Chapter 8 The Walls

• Paetyn’s POV
• The longer I sit on the mattress, staring at the moldy roof, and counting each time the masked man enters the room, the more I begin to lose my goddamn mind. Just as I thought would happen. Each second ticks by painfully slow, leaving me with nothing to do but sit and think. Think about the situation I’m in. Think about my mother and if she’s okay. And think about the masked man and the tension between us that only seems to grow each time he visits my room.
• A few days have passed since I got myself off to my captor. Shame and guilt have plagued me ever since, reminding me how terrible of a person I am. I have a fiance searching for me, and here I am finger fucking myself at the thought of another man. The same man who kidnapped me.
• I’m beyond fucked up. Or maybe I’m just going crazy the longer I’m trapped inside these four walls. The walls feel as though they’re closing in on me, suffocating me inch by inch. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to die.
• With a huff, I sit up on the mattress, the box springs groaning. Surely, there has to be something in this room that can aid me in getting out of here. I checked the room for a way out when I first woke up, but the masked man entered before I got a good look. Since the warning he issued me about not being able to leave, I haven’t snooped around, fear rooting me to the confinement of my bed.
• But I’m done sitting around hoping someone will find me and praying that a miracle will descend upon me, allowing me a way to escape. The longer I sit and wait for something positive to happen, the less chance I have of surviving. I refuse to continue being a sitting duck.
• I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grip the chain around my ankle to stop it from dragging along the floor. The floorboards beneath my feet groan as I stand. I cringe at the sound, hoping my captor doesn’t burst into the room to check what is going on. So, I wait. My lungs scream at me as I hold my breath, waiting to hear his heavy footsteps approach the door.
• But nothing happens. No footsteps. No voices. No nothing.
• Blowing out a long breath, I get to my knees to search under the bed. There has to be something under here, right? The metal frame has a gap between the base and the floor, with four thin legs holding it upright.
• The floor is cold against my chest as I drop to it. My nose crinkles at the assault of dust bunnies, the product of the room being dirty. Who knows when it was last cleaned? But I fight the urge to sneeze and instead hold my breath as I gaze under the bed.
• My heart deflates slightly at the empty space shadowed in darkness. Despite my disappointment at there being nothing of substance as far as I can see, I won’t allow this to deter mine from finding a way out of here.
• Resielieantly, I reach under the bed and feel around, hoping I can latch onto something that can help me. I don’t care what it is, at this point. I just need something.
• Dust continues to find its way into my nose and eyes, making it difficult to keep from coughing or sneezing. But I’m not going to wrap this search up empty-handed. I keep telling myself there has to be—
• My eyes round at the feel of metal grazing my fingertips. The thumping of my heart in my ears instensifies at the prospect of having found something useful. I reach forward a fraction more, which allows me to wrap my hand around the mystery object.
• I scramble away from the bed, eager to allow my lungs to breathe in fresh air and to see what I found. Falling on my ass, careful not to let the chain scrape against the floor, I eye the item in my hand. To my surprise, it's a metal pole about fifty inches long. It’s not super thick, so maybe it had fallen from the bed frame, lying unnoticed beneath it.
• The longer I stare at it, turning it over in my hands to ensure I’m not seeing things, the quicker my heart hammers in my chest. This is it. This is what I have beens searching for. It may not be enough to help me escape through the boarded up window, but with the right amount of force, if I were to hit my captor over the head with it, I may have enough time to search his body for the key to the lock on the chain around my ankle and find my way out of wherever I’m located.
• A smile turns up one side of my mouth as I imagine beating the masked man over the head with the pole, my freedom inches away. I can almost taste fresh air on my tongue and feel sunlight on my skin at the thought of no longer being trapped here.
• If this plan is to work, I need to think rationally. The next time he comes into my room to offer me food, I need to wait for that split second when he has his back turned to me before walking over to the chair by the door before I strike. If I’m lucky enough, he won’t see it coming.
• With newfound confidence coursing through me, I hop onto the bed and sit cross-legged, my eyes focused on the door. I shove the pole under my pillow, my fingertips grazing it slightly as I hold my arms behind my back. Now, all I have to do is wait.
