Rachelle

Chapter 17

Angela's P.O.V

Sweat trickles down my eyebrow as my head hung low. My arms were aching badly from being tied up to this chair for almost who knows how many days. I lost track of time completely but wasn't there anyone who was looking out for me? Trying their best? Where was George? What was he up to? I had complete hope in him as he was always there for me but now, I was losing faith in everything; everyone.

But then again, even if people tried their best, how'd anyone where a psycho brought me. He was a psycho, obviously he chose a place where not even the birds reached.

I cleared my throat and felt the burning sensation run down my chest from my throat. I was thirsty as hell and even if I tried to ask for water, my voice wouldn't reach outside this room. Maybe it would but I didn't have the energy to shout out. I've done enough shouting in the past days and already destroyed my throat. I had fixed timings when the psycho would walk in with food and water. In the first few days, I didn't eat a bite of anything but as days passed, I had no choice but to give in. Getting fed by the psycho was probably the worst thing that ever happened in my entire life.

Now that I think about it, I wish I was never involved in any of these in the first place but at that time, it sounded astonishing and incredible. Over all, I thought that I was just helping someone get a carefree and better life but if I didn't get into all that, today I wouldn't be in such a situation.

I straighten my head and my neck sends a sharp pain down my spine. In fact, ever part of my body cried in despair. I looked for so many possible ways to escape from this place but that psycho is hell of a clever man, and eventually, I gave up the thought of it.

As my habit has become, I look around the room once again. There was a small exhaust fan on the corner of the room which was the only source of me knowing whether it was day or night. The sun rays entered faintly through the weakly moving fan, so I assumed it was evening. The red bulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling, the colour that I have started to hate so much, moved very slowly due to the little of the air cause by the exhaust fan.

On my left side was a desk with a computer and printer on it. There were also a few stacks of boxes with heaps of papers and photographs in them. Psycho.

I gasp when I heard the thud outside. Well, he's here. I wait patiently for him to come in here so I could ask for some water and if luck is with me, some food as well. I didn't have breakfast or lunch due to stubbornness once again, but I regret it now.

After 15 or 20 minutes later, the room's door swing open, partially blinding me with the light from outside. Over the days, I've come to know that the psycho wasn't hiding me in a room that he build under a mountain or something but it was in his house. I was kept in his house; and I don't even think this was the basement as the kitchen was visible whenever he opened the door.

He walks in, wearing a white, sleeveless top that showed his muscle delightfully and a casual, blue jeans. His bright, blue eyes looked dreamy and his brown hair was a mess; as always. If he wasn't the psycho he was, I'd be probably hitting on him 'cause my god, he was gorgeous.

He places the tray that he had with him on the desk where the computer was placed and walks towards me. I watch him cautiously thinking what ranting he had to do today. Every time that he walks in and starts talking, I wish that it would be better to get killed.

"Good evening," he says, his voice deep as ever. He walks towards one of the box and grabs some papers then heads back to the table. I didn't bother replying.