Porcelain

⌖ Chapter 2 ⌖

My shoulders felt stiff, the awkward position cutting off blood flow and tensing my muscles. "Please." I mumbled to myself, trying to roll my shoulders. The everlasting ache was slowly driving me insane, and knocking down my strength. I was exhausted. I had no idea how long I was sitting here, staring at the wall till my vision went blurry. I refused to sleep, my body begging annoyingly, but my brain overpowering the strong urge.

The door behind me flung open, I instantly pushed my back to straighten. I heard the sounds of a struggle and the scuffle of feet. Mumbled groans filled the room. A body was suddenly thrown against the wall in front of me. I raised my eyes to see the boy before me.

He seemed around my age, and familiar? He had short, chestnut colored hair, and freshly tanned skin. He was, frankly, gorgeous. Long dark lashes and a strong jaw. His eyes raised to meet mine and they widened in shock. He had bright forest-tinted eyes. His wrists and ankles were bound with rope, and his mouth covered with silver tape.

He started grumbling and squirming against the wall. A sense of hopelessness washed over me. This boy before me was at least the size of the man, and definitely more built than the man. The kidnapper knew exactly what he was doing. The man suddenly stood beside me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

I instantly pulled away from him, jerking as he tightened his hold. "Let go of me!" I yelled, grimacing as his hold became bruising. His hand released my shoulder only to collide against my cheek. "Behave, Doll." He scolded, "We must welcome our new addition."

The Man walked towards the boy, grabbing his arm and forcing him into a chair. He struggled and tried to throw himself out of The Man's grasp. The Man growled and quickly finished securing him to the chair. He placed the boy's chair facing mine, a few feet between Us. "I'll let your misbehavior slide, Dolly Boy." The Man snarled, "Because you don't know the rules, Doll will explain them to you." "You're a screwed son of a bitch." I said, an almost hint of desperate laughter in my voice.

"Apparently Doll needs the rules repeated to her." The man drawled. He stood in front of me and gripped his hands in my hair. "No cursing." He demanded, slapping my face hard. "Behave." He slapped me even harder. I bit my tongue, keeping from crying out. "Respect your Doll Master." His voice had advanced to a yell, his hand jerked my head back, straining my neck. He curled his hand around my neck, pressing against my wind-pipe.

I started to struggle, fire bursting in my lungs. Just when I felt deep blackness about to wash over me, he released my neck. I choked and sputtered for air, my body slumping forward. I took deep, struggled breaths. Each inhale pressing against my bruised windpipe. The Man walked over to the boy and ripped the duct tape from his mouth. The boy groaned out and cursed under his breath.

"Did you not just hear the rules?" The man yelled. He stomped his foot childishly and punched the boy in the jaw, storming from the room. He slammed the door, the blunt sound echoing around the room. "Motherfucker." I yelled after him, except it came out more like a choked whisper.

The boy suddenly spoke up. "Are you okay?" He asked. "Peachy." I replied, clearing my throat to bring my voice back. I don't know why I was being rude, maybe the constant pain in my body was setting me off. I shook my head, "How bad is it?" I asked, my cheek aching as I spoke. My face probably looked a purple and blue mess. "Pretty bad." He growled. I laughed humorlessly, "Great." "When I get the chance, I'm gonna beat the shit out of that guy." The boy vowed, jerking against his chair.

"What's your name?" I asked, rolling my shoulders achingly. "Tristan Zacks." He replied, grunting as he pulled on his restraints. "You?" Tristan asked. "Day Reynolds." "Day? Pretty name." Tristan replied, absentmindedly. He was jerking and pulling, writhing to release himself from the tight ropes. "Stop, you're just gonna hurt yourself." I said, feeling the sting of the cuts in my own wrists. Tristan looked at my face, then his eyes followed down to the puddle of dried blood beneath my chair. "The rope is too rough." I explained, wiggling my fingers, feeling the crusted blood along my skin.

"How long have you been here?" Tristan asked softly. I could feel his eyes running over my face, examining the older bruises I acquired before his arrival. I shrugged and whimpered slightly as my shoulders moved. "Maybe a day before you?" Tristan nodded slowly. "How, um, how-uh did you get here?" He asked, looking anywhere but my eyes.

"It's my Dad's birthday, well, I guess it was his birthday." I whispered, "I walked outside to my car, to get a mint, a fucking mint." I breathed. I shook my head. "Then I just remember a sharp sting in my neck and waking up here." "Did you get your mint?" Tristan joked. I laughed softly and shook my head. "Fell out of my hands, I can't believe I'm here because of a damned mint."

Tristan sighed and looked at me. "What about you?" I questioned, looking at the reddened bruise on his jaw. "I was coming home from Work, key in the ignition, paycheck in hand and then i saw him. He jabbed me with a needle. I didn't ever pass out though, I don't think he gave me enough, but it definitely threw me for a fucking loop."

Then the door opened.