Never Enough Tomorrows: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel By Christopher Hugh Mills.

Angelica

Angelica worked on her art to pass the time. She drew and sketched in crayon, it was the only art supplies he allowed her, with construction paper to draw on. He wouldn't let her have anything she might be able to hurt herself with, i.e. pens, pencils, shoe laces.

Her drawings in crayon were very good, as good as if she had done them in oils or acrylics. She had been interested in art before he had taken her, when she had been twelve years old. Since then he had kept her in this very basement for years. By her best guess, she was eighteen years old now. She has had the time to perfect her technique.

She finished adding the last touches to her picture, some darker reds on the Robin. She liked drawing birds, they represented freedom to her. She wanted to fly from this place, fly free from this sick, sick man.

The day she had been taken she had been a royal pain to her parents. She had wanted to go to a friend's party, her parents had said no and she had thrown a fit. They had sent her to her room without her supper. She had planned to sneak out after her parents had gone to bed. She wasn't going to go far, just down the street to the park.

Her mother had come up to talk to her about her behavior. They had talked and Angelica had told her mother she was sorry, and she had been. She loved her mom and dad very much and wanted to be a good girl for them.

She had second thoughts, she really did, but in the end her rebelliousness wanted her freedom from their seemingly endless rules.

She snuck out the window and made her way down to the park. She walked over to the swings and sat down. She stayed about twenty minutes and then got bored. She smiled a little thinking her parents would be none the wiser.

She was a pretty girl, long, wavy strawberry blonde hair, blue-green eyes. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks gave her a look of innocence.

When she reached the park exit he attacked, coming out of the trees where he had been hiding and watching her. He hit her hard before she could make a sound, knocking her unconscious.

When she came to, she found herself in the basement that would be her prison for years after. He had stripped her down to her underwear and had taken her clothing.

That first time he had come down into the basement she had cried and tried to cover herself. She had begged and pleaded to be let go. He had only smiled that creepy smile he always seemed to wear on his fat face. He was a large man, fat and unkempt. He was bald with piggy eyes and a bushy red goatee.

He had talked to her that first night more than he would the rest of the time he held her captive. He told her how he had been watching her for weeks, waiting for the chance to take her. Imagine his delight when she walked right into his arms in the park. She had delivered herself to him on a silver platter.

He raped her that first night. He was bigger than her so even though she had fought it had really been no contest. It had hurt, oh how it had hurt. When he had finished he had left her on the mattress, curled up in a ball, crying for her mommy and daddy.

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    She had no idea where she was, she had been unconscious when he put her in the basement. She didn't know how far away or close she was to her family. She missed her mom and dad but she was beginning to forget them. She was losing her memories of their faces.

     All she knew was this basement and her captor. The basement was always the right temperature, never too hot, never too cold. There was a single mattress in one corner where she slept and where he...defiled her.

     In the opposite corner was a make up desk with a plastic mirror and drawers for her tools to make herself up. He wanted her to be pretty.

     Off the basement proper was the bathroom with a running toilet and an old fashioned claw foot tub. She had thought about drowning herself in the tub, but had never worked up the nerve. Besides, she wasn't a quitter, she wouldn't let him win.

     And then there were the cameras on the ceiling. There was one in the bathroom where he could watch her bathe and use the toilet. And two in the bedroom. He told her he used them to watch her sleep, because she was so peaceful and beautiful when she slept. She wasn't so sure about that with the nightmares she had. He probably also watched the home movies he made of them, over and over.

     For clothing he had her wear thin nightgowns and cotton panties. No lingerie, no silky underthings, nothing exactly sexy. It was like he wanted to keep her a little girl.

     He fed her well; breakfast, lunch and dinner. But only food she could eat with her fingers. Again, no sharp objects she could hurt herself with.
He didn't rape her every time he came down. Sometimes he brought her food and watched her eat or worse he would sit on the toilet and watch her bathe herself.

     When he did assault her it was always on the mattress. He went hard and fast, it was always over quickly for which she was grateful. It still hurt like hell but over the years, sadly she had gotten used to it.

     And he always used protection. He told her once that he was sterile, but he wasn't taking any chances. She wondered sometimes what would happen if he accidentally got her pregnant.

     At first she had fought him. She could never over power him, never fend him off, he always had his way with her. And afterwards he would punish her for fighting, a belt across her bottom several times. Then he would tell her the whippings were for her own good.

     When she had been his possession (and that was exactly what she was, his possession) for two years she had stopped fighting. She didn't flirt nor did she act like she was falling for him, she just let the inevitable happen. When he was done, he let her clean herself up and then he left. The whippings stopped.

     She knew that he could never let her go. She didn't know who he was, he never said his name...he hardly talked at all. But, she knew what he looked like. If he ever got close to getting caught, if he got bored with her or she made him too mad...he would simply kill her. As horrible as her existence was...she wanted to live.

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The lock on the door click-clacked, the door knob turned and in walked her captor. She hurried over to her mattress and sat down. He had her lunch on a tray, a sandwich, chips and two juice boxes. There were two cakes wrapped in cellophane for dessert.
He handed her the tray and went and sat on her desk chair and nodded for her to eat. She did so.

     Her skin crawled as she felt his piggy eyes on her. She knew that if he stayed to watch her eat he might want sexual gratification after. He preferred vaginal, but would sometimes settle for oral, which she preferred. It was disgusting but less painful.

     She ate slowly and drank her juice boxes. She would save the cakes for later. When she finished she wiped her mouth and looked at him. He had that smile on his face and his little piggy eyes went over her body. He stood up and walked over to her.
Kneeling in front of her he took her tray and her trash. Then he stroked her hair. Her breath caught in her throat. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. This close she could smell his body odor, barely covered by his deodorant.

     Then he stood up, turned and left. Sometimes that was all it ever was, a kind of tease. He knew she was his and he could have her anytime he wanted. So did she. She expected later that evening after dinner he would have his fun with her, just to remind her of the facts of her life. She was his.

     She laid down then and took deep breaths. Her meals were her time marker, how she counted her days. Today she guessed it was a Saturday. When she had been young and free it had been a day of fun and cartoons, time away from school, maybe a day when her mom and dad took her out for lunch.

     Now it was just another day of captivity, another day of waiting for her captor to dictate what was or was not going to happen to her. She closed her eyes to sleep, hoping for a dreamless sleep.