All the Little Pieces

PROLOGUE

PART 1

NAYA

I don’t remember much of being kidnapped.

I was moving through a shopping centre car park, annoyed at my mum for some stupid fight. I walked away from her, going towards our car as fast as I could. I could hear her yelling my name, telling me to slow down; I was so far ahead that she couldn’t see me anymore. That was when I sensed someone standing behind me. There was a sharp prick in the side of my neck, followed by an odd burning, and then… nothing. I was unconscious.

When I woke up, I was strapped down to some sort of metal gurney in an enormous white room. There were no windows; the only light source was a series of fluorescent tubes on the ceiling.

He had taken away my clothes, so I was left there naked, with goose bumps covering my exposed skin. There was a thin needle inserted in the crook of my left arm with a clear tube running away from it. It reminded me of an IV, but the fluid in the suspended bag was not the typically clear stuff that you see in hospital. It was a dark blood red, and floating above that like oil on water was a pale blue liquid. I had no idea what it was; originally I assumed that it was a drug to keep me weak and paralysed.

Later, when I was rescued and I told the doctors about the IV, they would test me to discover what it was that I had been injected with. They would never figure it out.

I spent six whole days down in that room. He would come and visit me every now and then; sometimes he would just stand there and look, sometimes he would talk to me as if I were an old friend.

I could handle the silence by just pretending that he wasn’t there. But it was the talking that got to me. He would tell me about his life; about how he had two older brothers, about how he gone to medical school, about how many people he had killed before me.

It made me want to curl up into a ball and cry. I did that a lot, crying. I would beg him to let me go, promising that I would never tell anyone what he looked like. I would do anything, as long as he let me go. He never listened.

I wasn’t given any food during those six days. The hunger was unbearable; a continuous churning in my empty stomach, which growled in protest at the starvation. I had water, which I assumed was given to me every few hours. There was no way for me to measure time in that place; no clock, no sunshine, nothing. I was slowly going insane.

My body eventually snapped. I got a burning fever that roared through my blood, setting everything on fire. Sweat poured out of my skin, pooling in multiple puddles on the table. The lack of food, of sun, of physical activity, plus whatever drugs he was flooding me with took its toll.

I was delirious; I saw snakes slithering across the tiled floor, while spiders crawled along the walls.

My body was rapidly shrinking to a skeletal frame, with dark bruised skin stretched tight across it. I could count my ribs.   

There were frequent headaches so hideously fierce that it felt like my skull was going to split apart.

After what I assumed was a few days, blood started running out of my nose and my mouth, and a deep cough racked my chest.

My heart struggled to beat, getting weaker and weaker with each passing moment.

All I wanted was to die.     

But then, one glorious day, I was saved.

Quietly sobbing to myself on the gurney, I coughed, dribbling blood and saliva down my chin. Then without warning, there was a strange thudding noise coming from above me, and I heard voices shouting in the distance.

I screamed with every bit of life I had left.

The door to my prison burst open, and he stumbled in, blood pouring out a wound from his side. He staggered over to me and the ripped the IV out of my arm. I shrieked as the needle tore at my skin; he just ignored me and kept going.

Grabbing the IV needle and the bag of strange fluid, he opened something behind me. It creaked a lot, and he grunted with the effort. There were strange beeping noises, and I assumed that he was touching some electric buttons. Then, there was more creaking and grunting, a loud slam, and a flash of searing heat from somewhere behind my head.

Men in dark blue jackets and helmets surged through the open door, all carrying huge guns aimed directly at him.

And through all that chaos, one of the men took off his jacket and laid it on top of me. He held my hand while trying to calm me down, telling me that it was okay and that I’d be fine.

It was only then that I realised I was still screaming.  

***** 

 A/N: hey there, I hope this goes okay :) this is my first real story, most of my other stuff I abandon half way through. PLEASE COMMENT! it would mean the world to me, just to know that someone is reading this. even if it's criticism, i want to hear it. It's the only way to get better.

Thanks peeps, hope you like it :)