Less than Perfect

25. Trapped {part two}

Chapter Twenty-Five
Trapped
Part Two

When Skye stirred from her deep, heavy slumber, everything seemed fuzzy. Her vision was cloudy, her body numb; she felt deprived of something, although she couldn't be sure of what. Blinking her heavily lidded eyes, she looked around the distorted room, searching for some kind of explanation.

All she found was warm walls, earth toned furniture, a ceiling fan, window, and two doors that gave away nothing but the fact that she was no longer in Bryan's home. From what she could tell, she'd been moved into a cabin of some sort, left alone.

As her senses started to kick in, she noticed a harsh, strong grip on both her ankles and wrists, holding her in place. Ever so slowly, she tugged on one of the restraints at her wrists, testing it. The rope didn't allow much, and she ended up getting nowhere, giving up.

It was no use. She was trapped. Like a bird in a cage. Helpless.

Stifling a sob, she lay still, thinking about how she'd managed to get herself into this mess in the first place. She'd called Rachel, found out Johnny had taken her, agreed to meet him, and rushed to her best friend's aid, only to be caught in a sick man's game. He'd wanted her all along, and despite the part of her that had been prepared for this moment—prepared to face Johnny and her own fears—she began to break down under the circumstances.

Could there really be any hope for her? She was not only bound and lost, but also utterly terrified and helpless. What good could she do to save herself now? She was too weak—too exhausted. Nothing seemed to be on her side.

A small clicking sound rang in her ears, snapping her from her state of mind. She froze, her body on sudden high alert. Her heart began thudding inside her chest; anxiety pulsed through her veins. She swallowed, closed her eyes, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Johnny.

And all too soon, there was a soft thud of the door hitting the wall, and a shuffle of feet, giving Johnny's presence away in an instant. She could sense him watching her, hear his steady breathing, and feel his presence like an awful frost-bite on her subconscious, chilling her to the core.

"You're awake," he said, sighing. "Finally. I was starting to worry I'd drugged you too much." He shut the door, taking his time. "It's been over an hour, in case you're wondering. Rachel should be waking up soon, too."

Slowly, she braved opening her eyes, careful to avoid his gaze. "You're not worried she'll call for help?" Her stomach dropped at the horrifying memory of Rachel's abused body. "You must know she'll try."

"I'm aware," he said, almost pleasantly. "In fact—I'm looking forward to it. See, the thing is, even if she gets the authorities involved it won't stop me. It won't stop us from being together, like we should be."

She choked on the bile in her throat, utterly disgusted. No, she replied silently, too shaken to speak aloud. It will. You're never going to get away with this, Johnny. I'll never be with you.

He smiled—a sick, repulsive twitch of the lips. "If you have something to say, Princess, just say it."

She turned her face towards him, glaring, and shook her head. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart," he crooned, stepping towards her. "You'll learn to enjoy my company, soon. Everything will be just fine. You just have to remember to listen to me, okay?"