Insane Love

Prologue

I enjoy being blindfolded and my hands bound.

Of course, saying that I should be more specific. I enjoy being blindfolded and my hands bound in the bedroom, with a sexual partner that I trust and with prior consent, of course. One must be careful when they go around saying things like that. Not that I believe the circumstances I currently find myself in have anything to do with my habit of being too open about my sex life.

The gag is a new one for me, I never normally get complaints about how vocal I am. I will be adding it to my list of things to try in the future though, I won't mention how I came upon this idea, however.

I'm not not turned on. That is reminding me that I really should make an appointment with that therapist Bella recommended for me. I know I have some serious problems, most of which I have carefully curated to be just part of my charm. So, the idea of seeing someone that is in theory supposed to cure me of all my personality quirks, makes me scared to meet the person I am underneath. That and I do not need to pay someone £200 an hour to be told that I have daddy issues.

I think it's the fear. When people were studying the human stress response, and how the sympathetic nervous system responses to fear, they concluded that the release of adrenaline causes a fight or flight response. I personally believe they missed an 'f', frisky.

A sharp turn and I'm slammed against the wall, just more fuel adding to the fire that is my messed-up response to this entire situation.

It's the smell that's the turn off. From what I can tell, I am currently in the back of a van. Just thrown in haphazardly. If the vehicle was to be in a road traffic accident at any moment, I would go flying about the place, most likely killing any other passengers and myself if the traumatising seatbelt commercial is to be believed. The one where the girl in the back is flung around the vehicle in slow motion.

Damp. That's the smell, mould and rust, like rotting wood and scrap metal. The hard floor beneath me is cold, but not wet, but the space seems big. It could just be the fact that it is empty that there is an echo when someone sat up front shouts "five minutes out."

"al'ight" The first time I realise that I am not alone in the back of this death trap.

My muscles tense even more, if it is even possible, I try to dig the soles further into the chipping board I can feel beneath my feet, more motivated than before to grip myself in place by any means.

We have been travelling for about an hour. I tried counting to begin with. I think I heard on a television show one time that I should try and count how long you have been driving for when you are kidnapped.

Kidnapped. Can I be kidnapped if I'm 25? That is not what is best to be worried about when I am being driven to my death. I heard that as well on a show I think, you are more likely to be taken to a secondary location to be killed, so try and stay where you are. The horse has already bolted with that one. There is nothing I can do now. I shouldn't have stopped counting.

I'm good at maths. No, I'm great at maths. So why is counting to sixty in my head repeatedly so hard.

How did my day go downhill so quickly? Just another day at the office; meetings, Lauren's endless smug comments, more meetings.

I chuckle to myself; I hate that girl, but I love her. I wouldn't be without her. What I wouldn't give to have her here with me now. Actually, no, I think I would much prefer to be wherever she is. It is problem much nicer, and smells better.

I rack my brain for why exactly I am in this situation. I come up with nothing. Other than being the owner of a successful clothing company, there is nothing about me even remotely interesting. I have very few friends, all of whom are ordinary and aren't involved in any criminal activities as far as I am aware. I am not involved with criminals, present company excluded.

It's a pointless effort, trying to work out why this is happening. I need to be figuring out how to get out of this damn place.

The van takes a sharp turn again, causing me to lose the precarious grip I had. I am thrown backwards, smacking my head against the side. I clench my jaw, squeeze my eyes shut. I bite back the pain at the back of my head. It takes me a moment to shake off the dizzy spell I am overcome with. What I do know is that I must be conscious to be able to figure out what the hell I am going to do.

I don't have anything to work with. I don't have my phone. I don't know where I am or who has taken me. I'm wearing my pyjamas, for fucks sake. I can't call anyone. No one knows where I am. No one even knows that I am missing.

Fuck. No one even knows that I am missing.

What the hell have I done? Lauren was right. If I could just pull my own head out of my ass for one minute, then this wouldn't have even happened. I wouldn't have ever been alone. He would have been with me.

No doubt as soon as I get myself out of this mess, Lauren will be there with a massive 'I told you so' sign. I will never hear the end of it.

I don't have long to punish myself and wallow in self-pity before the van comes to an abrupt stop. It's showtime.