He slammed me against the wall, his face angry.
"Don't think for a second that you can try to get inside my head." He growled, breathing heavily. A moment of silence passed between us where I could feel the tension in the air. I looked down, afraid...
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Jackson Taylor
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I couldn't see.
The fabric bag tightened, my thrashing useless. Panicking, I used one of my free hands to punch whoever was binding me. I heard a loud grunt from the left, the only slight indication that I'd done anything.
This was it. I was going to die at the ripe age of 16. There were so many things I hadn't gotten to do. One second I was in my room studying for my biology exam, next thing I knew I was knocked out and I woke up with a bag over my head.
My sight was out because I couldn't see anything, although there was a good chance I was in a dark place because there was no light filtering through the bag over my head. My sense of taste was also out. If I was going to die, I was going to keep my dignity with it. There was no way I was licking this bag.
That left touch and smell. I moved to touch the bag above my face, but the rope tying my hands cut into my wrists painfully. I slowly moved my nose to caress the fabric. It was a cotton bag. Cotton wasn't meant to kill me.
Someone shoved me up, pushing me out of the car we were in. I heard a rough voice tell me to keep walking.
I remember that was the last thing I thought before I was knocked out again.
I warily opened my eyes only to find I was staring at a floor, my hands tied behind me, but this time, I was seated on a chair. I didn't move from my position in the chair. The less they thought I knew, the better. I closed my eyes again, maintaining the image of sleep.
"This is ridiculous," a familiar voice whisper-yelled.
"Patience," another voice replied.
I'd heard those voices before, but I couldn't remember who they were or why I knew them. I heard the scraping of metal against a floor and footsteps walking towards me.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the voice further away from me said.
I felt hands envelop mine behind me, as someone quickly moved to untie the bindings on my wrists.
"Don't worry, I got you."
Once I was free, I quickly kicked the chair over as I ran as fast as I could, but someone caught my waist, disabling me from running any further.
"Let...Go...Of...Me," I yelled, struggling against the person's iron grip on me.
"I told you not to," the man across from me said. I was thrashing so much that I couldn't commit his face to memory. I kept struggling, kept kicking until my eyes blurred and fatigue weighed down on me. I had probably been pushing and shoving for ten minutes when I slowly sank to the floor, giving up. The person who untied me stood behind me, letting me lean on their legs. There were three people watching me.
The first was a young girl, probably 15 or 16 staring back at me with eager eyes. Her black framed glasses started to slide down her small nose, but she didn't move to fix them. She seemed too overjoyed by the sight of me to do anything really. She was sitting down in an office chair, lightly swivelling the chair.
The second was an older man, leaning against an office desk. His arms were crossed, showing disinterest, but when I looked at him, the armour he built up cracked a little, showing the longing he felt. He tried to look anywhere but at me, failing. It was as if I'd known him for so long.
The man I was leaning on offered me his hand, pulling me up so I could get a good look at him. I turned around. He was probably my age. Without even thinking, he gave me a bone-crushing hug, surprising me.
"We missed you so much," he said.
"That's enough," the older man boomed. He looked between both of us, gesturing for me to follow him. I hesitantly followed, regretting every step I took. When I got close enough, he took my hands in his and looked into my eyes.
