Hostage (a One Direction story)

Chapter Twenty

Back pressed hard against the wall, hands held defiantly in fists, eyes wide, entire body trembling. This is the stance of a cornered animal. This is what I look like as Nate saunters forward in all his victory.

In a split-second decision, I sprint forward, my muscles burning as I move from stand-still to full-on run in a moments time.

But maybe I mentioned earlier that I'm not much of an athlete? Nate catches me easily, throwing me back to slam my head against the wall.

I stumble sideways, my head spinning, Nate's snigger echoing eerily in my ears. All the strength has leaked out of me, spent, leaving me shuddering, terrified, and utterly helpless. I whimper as Nate leans down and grabs my wrist, dragging me to my feet.

"P-please," I whisper as he yanks me to him.

He doesn't respond, busily pulling a swath of black cloth out of his pocket. "Turn around," he snarls, pushing me.

I look at him. "What are you-"

"I said, turn around!" he growls furiously, his eyes murderous.

I turn around.

The cloth is quickly wound around my eyes, another binding my wrists. Nate grabs the nape of my neck and spins me around again. I stumble slightly but manage to stay on my feet.

"You will follow me," he says slowly, coldly. "You will do everything that I say, and you will not try to escape. Should you misbehave in any way, I will hurt you. And believe me," he adds in a whisper, "You wouldn't like that."

A tear leaks out of my eye, soaked up quickly by the blindfold. "Do you understand?" asks Nate, shaking me roughly.

I nod, quaking. "Good." He says firmly.

He grabs my bound hands and proceeds to drag me, tripping, out of the alley, to the left, and then a right, and then two more lefts, and a right, and... I lost track, I realize with horror. Now I am well and truly fucked.

I stagger numbly after him, my legs burning, but to afraid to complain. The rain has slowed to a faint drizzle, but I'm still soaking wet, and the cold is starting to get to me, making me shiver uncontrollably. I trip and this time I fall, slamming to the ground with a force that sends pain racking up and down my sore body. Nate jerks furiously at my wrists and I cry out.

"W-wait!" I cough. "P-p-p-please, I-I'm so c-c-c-cold," I pull myself to my feet, feeling about blindly for Nate.

"Good thing we're almost there, then, isn't it Princess?" he says, and yanks me forward again.

With a groan of pain, I allow myself to be pulled along. Idly, I wonder why nobody has found it strange that a man is leading a blindfolded and tied up girl through the streets, and decide that we must be in an unpopulated area.

Well, shit. No help for me then, I moan inwardly. What a pleasant surprise it would be to get some good news for a change.

Nate stops suddenly and I walk into him, bumping against his back before hurriedly retreating. He's fiddling with something, one hand still holding my wrists. I hear a click before I'm pulled into a wonderously, beautifully warm building.

Or something...for all I know I could've just been led to a slaughterhouse. I shudder at the thought. A flight of stairs later, Nate rips the blindfold roughly off my eyes, leaving me blinking and half-blind in the harsh light.

I'm in what looks like a bedroom, with cracked plaster walls that are an off-white color, a rickety looking double-bed with holey grey sheets and a cheap brown dresser. A flourescent bulb above my head gives the room a bright white light, washing any hint of color away.

Nate looks me up and down for a moment, and I briefly imagine what he sees. My brown hair limp and dripping on the grey concrete floor, my soaked clothes clinging to my body, my skin unnaturally pale from the cold, my face gaunt, my eyes red and puffy from crying, and dirt splattered all over my body.

Not good.

"Take a shower." Says Nate curtly, nodding towards a door on my left.

"A shower?" I repeat, dumbfounded.

"I didn't stutter," he retorts, motioning towards the door. "Go. I want you clean and pretty."

I narrow my eyes at him. "How about you answer a couple of my questions-"

He pulls the knife, glaring at me menacingly. "Take. A. Shower."

I scuttle away from the glittering blade, through the creaking wooden door into a crappy, dinky little tiled bathroom. At least the shower is supplied.

I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Unfortunately, there's no lock on the door. With a groan, I turn on the water and step under it, sighing as the hot water washes the cold sweat from my body.

I struggle to forget where I am, pushing all of my questions, all of my fears, all of my doubts and my terror out of my mind. If I can appear confident and calm before Nate, maybe he'll get scared and...and...I don't know.

I groan as I work my fingers through my hair, combing it as well as I can. As I rinse it clean, reality hits me like a punch in the gut.

Holy motherfucking shit I'm taking a fucking shower in some random kidnappers house and he fucking kidnapped me and he apparently wants me and holy Jesus lord is he gonna rape me?!?! God help me! What the hell have I gotten into?!

My heart pangs as I think of Niall and Harry. What if I never see either of them, ever again? Oh god. A tear trickles down my face, washed away by the warm shower. I take a deep, shuddering breath and compose myself, twisting the handles to turn off the water. I snatch a thin, ratty towel off of the rack and wrap it around my body before stepping out of the shower.

Fuck. My clothes. My clothes are gone, replaced by a neatly folded pile of gauzy-looking cloth. Cautiously, I pinch a shred of fabric and lift it up, confusion quickly followed by disgust. A set of lacy red lingerie, complete with a red gauzey and, bizzarely enough, a pair of jeans and a tank top.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?" I scream at the top of my lungs, rage tinting my vision with red as I glare at the lingerie.

"J-Jae?" stutters Nate's voice on the other side of the door.

"NATE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! YOU MIGHT HAVE KIDNAPPED ME BUT I SURE AS HELL WON'T BE FORCED TO WEAR LINGIRIE YOU ASSHOLE!" I scream.

Nate's response is cold and calm. "You will wear them."

"I won't! I have some dignity, you know! Where are my other clothes?!"

There is no response for a second, and then there is a loud slam and the tip of the knife pierces through the door, making me jump.

"Bitch," I mutter furiously.

Grudgingly, I pull on the red lace, cursing Nate, his family, his pets, and anybody he loved to a slow painful death. Swiping my damp hair out of my eyes, I look at myself in the grimy mirror.

Thankfully, the tanktop and jeans hide the undergarments, but I can't help but tremble at the thought of why I'm wearing the flowery lace.

A wash of terror flows over me. What if he wants to rape me? And he's just prettying me up for it or some shit? I start to tremble again, my eyes wide.

"Come out." Says Nate. His tone leaves no room for argument - if I don't, he'll come in and get me.

Cautiously, I inch the door open and slip out. Nate is standing ten feet away, looking at me.

I wrap my arms tightly around myself, visibly shaking. Nate steps forward and I turn pale. He's holding the knife easily between his fingers, the blade pointed towards me. In a sudden, swift movement, he lunges forward, and I shriek, expecting to feel the sharp metal slice through my abdomen.