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Pain sears through my body like that's all it was made for. My arms are suspended above me and pain shoots through my body from my legs to the crown of my head.
Is this what death feels like? A black hole slowly roaming my body, wreaking havoc on every inch of my skin. I'm hot and cold all at the same time.
My eyes are heavy and I can feel liquid trail down my temple and drip onto my bare shoulder. A chill rushes through my body, I can feel a breeze on my stomach.
There's no clothes on me except for a tank top that rolled up and my panties. I can feel it.
Even when I open my eyes completely, save for a brief haze, I'm still submerged in darkness. A room cannot be this dark unless I'm underground or buried alive.
But I can't be because I'm hanging by my fucking wrists.
I deduce that there's a bag over my head.
Where the hell am I? How the hell did I end up here?
My memories slowly return — it was Thomas. He was a bad guy all along, waiting to get me. And do what? Kill me?
Oh my God, am I going to die?
I resist the urge to call out for help. I doubt that would do much if I'm still submerged in darkness and silence.
I remain with my head bowed in case there's someone in the room with me. If I can pretend I'm asleep for long enough, then maybe that'll prevent them from doing much else.
But what have they done already? Other than strip me, tie me up, and put a bag over my head? I don't know what is happening. I don't know where I am. I don't know how to breathe or think or move.
My lower body feels transparent, like I'm paralyzed in the cruelest way possible. Are my legs even still here? I know I told myself I'd pretend to be asleep but I can't help the urge to shift my legs so I know they're still there.
I move in the slightest just for something to slam like a metal door against brick and a bright light to illuminate the bag over my face. I jump in shock but try to keep my composure.
A voice speaks in a foreign language — something Eastern European but I can't put it together. And even if I could really register everything around me, his voice would be the last thing.
Heavy boots slowly step toward me and I can hear my breathing start to become labored. Before I have a chance to think about what he could want so close to me, rough hands pull the bag off. I move fast enough to squint my eyes shut in order to avoid the sudden rush of light but instinct tells me to open them and get a good look at the man in front of me.
"Hi, princess." The voice and accent is too familiar but it's not coming from in front of me — there's two people in the room. Except one must have been here all along because I only heard one set of shoes walk in.
