Hope you like this. Got kinda inspired during this whole quarantine.
Rebecca had lost track of how long she had been here. It was longer than a week, that she knew, but in the constant darkness of wherever she was, time moved at its own pace. The room was large enough for Rebecca to walk around if her hands and feet were free and not handcuffed together. The cold metal had long since scraped away at the skin by her wrists and ankles, leaving them bloody and agonisingly painful.
Rebecca didn't mind the pain anymore. At least, not the pain from the handcuffs; the rest of her body hurt much more than that. For over a week, she had slept on the floor. The room was completely bare save for a plastic bucket with a lid, no bed, no blanket, only the cold, hard floor that Rebecca could only assume was concrete. For the first two days, she hadn't slept at all, her fear and adrenaline kept her awake until she was so tired that on what she guessed was the third day, her body gave in. When she came to, her whole body ached and she no longer had the energy to scream for help.
Multiple times, Rebecca tried to remember what happened, but whether it was her fear or the method by which she was kidnapped preventing her from remembering, she didn't know. In her multiple attempts to piece together her last day of freedom before her nightmare began, Rebecca always came up with the same four things: she had gone to her lecture, she had gone to work, she had gone to the party, she had gone home. It made sense, Rebecca thought, that she had been taken on her way back to her dorm. She had walked her way there, after all. And having been countless shots and drinks into the night, it couldn't have taken much to grab her in the middle of the night. That being said, she could've sworn that she made back to her dorm, even if she couldn't remember it.
That first day had been a blur of crying and screaming for help. She had made so much noise that her throat hurt. So much noise that her stomach ached. So much noise that she met her kidnapper for the first time. He had beat her badly then. She could only tell that he was a man from his voice. That, and the strength of his blows. He had hit her so hard that the room almost seemed to grow darker as the air was forced from her lungs.
That first beating was the worst one, but it wasn't the last. On the first day, he came to her every few hours. His face was covered with something, a piece of cloth, maybe, but it was too dark to tell. Every time he came, he always asked the same questions.
"When did you get it?"
"Do your parents have it?"
"When was the last time you used it?"
"Who else knows you have it?"
When each question was answered with an 'I don't know what you're talking about' or an 'I don't know what you mean', he would hit her. Each time, the blows hurt more and more.
He would feed her first. A slice of plain, white bread, sometimes buttered, and a plastic cup with some water. Rebecca had planned to refuse the food. He wants me alive, doesn't he? She had convinced herself of this, but when he took the meagre amount of food away from her each time she refused, and when his visits became less frequent after the first day, she grew more and more hungry. On the third day, he made only one visit. Only one beating. By then, she had taken the lone slice of bread and the cup of water. When he left her, she didn't see him again for the whole of the fourth day. On the fifth, Rebecca wanted nothing more than a slice of bread and a cup of water. When she had finished, she had picked the breadcrumbs from the floor. She hadn't cried for three days, but at that moment, it hurt not to.
That fifth day was the last one that she kept track of. Maybe it had been two or three days since then, maybe it had been a whole week. She could feel herself growing weaker. Every time she woke, her arms felt thinner, her bruises hurt more, and the hard, concrete floor became more and more difficult to push herself up from. Strength was leaving her, and it would only be a matter of time before it would leave her completely. So, the next time he visited her, she dared to ask him a question.
It was the same as always. She heard the clicks of what could only be multiple locks being opened and winced as the door swung open with a loud, metallic screech. The bright yellow light blinded her and before her eyes could adjust, the door was closed once again and her world was dark once more. The man tossed the bread on the ground in front of her. Unbuttered. He's pissed. He knelt forward and slid the cup of water towards her. Rebecca took both but didn't dare eat it in front of him. From her huddled position in the corner of the room, the man seemed to tower over her, his fingers twitching a little.
"When did you get it?" his voice was always the same quiet, patient tone.
"I told you," Rebecca's voice scraped against her throat as she talked. "I don't know what—"
The back of his hand struck her cheek. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain.
"Do your parents have it?"
"I don't understand—"
In a single, swift motion, the man's hand flew towards her throat and pulled her up into a standing position. His fingers squeezed the sides of her neck for a few moments as she struggled to breathe. Finally, he released her and took a step back.
"When was the last time you used it?" he said, a hint of impatience finally hitting his voice.
"Used what?" a lump began to form in her throat as she gasped for air. "Please…pl—"
A fist hit her stomach. The air flew from her lungs and bile hit the back of her throat. She keeled forward and lost balance, hitting the concrete. Her face slid along the floor and her vision darkened momentarily. When she looked upwards finally, the man hadn't moved an inch.
"Who else knows you have it?" There was nothing Rebecca could do but force herself to sit up, shaking her head and swallowing down the urge to vomit.
"Please…" Another backhand hit her, but now, she didn't feel it as much. Light flooded into the room and Rebecca saw the man leaving. "What did I do?" the words escaped her lungs before she could think about stopping them. The man stopped in the doorway, his hand tapped against his leg. "Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice was trembling and weak.
"What did you do?" he said slowly. He turned to look at her, but the blinding light hid his features. "What…did…you do? You were born. You people are a curse. You're evil. And I am going to wipe every single one of your kind off this world." He turned away from her, stepping outside of the room. "This is the last time you're going to see me. The last time you'll see anyone. When you've finished that food, you'll never get any again. And when you're dead, they're going to find your body, and then every one of your kind are going to know that I am coming for them."
"No…No, please!" Rebecca tried to crawl towards the door feebly, her knees scraping on the concrete. As she got closer, the man lowered whatever was covering his face. As her eyes finally began to adjust to the light, she could just make out his features. Rebecca gave out a sob and the tears began to fall. No.
The door closed.
And Rebecca Brown never saw light again.