What am I describing? A night in the basement. A basement I can’t remember the location of. A basement that I spend every day lately thinking of. Every detail. Every single fucking detail.

The square of peeling paint on the opposite wall from where I sit.

The broken stair 3 from the bottom that I pray they trip over every time someone comes down.

The stupid flickering light bulb in the corner with a chain that hangs down.

The black spot on the 6th link in the chain on my right ankle.

Everything is there. And I don’t understand a bit of it. I can see the room. Feel the breeze that sometimes sneaks through the small blacked out window above me. I can smell the mustiness and always the smell of rain or sitting water. I can see the reflection of the light from the crack underneath the door. I can trace the footsteps above me. Count how many until they will be at the door.

20 more.. 10 more. 2 more steps and they will be here. Down here. With me, trapped. I can’t move. My chains only go so far. My ankles are raw and hurt to touch. There is nothing for me to grab. Nothing for me to hold. Literally just me, these chains on my ankles and a hard, dirty, cold basement floor.

Then this face. A face I don’t know where I first saw it. All I know is I don’t think I have seen it before but I am terrified. I can hear him shuffling in the dark before he grabs the chain and turns on the light. His face lights up and his eyes dart to meet mine. I scoot back against the wall as if I can hide or run away. That’s as far as I can go. Instincts kick in as he steps closer. I lock my knees, put my head down, link my hands together and try to shrink as much as possible. He can’t hurt me if he can’t get to me.

Then it happens. He rips apart my hands. He brushes my cheek with his hand, looks into my eyes and ask me to tell him the magic words. The three words I force out of my mouth:

I. Want. You.

Share this:
Like this:Like Loading... Related