8 in Locked-In

  • Nov. 28, 2021, 7:37 p.m.
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  • Public

Melissa left me sitting alone in the small room, staring at the wall for what seemed like hours. I heard her moving about the house. She made a few phone calls too, but I was unable to make out anything that was said.

Eventually, I heard her footsteps coming down the hallway. This escalated my heart rate. I tried to tell myself to relax; she hadn’t killed me yet. Then again, death might have been a blessing as opposed to a life with this bitch.

She sat on the bed and turned my chair so I was face-to-face with her. She slowly and deliberately took a bite out of the cookie that was in her hand, reminding me of how hungry I was getting.

“Nothing like homemade chocolate chip cookies, you know?”

She finished the cookie and then she leaned her elbows on her legs. “Okay, this is how it’s going to be. I’m going to refrain from slowly torturing the shit out of you until you drop dead because you’re not worth going to prison over for the rest of my life.”

Oh, wasn’t that kind of her.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re going to have an easy ride with me. You’re here so that I can at least take some of my frustration and anger out on parts of you no one sees. Bruises on your face wouldn’t be as easy to explain as bruises on your ass. It would be a lot more believable to say you fell on your ass using the toilet than saying you fell on your face. Facial and other bruises would be somewhat plausible, but only to a degree and only so often. Therefore, I’m going to keep the abuse where it’s going to remain covered.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. You mean to tell me she had taken me in and agreed to bathe me, feed me, give me a bed to sleep in, and buy whatever necessities I needed just so she could beat my ass whenever she pleased?

“Other than when I’m beating up on you, you’ll get a bath at night and you’ll spend weekdays at a daycare center. I’ll pick you up after work and maybe I’ll give you dinner but maybe I won’t.”

I hated to imagine what weekends might be like.

“Here’s the deal, however. If you ever find a way to communicate to anyone what I’m doing, you will, without a shred of doubt, be slowly tortured and killed. I can always make it look like I left you alone for a while and some intruder broke in and killed you. I’m a well-known and respected person in the community. No one will ever suspect me. Ever. The other doctor that read your lovely letter has no idea that I took you in and neither does anyone else connected to the medical group that knows about the letter. Furthermore, I never mentioned your name to my husband.”

I had to be dreaming. Oh, God, please wake me from this nightmare!

“I will communicate on your behalf with you present in periodic video chats with your friends and family so they’ll believe you’re in good hands.”

And just how long was she planning to keep my ass available to beat? She must have read my mind because I received an answer right after I asked this question to myself.

“I have no idea how long you’ll be with me. I don’t know if I’m going to make an excuse to get rid of you after a while, or if I’ll simply kill you. I just know there are only so many days I’ll be able to stand to see your face. Eventually one of these things will happen, but whether or not you get to live depends greatly on if you find a way to tell anyone what I’m doing, not that they’d believe you. Your body is messed up, your head is messed up, and therefore no one will buy whatever story you manage to get across to them.”

She rose from the bed.

“It’s getting late enough in the day for your bath. Are you ready for your first round of punishment, you little home wrecker?”

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