… yet, I’m started awake at the smallest sound, a snap. The zip tie has finally broken! But at what cost? I can no longer feel my wrists, only the skin around them stinging like a million paper cuts. This doesn’t faze me though- because I’m one step closer to freedom.