TRAPPED

Playtime / 8

CHAPTER VIII: PLAYTIME

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Our eyes didn't lose each other's gaze until I finally gave in and said, "I think we should get going."

"Okay," he replies looking down.

"You are a really good person Jess. Don't let anyone make you into something you're not."

He looks back up and I see a glimpse of joy sparkle in his dreamy grey eyes.

He hold out his hand, "Let's go."

I take the kind gesture and grab his hand delightfully. He has the warmest and softest sturdy hands I've ever held. Then again, it's the only hand I've ever held besides adults, not as soft hands.

We walk together through the walkway of the shady room and exit through the glittery curtain. Most lights were off, or at least the ones I could see through the bared wooden stairs. I'm guessing it was late at night and everyone was already in bed. I'm gonna get in so much trouble. I thought to myself.

"Follow me," he says.

"Where do you think you're going?" A familiar voice sounds behind us. We both twist around and are eyes open wide. Jess lets go of me immediately without even glancing at me.

"I-I was just taking her to the playroom," Jess replies troubled.

I don't know what the 'playroom' is but I guess Mr. Douglas doesn't buy it and calls bullshit.

"Well why were you two holding hands huh?" He sounds mad.

"I... wasn't. I was forcing her with me. This one was very hesitant and I wanted to punish her," he stops and stands up a little bit taller, "Why do you care what happens to this skank?"

Wow thanks.

"I was just making sure you haven't gotten yourself into trouble again that's all. Well I'm on my way to check on business. Make sure her whipping is as hurtful and painful as the one I gave your mother." Roger walks away, laughing hysterically at his crude joke.

Unaware of what has happened, I see the rage build up in Jess' eyes. Jess instantly clutches my fingers, making me squeal in pain. He runs upstairs, his hand tightly held on mine. We move so fast that my feet don't even touch the floor anymore.

After being airborn for awhile, Jess stops at a medieval style wooden door with the words PLAYROOM in cursive embolded on the front. I shiver at the thoughts of what lies behind this god awful imprinted name.

Jess pulls his backpack out from behind his back and fumbles around until he finds a full set of keys. Struggling as he tries to find the right key for the door. After what seemed like forever, the door clicks unlocked. The door is swung open and the place is pitch black.

I hear a light switch and see a flicker of another faint light bulb hanging above another bed shaped as a heart, just as the one from downstairs. There is an ice bucket with wine sticking out. Cheese and crackers sit next to it on a silver platter. The silk comforter and pillowcases make the bed as tempting as it is to sleep on, to make love on. A radio softly begins to play and surround the room with slow music.

The soothing relaxation of the song gets me drowsy enough so I have to sit down on the love-seat couch in the corner. I remember that I'm with Jess and look for him in the cloudy darkness.

"Jess? Jess. If you can hear me, give me a sign."

I hear unzipping of what sounds like pants and stay as still as I can on the creaky seat.

"Playtime starts now."