Lost

Four

Harry;

I sit huddled into a ball in the corner of the freezing, dark, dank basement. It's been two days since I was taken. I drill it into my mind making it a habit to remember how many long, painful days I've been here. I was taken on a Monday night, January 6th. which means today is a Thursday, January 9th.

While l've been here, I've showered once. It was a cold one and the man who took me- he told me his name was Bruce- watched the entire time, making my skin crawl. I am granted one meal a day, which Bruce only gives to me if I am obedient and do what he wants me to first.

For the most part I am kept here in this basement. Bruce has been ever so kind enough as to put a small, dirty mattress down here for me, along with some filthy, old blankets. I no longer have my hands tied behind my back, nor am I gagged. He thinks I know better than to try to escape.

He couldn't be more wrong.

I spend my time down here contemplating ways to escape. Every time Bruce brings me upstairs, I make a mental list of every possible detail I see;

The kitchen has one window and a door leading onto a porch. The front door to the house is next to the living room, which is adjacent to the kitchen. There are no phones in the house -anywhere- I've seen every room, there are none. All the windows in the house are nailed shut. There are bottles of every sort all over the place, some still containing a little bit of liquid.

I think of what I could use as a weapon if needed. I come up with several escape routes, what objects I could use to maybe smash open a window, how I could buy myself time to escape.

All that's left now is to figure out when to do it.

I feel my eye lids getting heavy after another twenty minutes of thinking. I decide to sleep for a while, making my way over to the disgusting mattress. Pulling the blankets over myself, I slowly drift off to sleep.

I scramble backwards to the headboard of the bed, desperately trying to get away from him. He steps closer to the bed while slowly unzipping his pants. I start shaking and sob uncontrollably.

"Shhh, it's not so bad, Curly" the man says. "I bet you'll just love taking my dick up that sweet ass of yours, won't ya?" he laughs sadistically, pulling his shirt off following his pants. He crawls onto the bed in nothing but his underwear and I kick out at him with my legs, catching him in the jaw. He hisses in pain and stills. Then he slowly turns his head back to me, a look of pure rage on his face.

"Do that again and I'll make it so you can't walk for a week, got that, boy?" he hisses menacingly. I whimper and cower away from him. He grabs one of my ankles and drags me down the bed as I squirm around, fighting him off the best I can. Finally he gets annoyed enough that he snaps and punches me square in the jaw. I stop fighting as my head pounds and everything spins.

He uses my moment of weakness to pin me down, successfully managing to get my boxers off of me. He tosses his off as well. I shut my eyes, feeling nauseated.

This can't be happening.

Not to me.

Nothing like this could ever happen to me.

But it is happening to me.

I'm going to be touched by this filthy, old man.

Abused.

Violated.

Raped.

I feel rough lips press to my neck, nipping at it painfully and sucking. I sob at the contact and cringe. Then I feel his disgusting hands run up and down my sides. One of his hands stops at my nipple, pinching it, and I flinch. The other trails down my stomach and stops for a moment..before he reaches down and grips me, tugging on me harshly. I yelp through the cloth in my mouth..and then I scream in agony and revulsion as I feel him push into me.

I jolt upright on the mattress, my breathing rapid. The images of what happened on Tuesday have been replaying in my head on a constant loop. I haven't gotten much sleep because of it.

Today is Friday, January 10th. I've been missing for three days.

I don't know what time it is. There aren't any clocks in the basement, nor are there any windows,but the scent of coffee wafts down the stairs from the kitchen so I know it must be morning.

I wait for Bruce to come get me, as he always does at least once a day. What must be hours pass before the door at the top of the stairs finally opens.

He comes down the stairs and I glare at him as he makes his way over to me. He reaches down and pulls me up by my arm. Pushing me in front of him, we go up the stairs.

As we come up the stairs, I begin to scan the room as usual. My eyes widen when they land on the door leading to the porch. By some miracle, it's unlocked. I scan the room one more time, taking note of anything useful. There's an empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen counter closest to me, a dirty frying pan on the stove, and a knife in the dish rack next to the sink. The clock on the microwave reads 6:04pm.

Quickly, I run through my plan of escape in my head. If I'm going to run I'll need some time to get clothes, otherwise I'll freeze. I know there are coats in the closet to the right of the staircase.The frying pan is my best option, I'll use it to knock Bruce out. It's farther away though, so I'll use the bottle to distract him.

We reach the top of the stairs and I put my plan into action. I lunge to the counter, grabbing the empty bottle. grasping the neck of the bottle, I spin and hurl the bottle at Bruce, distracting him for a mere few seconds. I dash to the stove and grab the frying pan just as Bruce starts to move towards me, looking absolutely furious. I swing the pan, striking him on the side of the head. He crumples to the floor, unconscious. Wasting no time, I jump over him and scramble to the closet, grabbing one of the coats inside.

When I turn, my heart jumps to my throat, and my stomach drops.

Bruce is standing in front of the door, breathing heavily in anger.

"It's gonna take a lot more than that to get away from me, Curly." He says, taking a step towards me. I notice something in his hand glint when it catches the light from the recessed lighting above us.

It's the knife from the dish rack.

I take a step backwards, the coat dropping from my hands. He keeps advancing towards me as I back away, until my back hits the wall between the staircase and the coat closet.

Bruce stops when he is directly in front of me. I feel myself trembling but I force myself not to show how terrified I am. I glare at him before I spit directly in his face. He shuts his eyes, slowly wiping the spit away, before his hand flashes forward, wrapping around my neck tightly. I choke, my hands reaching up and clawing at his massive hand.

"Now you've really made me angry, boy." Bruce hisses, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Then I feel the knife slowly slide across my ribs, slicing the skin. I cry out in pain as I feel blood start welling out if the cut. Bruce only laughs at my pain, making more cuts. They are shallow and not life threatening, but agonizingly painful nonetheless. He cuts and cuts until my body can't take the pain anymore, and I slowly slip out of consciousness.

I wake up hours later at the foot of the stairs. My hands are tied again and the gag is back as well. I try to move and cry out as my entire side flares in agony. I look down at myself, noticing the multitude of bruises covering my body. I guess Bruce must've just tossed me down the stairs. I also notice the damage the knife has done to me.

It's nothing short of gruesome. There are criss crossing cuts all over my right side, what's left of my skin there stained red by my blood. It's already clotted though, so I don't have to worry about bleeding out and dying in this horrible place.

I refuse to die here.

I'll find a way out, I don't know how, I don't know when, but somehow I will.

And when I do, the first thing I'll do is make sure this sick, fucked up monster is put away for good.