Ariella Garcia is an 18-year-old girl who dreams of leaving her current situation behind and starting a new life. She's fiercely independent, and her love for nature and animals is unparalleled. She's always surrounded by people who care about her...
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* Trigger warning: Torture. I will put a sign there where it begins so if you aren't comfortable reading that part you can skip it.*
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I woke up, my head throbbing as I squinted my eyes open. Trying to move, I realized I was tied to an old chair that squeaked with every shift of my weight. Confusion clouded my mind as I struggled to remember how I ended up here.
The sight that greeted me was grim: blood smeared on the walls and a dirty mattress in one corner. Sunlight filtered through a small window, offering a glimpse of woods and a distant building. But the window was barricaded with metal rods.
Looking down, I saw blood staining my clothes and hands—Aaron's blood.
Suddenly the door flew open as a man entered the room, I remained silent, my heart pounding with fear and uncertainty.
He seemed unfazed by my presence, casually snapping a picture of me without a hint of remorse. I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and helplessness at being trapped in this room.
"Who are you?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He chuckled, a cold and menacing sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You'll find out soon enough," he replied cryptically, pocketing his phone and approaching me.
His touch on my face startled me, drawing me closer to him. I instinctively tried to recoil, but the chair beneath me squeaked, betraying my movement.
His grip on my chin tightened, anchoring me in place as he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to mine.
Before anything more could happen, a voice cut through the tension. "Boss needs you," announced a new person as he entered the room, stopping the man who was holding me.
With a final glance, the man released me abruptly, his focus shifting to the man's arrival. They both left the room closing the door as I could hear them locking the door.
Regularly, someone would come to check on me, ensuring I wasn't attempting to escape. They would offer me a piece of bread and a cup of water, placing them on the floor just out of reach, but I remained chained, unable to even grasp them.
I had no intention of eating or drinking anything they provided; who knew what they might have laced it with.
The chains around my arms and hands dug into my skin, leaving red marks on my arms.
As darkness settled outside, I couldn't help but wonder if my dad, my brother, Alexandro, and the others had noticed my absence yet.
The chill in the room seemed to seep into my bones, and I couldn't tell if it was solely from the cold or from the fear that gripped me.
