Eighteen ➵ z.m. [Camp NaNoWriMo November 2015]

<1> A better question would be: do you know who I am?

Black, it was the only color that I could see. My thoughts were all muddled together, and I could barely put two and two together to equal four. As the seconds ticked by, I am able to gather my scatter brained thoughts enough to realize that something is concealing my eye sight: a blindfold of some sort.

Somehow I managed to be completely soaked in some type of liquid, my hair was drenched and when I shook my head back and forward the moisture landed on various spots on my face. After a quick sniff test, I determine the liquid was water.

In an effort to remove the concealment over my eyes, I make a move to untie the material only to come to the conclusion that my hands were bound together behind my back. Even my feet were tied together enabling me to thrashing and rock, in an effort to free myself.

The worse part about being constricted wasn't the fact that someone could attack me at any given time and I wouldn't be able to protect myself or the rope that was digging into my delicate flesh turning the covered skin red. The worst part was not knowing what I did to land myself in this situation. I couldn't even remember the last thing I did before waking up.

When it comes down to it, it doesn't matter what I did. All that matters right now was constructing a plan to get myself free from these binds and escaping whatever prison I was being held in. My hands and feet, the biggest two agruably important assests, were currently not available for my use.

Instead I had to rely on my wits to get me out of this predicament that I got myself into.

"Hello," I call out, testing out my vocal cords for the first time since regaining consciousness. My voice was a bit rough, but other then that everything was fine.

There was no answer, but I wasn't bothered in the slightest. I didn't expect for anyone to respond in the first place, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyways.

Just when I thought that I would have to break the bone in my wrist to slip out of my arm confinements, a voice sounded throughout the room bouncing around in an echo.

"Hello Ms. Wilde," the unknown voice greets me, in a tone I couldn't quite identify.

My head jolts up, and I am only met with more darkness.

"Who are you?" I ask steadying my rapid breathing to figure out which direction the voice was coming from. "Never mind; that doesn't even matter. A better question would be: do you know who I am?"

A deep chuckle is heard, along with a momentary screech. That's when I determined that the man wasn't in the room with me. He was communicating with me over an annoucement system of some type.

"Of course I know who you are. I deliberately addressed you by your sur name," he reminds me. I scoff before rolling my eyes. The man couldn't see my actions because of the blindfold over my eyes, but I was definately annoyed and he could probably tell by my body language, if he could see me that is.

"Well if you know who I am, then you must know my father as well," I say.

It wasn't like me to play the daddy card, but at this point I didn't have much of a choice.

There was nothing I could do, but try and talk myself out of the situation.

"Of course, that's why you're here," he responds. Pondering over his words, I come to the conclusion that I must have been kidnapped by someone who wanted something my father had. Most likely money or drugs.

"What ever you want, he won't give to you," I say meaning every single word. There was no way my father would give anything of importance to whoever my kidnappers were. I knew this for a fact.