Liana

 

 

 

I awake curled up in a corner, the giant coat wrapped around me, stiff and cold after what has been the longest night of my life. My entire body hurts from falling asleep in an awkward position, and my right arm fell asleep under the weight of my body. Now it’s aching with trickling pins-and-needles pain as my limbs start coming back to life.

I squint around the dimly lit room, still trying to figure out where the hell I am. My disorientation is soon replaced by the horror of realization. A pained groan flees my mouth when I edge up into a sitting position, stretching my sore legs and arms, trying to get the blood flowing again. Why did this have to happen to me while I was wearing the most uncomfortable outfit in my closet? This ordeal would be more bearable if I was wearing sweatpants instead of my tight-fitting suit. The ripped pantyhose leave me exposed to the cold of the room, and I’ll be surprised if I don’t end up with a bladder infection.

It was the coldest night I’ve ever had to suffer through. God knows what I would have done without this coat. It was the only comfort under otherwise terrible circumstances. I pull up the collar and close the coat around my tired body. There is no way of knowing what time it is. Did I sleep through the night? How many hours have passed since I finally fell asleep? How many hours passed since that man left the room?

The man I am supposed to call Master.

A pain in my core reminds me of why I woke up. I have to pee, badly. With no access to any kind of bathroom, this is an actual problem.

You should have thought of that before, he said. That asshole.

Before what? Before I decided to be kidnapped and locked up? Before I insisted on asking him questions instead of following his orders like a dumb sheep? He acts as if I’m here of my own free will. How psychotic is this man?

Yet, he is my only way out. For all I know, he may just leave me in here, let me pee myself or starve to death, but I should at least try to get his attention.

“Hey!” I try to yell, but my voice produces nothing but a pathetic croak. My throat is sore from the cold and not having anything to drink… and from when he tightened his hand around it last night before he left.

I clear my throat, trying to strengthen my voice.

“Hey!” I yell again, and this time it’s stronger and louder. “I need to pee!”

I wait for any kind of response, but there is none. Nothing but silence.

“Please!” I add. “Please! I won’t try anything! I just need to pee!”

Again, nothing. He may not even hear me. There is no way for me to know whether he left me here all by myself, sitting in the locked attic of an empty house that’s God knows where.

“Hello?” I ask into the nothingness. “Are you still there? Please let me at least know if you’re still there!”

Silence.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hiss and get up on my feet. They are cold and stiff, just like the rest of my body, but I didn’t put my shoes back on. They may have provided a minimum of warmth, but more than anything, they hurt like hell. I placed them next to the door, neatly positioned next to one another, as if I was just a visitor, ready and able to leave at any time.

“Hey!” I repeat, now banging against the door. “Say something! I know you’re there!”

Of course, I don’t know if he’s here or not, but I feel like it cannot hurt to act confident, even if I am anything but that.

“Say something!” I shriek, accelerating my pounding against the wooden door. That goddamn door.

I stop when my fist begins to hurt and I no longer see a point in hurting myself for nothing. Breathing erratically, I pause and listen, trying to figure out if I really am here alone, or if he is lingering on the other side. I press my ear against the crack between the door and its frame, holding my own breath so it doesn’t drown out any noise that might be coming from the other side. For a few moments, I don’t hear a single sound, and just when I decide to withdraw in defeat, I can hear a step. Then another.

Frightened, I jump back from the door, bracing myself for him to come inside. But he doesn’t show up. Then the sound of approaching steps stops.

“Hello?” I ask, my voice lower than it was before. “You’re there. I can hear you.”

Again, I am met with nothing but silence. He’s there, or rather, someone is there. I have no reason to believe that it’s anybody but him, and I don’t know what would scare me more - seeing him, or some other psychotic creep who might be even worse?

My bladder is killing me, and the stinging pain reminds me that I don’t have much time left before I make this situation even worse for myself.

“Please,” I say, switching to a pleading tone as I step back to the door. “Please, I’m in pain. Please, please, just let me out to use the restroom.”

Nothing.

Desperation spreads through my chest, choking me just as his hand around my throat did last night. I’m close to tears, helpless, weakened, and at a loss with my predicament.

He’s right there. He can hear me, but he doesn’t react to my pleas. What am I supposed to do? Tears blur my vision as I lower my eyes.

“Please,” I beg, my voice so low that I don’t even think he can hear me. “Please let me out. I can’t go on any longer. Please, please, please...”

My words evolve into sobbing, as I bury my face in my hands, crushed with the loss of my last remaining hope. I’m going to pee myself, and won’t that just be the frosting on the cake of what is definitely the most horrible experience of my life? Is that what he wants? For me to utterly humiliate myself? What does he want from me?

Then I realize, there is something he said he wanted from me. I look up, my eyes widening with understanding, as tears continue rolling down my face.

“Master,” I breathe. “Please, Master. I beg you to let me out.”

I pause, holding my breath as I wait for his response.

“I promise to be a good girl,” I add.

Not even two seconds pass before I can hear steps approaching on the other side of the door.