Black Rose

The Aftermath.

He left me shackled and covered in my own blood. I didn't bother struggling against the manacles and chains, even after he left the room. I knew I wouldn't get anywhere, and I was in too much pain to even try.

So I just cried. The cuts on my hip were throbbing. The carving on my stomach burned. I felt sick every time I looked down, the blood reminding me of the twisted word he had etched into my flesh.

Rose.

I didn't feel like a rose. Roses were beautiful, crisp petals curling around each other to form a flower of romance.

I was not a rose. Even without my new markings, I wasn't stereotypically beautiful. My body was slightly pudgy, and tiny tendrils of silvery skin clung to my stomach, stretch marks from long ago. My face was round, and prone to redness and acne, and my hair was brown and limp, falling around my face in loose tendrils.

I was no rose.

I was not the kind of girl that captured the attention of men, or wore revealing outfits to show off their clear golden skin. Though I'd found self-confidence through my relationship with Jordan, I still wouldn't call myself pretty, or the kind of woman that men gravitated towards.

Yet he took me.

I wondered if it was a planned attack. If he had been watching me, learning about my every move, following me. Or, had he just seen me in the car park alone, and decided the time was right? I had no way of knowing.

I let out a sob, clenching my eyes shut in the darkness, feeling absolutely miserable. But as messed up as it was, my thoughts were no longer on the pain plaguing my body, but rather, the ugly feeling I had tried so hard to ignore. The feeling of complete hopelessness. I kept asking myself, why me? Why did he take me?

I heard the door open, and lifted my head ever so slightly, expecting to find him smirking at me, ready for another round of torture. Instead, he was walking towards me with a white box, and looking at me in a curiously concerned way.

He placed the box down beside me, and I managed to catch sight of a green cross on the front. A first aid kit. I watched as he poured antiseptic onto a washcloth, then hissed as he pressed it to the carving on my stomach. He gave me an apologetic look as he wiped it across my skin.

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't have tried to run away, my rose." He said, his voice filled with remorse.

"No, this wouldn't have happened if you weren't a sick sadist and carved up my flesh," I hissed at him.

He shook his head, and returned his gaze to my wounds. He cleaned the cut on my stomach, then did the same to the slashes on my side. I bit my lip to stop myself from yelping once more. I watched as he drew the washcloth away from my skin, and pulled a thick bandage from the first aid kit. It was the sticky kind, and he peeled away the paper and gently pushed it over the carving on my stomach, before pulling out another and doing the same to my hip. It was an odd sensation having such a thick pad stuck to my skin, but at least now the marking was covered over.

My kidnapper closed the first aid kit before he rose from the floor, and looked at my face. I couldn't help but let out a breath of air. He stared at me for a few moments, a strange look playing across his features. I held his gaze at first, but then looked away, somehow feeling ashamed.

He sighed. "Lets get you to bed, my rose. We can speak more in the morning, when you've rested and healed a bit more."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. He manoeuvred around me and began the process of unlatching me from the wall. I heard the click and felt a weight lift off my arms, then another, and my wrists fell from the manacles to my sides, throbbing from the lack of circulation. He crouched before my feet and freed my ankles, then carried all of it over to the cupboard he retrieved them from in the first place.

I stayed frozen on the spot, unable to move. The shock of it all was catching up to me, the reality of everything that had happened in the space of a few hours.

When the man turned to see me watching him, standing there paralysed, he frowned. He slowly walked back over, and lifted the first aid kit from the floor. He gently touched my arm, and looked me in the eyes. My breathing was short and fast. I could feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

He took my hand, and I expected him to lead me back to the room I was in earlier, but instead, he gently pulled me over to the bed in the corner, the elaborate one draped in red.

"You're in shock, my rose. I need you to lie down for me." He said, his voice soft and careful. I did as he told, letting myself sink into the embroidered red sheets. He took one of the pillows from beside my head, and carefully propped it up underneath my legs. I heard a creaking sound, and the next second, a warm and soft blanket was wrapped around my bare skin.

I stared up at the red drapery and focused on my breathing. Tears pulled at my eyes as I tried desperately not to fall into another spiral. I felt a his hand gently rubbing circles on my shoulder, and as much as I hated it, it was a comforting action nonetheless. I let my eyes fall shut as my breathing slowed.

"That's it, my rose. You'll be okay." He murmured. His voice was like a lullaby, coaxing me into warmth. I felt myself give in to the exhaustion overtaking me.

Before I knew it, I found myself falling into dark abyss of sleep.