Great, now I’ve got to watch them do shit to some innocent woman on top of everything else.
Fuck my life.
19
Quinn
I still don’t know how long I’ve been here or when I’ll be able to leave. I go back and forth between hating myself for wanting to do something so stupid as this to begin with and hating everyone else I know for not rescuing me yet. I mean, what the fuck? My three best friends consist of two FBI agents and an assassin for hire, yet here I sit. In this weird little dungeon room like a sitting duck waiting for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to come in and try to rape me.
Which is exactly what happened this morning. Luckily someone heard me screaming and stopped the guy who’d come in here. For now—at least—I’m off-limits. Which lends little comfort when I have no idea how long it will last.
The guy didn’t even get as far as pulling his pants down before they pulled him off me. But he did rip my dress, bite my breast, and choke me to the point of blacking out after I scratched his face. Plus, I’m fairly certain he split my cheek and blackened my eye. And I can’t breathe through my nose.
I’m in pain. A lot of it. Mostly if I try to move. If I just lay here and stay still, it becomes a dull roar, almost like white noise coursing through my body. Which, in a weird way, is comforting. I guess if I can still feel pain, it means I’m not dead.
I don’t touch my face for fear of getting all the filth and grime on my hands in the cuts. Then they would get infected, and I would die in here alone. Would anyone even notice before days had gone by? Anyone who didn’t also want to rape me? I rub absently at the sore spot marked only by the teeth marks he left behind.
Do I even have the energy to fight someone off if it happened again?
Or would I just let it happen—settle myself early into this new fate that is my life?
I haven’t seen the big guy, Andrei, or the suave guy, Ronan, again. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t around. I have a feeling Ronan is the reason I’m hands-off to the men. He’s the only one who seems civilized enough to give that order.
Even though the possessiveness in which Andrei initially looked at me could not be ignored. So maybe he’s just saving me for himself. Not that anyone talks to me or tells me anything. I mean, the only men to come in here is the creep from earlier or the young guy who brings my food and water.
Someone twisted my doorknob a while ago, only to find it locked.
My knight in shining armor? Doubtful.
Another rapist? Probably.
If it hadn’t been locked, would the person have gotten in? Only to finish what the other guy started? I can’t even find the energy to be anxious about it. Panic attacks are a thing of the past when you are this tired, hungry, and run down.
After I met Ronan, I made the mistake of thinking I would be safe here. And that everything would be okay. If for no other reason than because he seemed like a reasonable man. But that’s hardly been the case. Case in point: I’ve been out of toilet paper for a while now, using scraps of my dress ripped from the hem.
I’ve sunk so low I’m not sure how to recover. Does one simply bounce back from something like this? Is this how the women felt that David was always kidnapping? Did they spend days on end in isolation to slowly break them down before selling them into slavery?
Maybe if one of the guys comes back, I’ll just let them rape me to get the first time over with. It must get easier after that, right? What’s that saying—it takes twenty-one days to form a habit? If it started today, I’d be used to being victimized in just three short weeks.
Would I still be in this situation if I hadn’t had the idea to get myself kidnapped? Would I have been taken otherwise? Will I ever know? I lay back on the thin mattress and stare at the ceiling. It’s free from stains or water spots. Almost like it’s been freshly painted or something, which makes no sense given the condition of the walls and floor. And how is it they have concrete walls and not ceilings? Although how would the cement stay up there long enough to harden? That doesn’t make sense, right?
It would be like that time I tried to lay wall tile in my bathroom, and every time I spread the cement-like stuff on the wall that the tile sticks to, it would fall right off. At least that’s how I imagine it would be. Or that other stuff that goes in between the tiles, that I just ended up pushing in the space with my index finger.
I pick at a loosened thread on my dress, pulling until it’s as long as my finger and the surrounding material had bunched and pursed in its stead. Wishing I was laying tile instead of here. I’d rather be anywhere else than here, really. I’m through trying to send Daria and Reed telepathic messages. If they wanted me to be free, I would be. It’s that simple.
I can almost give Reed a free pass since he’s undercover and might not even be in the same state as us any longer. But Daria? And Mack? They have no excuse. And since Daria knows these guys who’ve taken me, she should be up their asses right now trying to find me. But she’s not.
I feel weighed down by the amount of despair that fills me with. To know that you love someone enough you would do anything for them, and they can’t—won’t—even do something for you that is second nature to do for strangers. She frees abducted women all the time.
All the fucking time.
This should be a cakewalk for her.
If I still had my phone, I would now look up where the term cakewalk came from. I like to know things like that. Random things that others take for granted. Fun facts, where sayings come from or why we say them, tidbits of information that don’t really matter but are still interesting. If nothing else, it makes for good party conversation. Some people use questions as ice breakers, I prefer random facts.
Did you know the Cookie Monster has a real name? It’s Sid. Cookie Monster is a nickname because of his love for cookies.
Dopey is the only one of the seven dwarves without a beard. Or hair. And he’s mute. So it’s amazing, really, that the others hadn’t bullied or teased him.
