I want a man who can give me exactly what I want: a man who can violate and defile me, but at the same time, he'll want to cherish and worship me. I want a man who's the perfect blend of brute force and tender sensuality, and wouldn't it be so lovely if he also happens to look like...Mr. Sinister?
The sudden intrusion of his name in my thoughts makes me bite back a gasp.
Oh my God!
I can't believe I've let myself think about sex and Mr. Sinister in the middle of our living room, but even worse than that is the desire that's already causing my entire body to tingle. I squirm and take deep breaths, but it's no use.
I need to touch myself, but before I can do that—-
I knock on Father's door, and I'm surprised but relieved when I find him already in bed. I never touch myself when Father's awake, and I don't think I ever could. It's just too strange, even for a dirty-minded girl like me.
An icy draft strikes my face as I enter my bedroom. Father must have left the window open, and I quickly lean forward to pull it shut. My panties are soaking wet already, but there is no way I'm going to touch myself until I'm completely sure of my privacy. You can never be sure these days—-
What was that?
I think I just saw something move in the shadows, and I whirl around, heart in my throat.
Please don't be a rat, please don't be a rat—-
A man steps out of the darkness and into the moonlight, and the first thing I see is-—
Blue.
Even when my assailant is dressed entirely in black, and a ski mask covering his face, I know I can't be mistaken. I'd know those eyes anywhere, and the sight of it makes me want to cry.
"You?"
I can't believe it's him, but at the same time, who else can it be but him?
I spin around and lunge for the door, but of course he's too fast. Bad guys like him are always too fast, and terror rips into me when I feel the telltale sting of a needle piercing my flesh.
No, no, no!
But already I can feel my brain shutting down and my body slackening——
No, God, no.
As I start to lose consciousness, I barely catch the words he murmurs under his breath—-
If only you had come to me willingly.
Tears slip down my cheeks.
I had wondered earlier what Mr. Sinister was saying sorry for...and now I know.
The Cage
I wake up with a scream lodged in my throat. My lips pry open, but even as panic squeezes my chest, and I start to palpitate—-
Nothing happens.
Time crawls by, but no sound rips free to smash the silence, and my heartbeats gradually slow down as my shock slowly recedes. I wait for panic to regain its hold, but it doesn't, and I eventually realize a startling thing about me: I am not, apparently, a screamer.
And that, I find myself thinking for no reason, is quite dope.
The comforter that has been up to my chin falls away as I push myself up, and relief streams through my veins when I see that I'm still fully clothed.
My head still feels light, my body heavy, but no part of me feels...used.
Nothing aches.
Nothing feels sore.
There isn't anything I feel that would make me suspect I have been raped.
Yet.
Memories begin trickling in, bit after broken bit, but all of them so unforgivingly vivid that it's impossible not to piece them together.
I've been drugged.
And after that—-
Kidnapped.
It takes a moment for the truth of my situation sinks in, and I have my first taste of fear.
Blech.
I'm not sure if it's some strange kind of coping mechanism, but I've just uncovered a second unexpected trait about myself: it's only when my life is on the line, apparently, that my previously unknown ability to speak like my age will come to the fore.
So smashing, Sara!
So brill!
Not.
I feel the urge to laugh and cry. This newly discovered trait of mine is nowhere as helpful as the first, but whatevs. I can't allow myself to be distracted, and I hurriedly swing my feet off the bed and study my surroundings between anxious gulps of breath.
Chill the eff out, Sara!
The room I'm in is small, but every inch of it feels expensive, and my fears, which have been fairly manageable in the past minute, devolve into something just one or two screams away from terror.
I. Am. So. Screwed.
The amount of money spent to decorate this room is more than what I can earn in a year. Kidnappers usually do what they do for ransom money, but since mine obviously has money to burn—-
So, so screwed...
Seriously!
I've always believed in God, but at the same time I've never had to face anything that would test my faith. The bullying I continue to face in school is nasty, but not to the point that it's traumatized me for life.