Don't Get Into The Car

[ 19 ]

As your eyes slowly flutter open, an all-encompassing darkness that looms over the bedroom greets you. The air feels heavy and suffocating. Lying in bed, you find yourself tucked under the covers, cocooned in their warmth, which is a stark contrast to the cold dread that gnaws at your insides. A surge of surprise mixed with a hint of confusion washes over you, assaulting your senses like a relentless wave crashing against the shore. The realization that your body is not bound, as you had feared, hits you like a sudden jolt. Your arms, which you had anticipated to be tightly restrained, rest freely at your sides. With astonishment, you begin to move them, flexing your fingers without any resistance.

Startled by this unexpected freedom, you sit up abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest as if startled by a deafening noise. Just before losing consciousness, you were absolutely convinced that the reckless stunt you pulled would lead to your banishment in the basement. At the very least, you had fully anticipated that Simon would resort to restraining you, perhaps tying you up with rough, chafing ropes to the bed, and then locking you away without a second thought in your old bedroom.

But because of Johnny... of Johnny, who was fed a steady diet of lies, and who is convinced that you are Simon's girlfriend, who has some mental problems, Simon could not possibly resort to such a harsh punishment. Nor could he even consider taking the extreme step of confining you to bed, as it would go against the complicated web of deceit that had been spun around him.

Another surprising realization is the rapidity with which you regained your consciousness. You start to question whether the sedative wasn't potent enough. It's a possibility, although it seems unlikely that Simon would make such a mistake. Another theory crosses your mind. Perhaps, over time, your body has built resistance to sedatives, and now you need a higher dosage to be knocked out.

Despite the tempest of questions whipping through your mind like a gale-force wind, any theories, or reasoning you attempt to construct seem as insignificant as a single drop of water in the vast, roiling sea of your current predicament. This feeling of insignificance of your thoughts is primarily because Simon, who quite obviously assumed that you would be knocked out, deep in slumber until the next morning, is not present in the room.

Your eyes dart around the room after you cast the heavy blanket off of you. An audible exhale escapes your lips, but you quickly suck the breath back in when you realise the sound is echoing too loudly in the ominous silence.

As you sit there, trying to gather your thoughts, it dawns upon you that you are still donned in the same clothes as yesterday. The same oversized shirt that hangs loose on your frame, the same worn-out pair of leggings, and the same pair of panties; the fabric of your clothes feels coarse against your skin.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, every muscle in your body protesting against the sudden movement. You take a moment to steady yourself, gripping the edge of the nearby dresser for support. After cautiously casting a glance around the dark bedroom to make sure that Simon isn't lurking in a shadowy corner, watching your every move, you slide your trembling fingers into the waistband of your panties. The fabric is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the warm, nervous sweat prickling at the small of your back.

There is a moment that haunts you, etched in your memory like a dark, indelible stain. It was the moment when you heard the terrifying, bone-chilling sound of footsteps thundering behind you, gaining on you as you desperately tried to sprint towards the front door. The image of that door, so close yet so far, replays in your mind like a horror movie stuck on repeat.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, echoing the rhythm of dread that had taken over your body. The horrifying realization, the paralyzing thought that you weren't going to escape, slowly started to sink in, weighing you down like a stone in water. This was a reality you were forced to confront when the set of keys, your only hope of salvation, kept slipping from your trembling, sweaty palms again and again. Each time they slipped, your hope dimmed, flickering like a candle in the wind.