The Kidnapper's Heart

2| Kidnapper or Stalker

Three long days slipped away in an uneasy haze. When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself in a strange room and the soft warmth of a blanket covering me.

A wave of dismay washed over me as I noticed my ankle covered in a plaster, while the wound in my thigh was cleaned and treated.

On the little table beside me, I spotted painkillers, ointments, and a few portions of untouched food. No ropes bound my wrists this time, but the isolation felt thicker than ever.

Each day, someone would slide a plate of food under the door, three times in total, yet my stomach remained empty; it hadn’t seen a proper meal in three days.

But as I lay there, the thought that weighed heaviest in my heart was of Boo. He had never experienced a day without me by his side, and with no one entering my room, I knew he would be hungry and sad.

I’m at a loss for what to do. These past three days have been eerily silent—no human interaction at all. But during the night, the atmosphere shifts. I hear the familiar sound of a door creaking open. Someone is entering my room.

I'm curious if my absence has been noticed at home. They must be relieved that I'm gone.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of a key turning in the lock, and then he walks in—my kidnapper. His face, the same one that has haunted my nights, is now marred by bruises.

What happened to him? He looks like he’s in pain, and it’s clear he hasn’t bothered to tend to his wounds. Is his suffering somehow linked to mine?

He closes the door and sits in the chair next to my bed. I sink further toward the headboard; I remember the last time he broke my ankle, and I don't know what he plans to do this time.

He keeps staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. "Why aren't you eating?" His voice is plain and demanding. I pant heavily, unsure whether to respond.

When he doesn't make any movement, I slowly shake my head to indicate "no."

He lets out a deep sigh and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. He throws them toward me. "Write." With shaking hands, I pick up the paper and scribble on it, all while his eyes remain fixed on my face.

As I sat on my bed, I quickly jotted down a note: "My cat Boo is in my room. Please bring him here; he’s alone." I folded the paper and set it at the edge of the bed, my heart racing with a mix of hope and anxiety.

He came closer, snatching the paper from my grasp. I held my breath as he read it, his expression twisting in fury. With a sudden, forceful motion, he crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it aside like it was nothing—but his words cut deeper.

“So, you want me to go to your daddy’s high-security mansion and fetch a fucking cat?” he shouted, the venom in his voice curling around me like a snake. He kicked the bed with such force that it vibrated under me, and I felt a jolt of fear shoot through my body.

I huddled close, clutching my face in my hands as tears streamed down. The rising tide of panic swirled inside me, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. I could hear him thrashing his fist against the wall and mumbling incoherent words.

The sound of the door closing with a loud thud echoes as I continue to cry my heart out. I had come to terms with a life filled with pain, but now, even my sole comfort has been stripped away from me.

As I stirred from a deep sleep, a gentle, ticklish sensation danced across my face. When I finally opened my eyes, there he was—Boo, perched right beside me, his big eyes filled with mischief, trying his best to wake me up from my slumber.

My heart swelled with joy. He’s back! My Boo is back! With a rush of affection, I showered him with kisses, my happiness mingling with his soft whines of delight.

He nestled into my skin, his warmth seeping into my soul. It felt like an eternity since we last shared these precious moments, and I couldn’t help but realize how much I had missed him.

He brought him back. I still can’t wrap my head around how he managed it, but I’m endlessly grateful. As Boo, my little ball of black fur, hops off the bed, I give him a gentle pat. His soft purring fills the room as he makes his way to the corner where his bowl awaits.

There it is—fresh water and a heap of cat food, perfectly placed as if by magic. I can’t help but smile as I watch Boo happily munching away, he looks really happy.

By the time dinner is done and the stars begin to twinkle outside, Boo and I settle onto the bed, ready to drift off into a peaceful night.

I must find a way to thank him for bringing Boo back to me. Despite his anger, he chose to help — a rare act of kindness in my life. It’s been so long since anyone did anything for me, especially since my m..other.

Sleep is far from my eyes, perhaps because I napped through the entire afternoon. I can't shake the feeling of dread about why I’ve been kidnapped. Mr. Shekhawat has countless enemies, yet none have dared to go this far before.

I can’t even ask anyone about it; the only person who has spoken more than a single sentence to me in the last ten years has already broken my ankle. His shouts chill me to the bone, filling me with a terror I can’t quite shake.

So, while it feels risky, offering a simple thank you might not be such a bad idea after all.

Suddenly, the lock on my door clicks open, and a shadowy figure steps inside. The instant our eyes lock, a wave of fear washes over me, and my body trembles uncontrollably.

                                                  
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Thank you for being here and reading my story.