Unwelcome

18

             In my experience of experimenting religiously with narcotics, I have tried every mix you could imagine.

With trial and error of course, but nevertheless it has supplied me with enough knowledge that I could recognize that they have drugged me yet again.

Though this time they've used a stronger sedative on me, and likely a much higher dosage than the average because of my body's reaction.

       When I peeled my eyes open, the world spun so hard I thought I was going to topple over, but when I went to steady myself with my hands, I found that I couldn't move them— or anything for that part.

A shudder tears through me, shaking me violently for a good minute.

       The cold has been hitting my body like fists for hours now. Goosebumps pepper the exposed parts of my skin, and I feel so stiff that I think if you tried to fold me in half I would snap into two.

It took about 10 minutes for the world to stop spinning after I woke up. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. And I made myself familiar with the room I'm in now.

The room —if you can even call it that— is medium sized with a single, dim lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. Its walls are made of cement, grey and dull with the occasional splatter of dark hued blood.

         On the right side of the room, against the wall hangs an array of different torture devices that without a doubt are placed there to unnerve the victim.

Knives of different shapes and sizes glint at me in the dark dangling neatly from clean hooks. The walls around them though are the darkest, they seem to be splattered in layers of blood and gore, that looks months— maybe years old.

        I was tied to a metal chair, that's secured to the ground facing a door. The hard edges of it dug into my back, pinching my shoulders each time I breathed. Rough ropes circled both my hands and feet, tied tight enough that I felt the abrasive material of it tear my skin if I shifted.

well.

That was before.

My head throbs enough to tell me that I'm still suffering of the aftermath of whatever the fuck they injected into my system.

       This time I can really say I've gotten rusty.

The first sign of me losing my touch is the fact that I'm even here in the fucking first place. If a bunch of goons managed to kidnap me, that should be the biggest warning sign. Their stupid excuses of knots took me a while to manage to break through them.

I don't know how long I 've been in here, but its long enough for me to notice their mistakes.

One: The type of knots tied to my hands are weak— its not about the tightness, its about how efficient the knot is.

Two: Yes, I was completely stripped of my phone or any weapon on me. But they hadn't contemplated that I would ever escape— so the knives dangling there shaped no threat to them. At least not yet.

Three: Their stupidest mistake yet was sending an incompetent troll down to check up on me? guard me? fuck knows but that was the stupidest.

         Why?? because, by the time he was on his way to the door, I had managed to free my hands from the poorly tied binds and was in the middle of ripping open the ones that secured my legs to the chair.

When the door creaked open I had already managed to grab a knife from the set dangling from the wall.

Before he could realize something was wrong he already had a knife pressed to his throat.