Kidnapped (Unrevised version)

Kidnapped

This is the unrevised version of Kidnapped. The new, revised version is up and getting updated so I'd advise you to read that!

(Importante^^^)

Chapter 1

I stopped screaming for help years ago. Instead, I just reread the phew books he's given me over and over and over again. I braid and fishtail my hair multiple times a day to keep me busy, fidget, and sleep a lot. There's really nothing else I can do. There's no way out of this hellhole. Literally a fucking hole. And no one has found me. Not one person knows I'm down here. Not even during his numerous family/friend gatherings.

He told me that this so-called "room" (a six-by-six area of space) is sound proof when he first kidnapped me. Of course, I didn't believe him so I screamed all night long. I could hear his wife up there with him but she never heard me. I screamed for about a month straight-or at least tried to with losing my voice and all-until I finally realized he was telling the truth.

Most people who've been kidnapped for five years look pretty bad and aren't in great health. I'm one of those "lucky" kidnappies. Mark, my wonderful kidnapper (note the sarcasm) let's me shower regularly. His wife leaves everyday for an hour to go to some book club and that's when he locks me into the windowless bathroom to shower. He then gives me three meals a day but those are usually snuck down. How he has not been caught after five years is beyond me.

But don't let Mark's kindness of water and food fool you, he's a fucking bastard. Within the first week he had raped me three times. I lost track at 153. He hurts me all the time too. I have a scar along my back and many little scars other places. He tells me things like "I'm going to rape your little sister after I kill you off." Or "You better quit your crying or I'll slit your neck so you have something to cry about." I've been close to killed before, that's why I have that scar on my back. I've never hated anyone more then I do Mark.

Wanna know probably the worst part? I'm two houses away from my own house where I used to live before getting abducted. I bet my family and friends have been looking everywhere for me. Everywhere except their own fucking neighborhood.

Sometimes I wish I'd just die. I have this tiny shred of hope that I'll be found but really, what chance do I have. I see the door to this little room, it's very unnoticeable. The hinges are very hard to see and it won't budge from the inside.

Ugh, here comes the fucking water works again. I have to say, though, that my sobbing fits aren't as bad as the first year. That was the worst. I was 11 then, sixth grade. I wonder how middle school went for all my friends? I'm sixteen now, so that means their sophomores? I think...maybe juniors? I don't even know anymore.

I just want to get out of here. I want a normal life. But I know that'll never happen. Once you have a trauma in your life, there's no going back to normality.

I wiped my tears away as fast as I could when I heard the door on the ceiling become unlocked. But I wasn't fast enough.

"WHAT THE HELL'S WITH ALL THIS FUCKING CRYING!?!? I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!" My stomach churned as I watched Mark finish his climb down the rope latter and dig in his pocket for "my" pocket knife.

I screamed as the knife was thrown, stabbing at least an inch into my leg. I closed my eyes as the blood soaked my jeans and the pain licked my leg like fire.

"Here," Mark spat as he threw my food onto the ground and returned "my" knife to his pocket, like it wasn't just stuck in my leg.

He ascended the latter and pulled it up with him as my sobs and screams droned out the sound of the door closing and locking.

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