“I have to go pee.”

“You’ll have to wait.”

“I can’t, so let me go now or be prepared to clean up a mess.” I decided to try to push some buttons. The silence was killing me, and I wasn’t sure how many people were in the room with me.

I felt rough hands untying the knots at my feet, then the one behind my waist and then my wrists. He pulled me up off the chair, and I stumbled, but he didn’t slow down. He dragged me, still blindfolded to the end of the room.

“Don’t try anything or you’ll regret it. I’ll be standing right here.”

“I want privacy.”

He ignored me.

“How am I supposed to see with this blindfold on?”

“Not my problem.”

He roughly grabbed my arm and pushed me forward.

“This is the bathroom stall. It’s just like every other bathroom stall. Grope around if you need to, but leave the blindfold on.”

I pulled my arm out of his hands, reaching to feel for the stall door like I could imagine a blind person would. It moved when I pushed it. I felt for the edge of the door and moved around it.

“Keep it open.”

“Fuck you,” I said, closing it behind me.

“I said, keep it open.”

His voice was just outside the stall door.

“I didn’t lock it,” I defended. “Just give me a minute.”

My kidneys ached from holding it so long, and my hands shook as I pulled my running pants down to my knees. It was humiliating to pee with him just outside the door, but at least I was alive.

“Hurry up.”

“I am,” I growled, groping for something, anything that I could use to defend myself—but he was clearly smarter than that.

The second I finished, I pulled my pants up as fast as I could, groping to find the flush handle.

“Leave it,” he insisted, grabbing my arm and dragging me back toward the chair.

“Who are you?” I asked.

Silence.

“What do you want with me? I’m no one. You’ve made a mistake.”

Silence. He only gripped my arm harder, then shoved me into the chair.

“Please, no. I won’t run away. There’s no need to tie me,” I pleaded.

“Shut up or I’ll gag you, too.”

He wrenched my arms around the back of the chair, tying them tighter than they’d been before. He pulled the rope around my waist and I could feel him threading it through the ropes on my hands. My shoulders sagged. There would be no way for me to escape.

My stomach growled. “Could I have some water?”

“I said, shut up.”

I decided to try nice. “Thank you—for letting me use the restroom.”

I could feel his gaze on me and my breath hitched. My skin prickled, and fear started to climb up my chest.

“W—why won’t you tell me what you want from me?” I whispered.

His phone rang. It startled me and when he moved away, I realized just how close he’d been. My skin crawled, and I shivered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I heard him swear, then his voice became muffled. Then I heard a door close. Then nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Hello?” I called out, anxiety snaking through my body.

Suddenly, I knew I was alone, but why? Would they leave me here? What if no one found me?

I was nothing if not a survivor. I started to work at the knots at my wrists. My efforts began rubbing the skin on my wrists raw, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to die here, not if I could help it.

Panic fueled my efforts and pain became my friend, a sign of hope, a sign of freedom. All that mattered was getting free.

Tears streamed down my face, and I chocked on a sob. My breathing was labored, and I knew I risked hyperventilating—that wasn’t going to help.

What if I broke the chair? But how could I do that without risking injury, or potentially impaling myself on a piece of wood?

I tried to work the blindfold off my eyes, but my arms were pulled too tightly behind me. I could tell there was concrete beneath my bare feet, and I knew the bathroom was at least fifty feet in front of me.

The goon hadn’t tied my feet, so I tried to stand, taking mini-hops in the direction of the bathroom. If I could reach the wall, maybe I could figure out a way to break the chair against it.

It was awkward and difficult, but I was making progress when I heard the heavy metal door open. I froze, then lowered the chair, tears streaming down my face.

“Miss Brady?”

My head jerked toward the voice. “Y—yes?”

“We’re with SOS Security ma’am.”

“Ohmygod!” I began crying uncontrollably.

The first man who reached my side pulled the blindfold off and I looked into concerned brown eyes. There were four men. One of the other men started working on the knots at my hands.

“Doc, I’m going to need you back here.”

The man who pulled my blindfold off moved behind my chair. “Cut them off, I’ll bandage her hands when we get her outside.”

Suddenly my hands were free, and I groaned, stiffly moving them into my lap. They were stiff and sore, but they were free. I looked at my hands, “jeez,” I said. My wrists were raw and bloody.

The man they called doc pulled a penlight out of his pocket.

“Please don’t,” I begged him. “I’m fine. Can we just get the hell out of here?”

I stood, then stumbled. The man called doc swept me up into his arms and strode toward the door.

“Are they gone?” I asked him.

“They’re gone,” he assured me, his eyes assessing, but kind.

I started to cry, and he pulled me a little closer into his chest.