The bag they had over my head was snatched away, finally exposing me to sunlight. My heart sanked; the glimpse of sunshine was coming from a window, a small window, at the top of the building. Blinded by the sunlight, my kidnapper stepped in between me and the window. Whoever he was, he smart enough to wear a ski mask to hide his identity. Judging by the looks of the warehouse, nobody had been here in years. Before I could say anything, he cocked his arm back and hit me with every ounce of strength he had. The bone in my nose felt like it was ready to fall off at any given moment. His hit prompted my nose to start flowing a fountain of blood on my clothes. Still silent, I sat strapped to the chair as he beat me some more, getting stronger and stronger with each hit. For a quick second, I got a flash back of when Marcus was beating my ass in front of the yard. But this was nothing compared to Marcus's--this was straight abuse. Finally, he finished fucking up my face, and covered my head back up again. Not offering an explanation, he wiped his hands on his jeans, or whatever pants he was wearing, and left. I listened to his footsteps until they trailed off. I heard the warehouse open and close behind him, leaving me here alone again. Was he coming back? How many of them was it? My mind was burning with questions - I know he didn't pull this shit off by himself. It had to be at least three of them; Ace, the kidnapper, the bitch in the van who didn't want anything to do with it, and the one who threw the water on me. Maybe four, but I didn't know who the person that just beat me was. Whoever sent them was smart enough to tell them to keep their faces covered. At this point, though, I was questioning if I was even going to be alive to make that count. The way they were beating my ass, I wasn't going to live through too many more beatings.
Forty-five hours-and counting- later, one of the kidnappers came back. The sound of their footsteps woke me up. This time, it sounded like two sets of footsteps. I was losing strength and getting weaker and weaker over the past two days with no food or water. I was praying that whoever it was was humane enough to at least give me some bread and water. Snatching the cover off my head, they kicked a tray over to me, serving a simple Bologna sandwich. "Eat." Judging by the voice, it was a female. I couldn't tell if it was the same one from the van or not. She unstrapped me from my chair, signaling for me to get on the ground to eat the food. I looked at her like she was crazy; the bitch had to be out her mind if she thought I would get on my hands and knees like a dog for a bologna sandwich. "Fuck You." The second accomplice grabbed my hair and was getting ready to throw me to the ground, before the first one stopped her and whispered something in her ear. Now, the one who stuffed the sandwich in my mouth, forcing me to eat. The bread was stale, and there was no telling how long they had the meat. Next, they had a gallon of water for me. While leaning my chair back, she elevated my neck, and the accompliance poured the water down my throat. I closed my mouth; the water was beginning to overflow. She grabbed my face and forced my mouth open. She continued to pour the water down my throat, up until I almost breathe; I was basically drowning. Laughing, they let my chair back down, and put the water jug next to my chair; as if they were mocking their waterboard torture.
Most of the time, I spent countless hours praying. I know i'm not on the best terms with God right now, but I prayed that he would give me another chance at life. I know I was fucked up for the shit I was doing, and I had cheated death one too many times. But I wasn't ready to go out; not like this. And at this point, I wasn't mad; I was terrified for my life. I never want to see drugs again.
The shit they were doing to me was undeniable torture; and I wasn't sure how much more of it my body could take. I had no idea if their plans were to keep me alive or not. I knew they wanted me alive to torture me some more, considering the sandwich and water they gave me, but for how long was the question? Before I knew it, I was crying. Looking around in the abandoned warehouse, there were little to no escape options. Seeing this made me ball my eyes out some more. I wasn't one to pity, but I couldn't help but think "why me?" for a brief second. But I knew why. And that's why I had to stop feeling sorry myself; I decided I was gonna do something to survive.
Figuring out how to escape had to be the hardest part. My kidnappers were running a tight ship. On the plus side, my meals were increasing: I was now getting fed every other day, featuring a small bowl of oatmeal for breakfast on my feeding days. But, with the meals came more torture and beatings. I guess they needed me to have extra strength so they could wear me out some more. The torture was getting more inhumane day by day. One night, I was woken up to two purge-masked men, hovering over me. While my vision finally adjusted to the Denailing me
YOU ARE READING
Married To The Game
Misteri / Thriller. This is the story of Esther, who gets caught up in the game. **This book is for Educational Purposes only**