• Waiting…
• Waiting…
• Click.
• I eye the door as the lock on the other side is unlatched. Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal the masked man. He enters with the same red tray he uses every time he brings me food. This time, a steaming bowl of chicken and corn soup sits in the middle next to a buttered roll.
• Now that he’s here, my chance of freedom is so close I can taste it. My nerves kick into overdrive. I watch him intently as he sets the tray on the end of the mattress, stopping briefly to ensure the water bottle doesn’t topple over, before he straightens and turns his back to me.
• Without hesitation, I grab the pole tightly in my hand and jump from the mattress, ready to clock him over the head with it. As the pole is about to slam into the back of his head, I’m met with a strong arm pressed against my throat, forcing all the air from my lungs.
• A gasp bursts from my mouth when my back hits something hard—the wall. My chest heaves, begging for air as I struggle against his grip on my throat. The pole slips from my grasp, allowing me to claw at the tattooed arm holding me firmly in place.
• “Let go of me, asshole.” My voice is strained, but he hears me, nonetheless.
• He’s in my face now, the mask just as terrifying this close as it is when he sits across the room watching me eat. His chest heaves too, likely with frustration at my attempt to subdue him. A woodsy scent emanates from him, consuming my senses. “What was your plan, little bird? . Hm? If you were successful in hitting me with that pathetic excuse for a weapon, what would you have done?”
• “I would haveof got the fuck out of here,” I say through wheezes as he slowly cuts off my airway. The thought crosses my mind to lift my leg and kick him straight in the balls, but my head grows fuzzy from the lack of air, making it difficult to think. “You can’t keep me here.”
• The man snorts, a deep sound. It goes straight to my core. “Oh, I plan to keep you here. For as long as I need to. You’re not going anywhere.”
• Despite my inability to breathe, I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like for him to touch me elsewhere, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Would he be gentle or ruthless? Would his touch be filled with the same intensity as his eyes whenever they’re cast upon me? Would he withhold air from my lungs long enough for me to beg for him to let me breathe, on the brink of passing out, only for him to grant me that permission?
• It’s embarrassing how turned on I feel right now, especially when the man I was just fantasizing about literally has me on the verge of death.
• If I’m going to die, I at least want to see his face. I want to see the man who has held me captive for what feels like at least a week. Even if I were to die right now, my body never to be found, I would be content knowing I saw his face in my final moments. One last ‘fuck you’ to him.
• With what little strength I have left, I reach up and grip the edge of the mask beneath his chin. In one swift movement, I flick it off his head, listening as the plastic connects harshly with the wooden floor.
• Wide eyes stare back at me. They’re as blue as the deepest part of the ocean where no man has explored. It’s what I would imagine I would see if I were to ever drown out in that vast space, begging for help. Even now as I struggle to breathe, the light slipping from my body, I’m lost in the depths of them.
• My eyes nearly bulge out of my head when he lets up on my throat. The top of my head feels ready to explode as I cough and splutter, desperate to fill my lungs with air. But he doesn’t step away, his grip on my throat still there but not so hard he’s cutting off my airway.
• Through blurred vision, I take in the features of the man who kidnapped me, and to my utter surpise, he’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. He’s magnificent, really. Devlilvishly handsome beyond comprehension with strong facial features, a light dusting of five o’clock shadow, and a jawline that could cut me to the bone. Seeing every part of him all together isn’t helping the moisture pooling between my thighs.
• Goddamn, what the hell is wrong with me?
• He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me to my core. Shaking his head, his soft curls bouncing arounds his face, he growls, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
• I meet his intense gaze. He has nowhere to hide now that the mask is gone. I can see who he really is, and that could either work in my favor or get me killed.
• A slow grin turns up the corners of his mouth as the grip on my throat tightens. Lust and fear tingle across my skin, and I squirm under his grip. If he knows what I’m thinking right now—
• A lump lodges itself in my throat when he leans forward, his warm breath fanning against my ear as he whispers, “You’re so wet for me, little bird. I can fucking smell it. Tell me, do you like being held captive, hm?”