The Water
1035 Words
I jerk my hands away from the bottle.
“Why?”
The man watches me.
“Just don’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I stare at him.
“Are you always this helpful?”
“I try.”
I rolls her eyes.
“Fantastic. I’m trapped with a philosopher.”
Silence.
“You know,” I mutters, “people usually explain things before telling someone not to do them.”
“I’ve found explanations are overrated.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I decide not to drink.
Not because I trust him.
Because I trust myself. .
If something feels wrong…
There’s usually a reason.
My throat burns anyway.
I twist and scoot across the concrete until my back reaches the opposite wall.
Every movement sends fresh pain through my wrists.
I finally lean back.
It’s only slightly better.
The concrete is cold enough to steal the heat from my body.
I curls my knees toward my chest.
Still shivering.
Time becomes meaningless.
No windows.
No clock.
No sunlight.
Minutes stretch into hours.
Hours feel like days.
Sleep comes in broken pieces.
When I wake…
Everything hurts.
My neck.
My shoulders.
My wrists.
My pride.
I look toward him.
“You know anything?”
“No.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Who are you?”
Silence.
“Were you kidnapped?”
“…Yes.”
“By him?”
“…Yes.”
“How long have you been here?”
A pause.
“Long enough.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“It was the one I chose.”
I groa.
“I swear, talking to you is like interviewing a brick wall.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
My frustration boils over.
“If we’re getting out of here, I need information.”
Nothing.
“Anything.”
Nothing.
“You know something.”
“I know enough.”
“Then tell me!”
“I can’t.”
“Or you won’t?”
He doesn’t answer.
I attack the cuffs again.
Metal scrapes skin.
Fresh blood runs over my wrists.
I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Stop.”
I ignore him.
“You’re making it worse.”
“I noticed.”
I pull again.
Pain explodes.
Nothing moves.
I scream.
“HELP!”
My voice echoes.
Nothing.
Again.
“HELP!”
Silence.
Again.
Again.
Again.:
“Help!” I screamed again.
The sound ricocheted off the concrete walls before dying somewhere beyond the door.
Nothing.
“You’re wasting your voice.”
I glared at the shadow in the corner.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
Silence.
“How?” I demanded again.
He let out a slow breath.
“Because if anyone was coming…”
He looked toward the steel door.
“…they would’ve come by now.”
My mouth goes dry.
Not because I’m thirsty.
Because my stomach just dropped somewhere through the concrete floor.
“They know your name,” he says quietly.
A beat.
“Where you live.”
Another.
“Where you work.”
Each sentence lands like another brick on my chest.
“They talked about all of it.”
A chill snakes down my spine.
They knew who I was before they took me.
This wasn’t random.
I don’t know whether that should terrify me more or less.
I scream anyway.
“HELP!”
My voice ricochets off the walls.
Nothing.
Again.
“HELP!”
Silence.
Again.
Until my throat burns.
Until every word scrapes like broken glass.
Until my voice dissolves into a raspy whisper.
Nobody comes.
Nobody is coming.
The thought settles over me like wet cement.
Slowly, I twist onto my side and inch backward toward the water bottle.
Every movement drags the handcuffs across my raw wrists.
The sting barely registers anymore.
He’s watching me.
He doesn’t try to stop me.
“Please,” I whisper.
“If you know something… just tell me.”
He closes his eyes for a second.
“Don’t.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” I snap.
His shoulders rise with a slow breath.
“Don’t.”
I let out a hollow laugh.
“Great. Very informative.”
My throat feels like sandpaper.
“I’m so thirsty.”
“Not yet.”
I stare at him.
“What does that even mean?”
No answer.
Of course.
Apparently I was kidnapped by the world’s least conversational people.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“I know.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten.
Not sympathy.
Recognition.
Like he remembers exactly what this feels like.
I don’t let myself think about it.
I twist again until my bound hands brush against the bottle.
The plastic is warm beneath my fingertips.
I fumble with the cap, awkwardly working it loose behind my back.
It finally gives.
I lift the bottle as best I can.
The water is warm.
Flat.
It tastes… off.
Not bad.
Just…
Wrong.
I drink it anyway.
Every last drop.
When it’s empty, I tip the bottle upside down, hoping one more drop will magically appear.
Nothing.
My thirst somehow feels worse.
A few minutes pass.
Or maybe it’s longer.
Time doesn’t exist in here.
The walls begin to lean.
I blink.
No.
The walls aren’t moving.
I am.
My head grows heavy.
My thoughts feel wrapped in cotton.
No…
No, stay awake.
I shake my head.
It doesn’t help.
The darkness creeps in anyway.
Slow.
Patient.
Certain.
The last thing I hear is my own breathing.
Then…
Nothing.
My neck throbs.
Concrete is a terrible pillow.
I peel my eyes open.
For one glorious second, I have no idea where I am.
Then the smell hits me.
Rust.
Damp concrete.
Mildew.
The room crashes back into focus.
I push myself onto an elbow.
That’s when I hear it.
A sharp gasp.
Another.
I whip my head toward the corner.
He’s doubled over.
Every breath sounds like it’s has to claw its way into his lungs.
His chest heaves.
His shoulders tremble.
He’s trying desperately…
Just to breathe.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD