Quicksand

Chapter 9

Four months, it feels like an eternity since I've been trapped in this tiny, dingy room. The walls seem to be closing in on me, and the loneliness is suffocating. I've lost count of the days, but I know it's been three months since I was ripped away from my mother's loving arms.

The maid's visits are my only connection to the outside world, but she's as silent as a ghost. I beg her for news of my mother, but she ignores me, her expression a mask of indifference. If I don't eat the meager rations she brings, I'm punished with three days of hunger, a cruel reminder of my captor's control.

Time is a blur, and I'm starting to lose hope. Will I ever see my mother's warm smile again? Will I ever feel the sun's gentle touch on my skin? Or am I doomed to spend the rest of my days in this cramped, dark prison? The uncertainty is a constant torment, gnawing at my soul like a rat in the walls.

As the days blend together, I find myself clinging to memories of my past life. I remember the way my mother's hands felt, soft and gentle, as she brushed my hair. I recall the sound of her laughter, warm and infectious, and the way it made me feel like everything would be alright.

But even those memories are starting to fade, like a painting left in the rain. I try to hold on to them, but they slip through my fingers like sand.

I've tried to keep track of time, marking the days on the wall with a piece of chalk. But the marks have become a jumbled mess, a testament to my own confusion.

The maid's visits are my only anchor to reality. I try to read her face, searching for any hint of kindness or compassion. But it's like looking for a glimmer of light in a dark well.

Sometimes, I wonder if anyone is even looking for me. Does my mother think I'm still alive? Does she wonder what happened to me?

The questions swirl in my head, a never-ending cycle of doubt and fear. I'm trapped in this room, with no escape, no hope.

But still, I hold on to the memories. They're all I have left. And I whisper my mother's name, over and over, like a prayer.

The silence was deafening. Adrik's absence was a welcome relief, yet it filled me with a sense of unease. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was waiting for something, or someone, before making his next move.

The days passed slowly, each one a carbon copy of the last. The maid brought food, I ate, and I waited. Waited for what, I didn't know. Waited for someone to come and rescue me? Waited for Adrik to return and continue his twisted games?

I tried to keep myself occupied, pacing the small room, counting the steps, counting the seconds. But my mind always wandered back to Adrik. What was he doing? Was he thinking of me? Did he even care?

The uncertainty was suffocating. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, with players I couldn't see. And Adrik, the mastermind, was nowhere to be found.

As the clock struck 3:00, I heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. But instead of the maid's usual quiet knock, the door burst open and Adrik strode in, his presence filling the room like a dark storm cloud.

He was dressed in a tailored suit, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made my skin crawl. In his hand, he carried a small, elegantly wrapped box.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice dripping with false courtesy. "I see you're still enjoying my hospitality."

I stood frozen, unsure of what to say or do. The maid didn't follow him in, and for a moment, we were alone.

Adrik walked closer, his eyes locked on mine. "I brought you a gift," he said, holding out the box. "A little something to brighten up your stay."