Drip . Drip. Drip.
Had it been hours? Days? Jon didn't know.
The sweat from his earlier struggles cooled uncomfortably against his skin while the itch on his nose intensified. He was colder than he could ever remember being. The chill in his bones had spread incrementally until it coated him, cracking his skeleton from the inside out.
He already felt defeated.
How long was he going to be left in this hole?
This darkness.
The hood over his face was starting to ripen. It tickled his ears uncomfortably - an incessant, tingling burn.
He could smell himself.
The drugs in his system had worked their way out - through sweat and tears and time he'd come back to sobriety - it was not an improvement.
He was going to lose his mind.
He'd fallen asleep for a spell. His head hanging uncomfortably with his chin on his chest- only to wake up with a sudden jerk.
Someone else was in the room, watching him. He'd swear he could hear them breathe but he didn't hear anything else. No footsteps, no shuffle of fabric - just silence.
Impenetrable silence broken only by that irregular drip - liquid on stone.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Who would do something like this?
To him?!
Names echoed through his mind - a Rolodex of faces - who had he angered this badly?
Some girl?
Her brothers?
A jealous boyfriend?
Some ineffective, righteously indignant father?
Had they followed him? Headlights in the dark and sleepless nights?
How long had they been planning this?
Did it matter that it was him?
One thing was clear - whoever it was - he was in serious trouble.
YOU ARE READING
Casually Cruel
Mystery / ThrillerBreakups happen every day. Sometimes, you lose it. *All homage, quotes, and allusions to the brilliant work of T. Swift were undertaken with the utmost respect and sincerity.
