Threatening (Chapter-4)

He let me hair go, and I crashed down on the floor crying. I didn't want to show him that I was weak, but I was. I knew that he was going to break me up piece by piece until I was nothing but a pile of crumbling bits. He lit up a cigarette with a match and shook the match until it went out. Blowing the smoke into the air he walked around me. I felt like an animal ready to be slaughtered. It was as if he was the sheep dog rounding me up. My bottom lip quivered as I raised my head, my hair was stuck to my soaking wet cheeks as I looked up at him through pleading eyes. My hands were flat on the floor. I didn't want him to hurt me. I had already endured years of torture by my mother who got drunk every single night. Then she would attack me if I wanted to go to bed early or if I asked her for some money to buy bread. I was standing on eggshells as a kid and I didn't want to do the same as an adult, but it looked as if I didn't have an option. My life had been ripped away from me before I could even get it back up on my feet.

The door opened up and the man who left earlier on carried in a metal bowl. I closed my eyes. 

"Food bitch." He dropped it on the floor, and I stared from it to the man who I was actually falling for in the beginning. He clicked his fingers over and over again in thought staying silent. I didn't move. 

"Get your face in that bowl and eat it before I force you." He snapped suddenly and I jumped before I crawled across the floor to it. He laughed as I inhaled the deathly scent. The smell wasn't pleasant, and I wanted to throw up. There again, I did have a very weak stomach. The first night was the night when he gave me that sentence I learned to know all so well. 

"You cannot leave me. You never will leave me. Nobody can help you. You can only help yourself."

I remember glancing up at him. I did it without him noticing. I hoped that he hadn't when I dropped my head down to avoid his vicious stare. He made me question who he was. Was he that boy I had met at the shopping center or was this his true character coming out to play? To be honest I just wanted to get out. I had been in many situations in my life where I could get up and leave when I felt threatened but there, I was locked inside a gigantic house in the middle of nowhere with two men who I didn't know. I was fearing for my life. I wasn't safe. I was in their environment kneeling on the floor like a dog with a bowl of food in front of me.

That night the man who I assumed wasn't actually named Darren showed me a room upstairs. It wasn't making any sense to me. The room was clean, the house was in pristine condition. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that. I know that I thought the bed would only be a mattress on the floor with cigarette burns, blood and anything that shouted kidnap victims or abusive, but I was given a bed with a fresh white bottom sheet, a black duvet cover and a room that smelled like flowers. I was confused as I was dragged inside the bedroom by his strong bruising grip. He snapped his head around to face me and I flinched. 

"Night dress and bed." 

I gave him a nod. I wasn't confident when I did it. He left the room and locked the door leaving me standing inside the room on my own. I felt dirty from his hands touching me as I walked over to the bed and picked up the grey dress. It was made out of cotton. There were black curtains and a window that was glazed over. I couldn't see a thing through it. I wiped underneath my eyes as I took my clothes off and pulled the dress up and over my head. I left my clothes at the bottom of the bed in a neat pile and climbed into bed. I may be wearing those clothes for years to come so I was going to look after them. They were precious to me. Laying down with the light on I thought about ways to escape. I couldn't come up with a single one that would actually work. 

A red light appeared above me. A camera was watching what I was doing. A white box sat next to it with the words "Security alarm system" Would they work? I asked myself. I didn't want to find out, so I lay on my side crying. I wasn't relaxed. I didn't even want to sleep because I was worried that they would attack me in my sleep. As my thoughts recklessly bashed around inside my head, I tried hard to fall asleep. I didn't want the next day to come, and I knew that if I fell asleep then it would come quicker so I was fighting against myself and the rest that I truly needed. The strength and planning were important, so I finally fell asleep. It was anything but peaceful. I tossed and turned all night long until I heard footsteps crashing down against the shiny wooden floor. My eyes were open within seconds. I sat up and looked at the boy through wide eyes. 

"I need to go and rob a new van. I'll be back." The other boy told Darren as he entered the room. He nodded and the boy left me alone with him. He approached me with his hands inside his black jeans at the front. He didn't look like a kidnapper to me. Something wasn't fitting into place. 

"I want you to tattoo that into me."

He held up a picture. One that took me days to draw. It was a picture of a girl with a tear coming out of her left eye, on the right there was a wolf standing on top of a mountain howling. The girl was looking through bars and stars were above the wolf that was howling. I drew that picture because I felt locked up in a lifestyle that I didn't want to live. I wanted to be free. To shout at the top of my lungs letting all of the darkness move to the side letting me move forward. It was like a mist, and I couldn't see what was on the other side, but I needed determination to get through it. It was explaining the new situation that I was in.

The problem was that I couldn't tattoo. I didn't know how to do it and there he was holding a picture up telling me that he wanted me to put it on him. I didn't want to mess it up and be penalized for it. 

"I can't tattoo." I mumbled looking down at my fingers. 

I gave him a sad smile and he scrunched the paper up in his hand. 

"You can draw but you can't put it on skin?" 

I was afraid of him and what he would do. I nodded my head because it was the truth. I used a pencil for the sketch not a needle. I didn't even know how to sanitize the needles and equipment. What's the lifeline for a needle? I asked myself. I didn't know anything about the job role, but he wanted it to be done by the original artist.