When Harlow Banks is close to spiraling into depression, due to her abusive boyfriend, Dez Coventry comes crashing into her life. His ruggedly handsome appearance and mannerisms are alluring however he appears dangerous and mysterious. Can Harlow fi...
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Beyond was a narrow staircase, a bare bulb hanged from the ceiling to illuminate the bare boards below. Matt's basement was originally constructed from quarry rock with walls thicker than a medieval castle and concrete flooring with no personality. After moving into the house he hired someone to come in and sound-proof the basement. There are no windows and it is impossible to escape except through the wooden door I was forced through.
"No! Please Matt!" I begged as he dragged me down the stairs to halfway, "what did I do wrong?" I wailed, frantically looking into his icy blue, emotionless eyes.
"Shut up!" He snapped, giving my body a vigorous shake by my arms before shoving me forward, down the rest of the way. As we descended, my nose wrinkled from the repulsive and over powering smells that deviously wafted into my nose. The rancid smells of alcohol, mould and close confinement of sweaty bodies were stubbornly residing within my nose. At the bottom of the stairs, the passageway continued forward before turning left into a claustrophobic room without any circulation of air. This made the room feel dungeonesque from the stagnant, musky smells.
Matt had only ever brought me down here during a few of his weakest moments when he was unable to tolerate me for upsetting him. It only took the first time to absolutely scar me from ever wanting to come back down and to bury the memories in the back of my mind. Now that I was in the vicinity of the basement, the memories were lunging in front of me and making me remember the smallest details of what lay within.
Along the back is a durable wooden cabinet, which had made my back splinter-infested when Matt had thrown me against it after I had yelled at him in a fight. Within the cabinet are many bottles of different chemicals and torturing substances, which Matt used as threats to petrify me into succumbing to his twisted commands. He never used the chemicals on me but the emotional abuse from the threat was just as powerful as if he had physically abused me.
Exactly four stumbling steps from that is a stainless steel, hydraulic table, which Matt forced me into once. He had immobilised me from escaping by using the head holder and leather straps on my wrists and ankles. Once in position, he had operated the table so I was in the trendelenburg position, where he left me in the dark, overnight before asking me in the morning if I would ever question his whereabouts again. I had replied with the answer he wanted so I did not have to stay in the basement any longer. I had been shivering in the coldness of the concrete cell overnight and had refused from questioning his whereabouts ever since. He easily forgave me and had explained that I had to learn from my trust issues to stop our relationship from crumbling. I know, looking back, it was my fault in regards to trust within our relationship. He would have never done that to me if I had trusted him in the first place and not caused him to get upset.
One considerable bodily throw from the hydraulic table, against the wall is a wooden table. Laying on top in an organised setup is Matt's oxy-acetylene torch he got from work, sharp knives, vice grips, pliers, hand-saws and cordless power drills on which he used for DIYs around the house. On the concrete floor, besides the table is his portable oxygen and acetylene gas tanks, which are needed for his blow torch.
