Witchery

 The sound of dripping water is reaching my ears. I slowly open my eyes. My head hurts a bit, but it is nothing compared to the wretched pain I feel in my arms and my back. I try to move, but I quickly discover that he chained med up against the wall, arms spread out with shackles, bound to the rings he has had installed in the cold bricks. I am to fatigue to even try to yank at them. And I know it is hopeless. The only thing I can focus on, except for the pain that is sending stars into my vision, is the dripping water from the tab in the kitchen sink. It hasn’t been working for as long as I can remember. But I can’t remember much. Only two weeks back, to be exact. And I don’t remember being anywhere but held captive by the Warlock. I shiver with the thought of him coming back home. It could be any minute or it could take days... I am not sure what I hope the most for, I could die from either outcome. And I will suffer from both no matter what.    The place he has locked me up in, is some sort of apartment. There’s a dirty kitchen with a tab which can’t fully close, an old wooden table and two broken chairs. No fridge. There’s an old bathroom with a chain to flush the toilet and a bathtub, both in desperate need of cleaning, but I guess I can’t afford to make cleaning my main concern. I am chained in the living room, behind the couch, close to a window. But the curtains are always drawn, so I have no idea where I am, what kind of view I would see, if I could only look out of the glass, or what kind of building I am in. I don’t even know if it is night or day, in my brain it sort of feels like it’s always nighttime. I feel so, so tired all the time. And cold. Endlessly cold, like he is consuming whatever little heat the apartment could have given me.  To my right there is a door leading into a bedchamber. Sometimes I wake up in the hard, uncomfortable bed without any knowledge of how I got there. Sometimes the door is closed, and I can hear muffled voices from behind it. I never know who he has coming over, he always makes sure I am out of the way, when he has visitors. With magic he takes my ability to talk or scream, leaving me to only sit and cry silently until the visitors are gone. Sometimes, however, the visitors help the warlock with his strange magic, using me. The visitors never seem to mind my state, always the same cold distance as the Warlock himself. Sometimes even less careful than him, not minding that they took more blood than needed for the magic.    I can hear some faint sounds of cars from outside the window, or from time to time a siren, but mostly it is so, so quiet. Unlike when he uses me for his experiments. Sometimes I can hear the sound of metal against skin. My own cries. The chanting voices…   The warlock only chains my up when he is out. But he never tells me for how long he’ll be gone, he never talks to me if he can avoid it. I’ve lost track of hours and days. Memories of how he has been cutting into my skin to do strange kind of magic flashes for my eyes. I remember the pain and the terror. The agony in my arms and back is very real and raw from the last time he used my skin and blood.  I see red whenever I close my eyes. My own blood, dripping from my arms down to the floor in silence. My throat tightens at these thoughts.   I feel my dry mouth, a faint taste of something metallic on the back of my tongue, knowing that I will die from thirst sooner rather than later if he doesn’t come back. In my mind I start wishing for him to come back. Is this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome? I am wondering. I want the Warlock, my abductor, to come back. Just to give me water, oh I am so thirsty. And to take me out of my lone, miserable state. Unchain me from this awkward, exhausting position my arms are in. It is like it’s more reassuring to know he is at least there, that I haven’t been completely forgotten yet, even though he is using me every way he sees fit, but only for his witchcraft. Although he doesn’t mind letting the visitors do with me as they please… I shake my head, not wanting to think about it. No, I reason with myself, it can’t be Stockholm Syndrome, I just want him back for my survival, to sooth my loneliness, just a bit. I am still shivering with the thought of him coming back. But the loneliness is like a stone in my stomach, I am overcome with it and I can’t shake it. Will I sit here and slowly rot away, with no one caring?   I don’t even know what time it is. Or for how long I’ve been in here. Days? Weeks? Will he be back? Why is he the only person I can remember? I am pretty sure I have known him all my life. Have I known anyone else beforehand? Or have I always been chained up in this apartment? Why are all my thoughts centered around him all the time, when he scares me so much? Will he be back? Will he be back? Will he be back… My own, chanting voice in my head is abruptly interrupted, when I hear steps at the door.   My heart stops.    He is back!   I can’t keep a tear from running down my chin. But something doesn’t sound right. I hear tumult outside, almost as if though someone is kicking down the door, and definitely more than one person coming in. Am I just imagining this in my solitude? But no, I see flashlights shining from the kitchen, that is the first room, you come into, after the hallway. Someone is walking slowly, but surely, from then kitchen towards the living room. Towards me. Because of the sudden ray of light in my eyes, I can’t really see the person, only a tall, masculine silhouette. It doesn’t exactly resemble the warlock’s silhouette, which is scaring, hunchbacked. I try to crawl backwards, making myself smaller, but I am already sitting against the wall, I can’t move any further. My heart is beating faster, and I tremble with fear. The tears won’t stop running, and I feel immobilized sitting there against the wall. He walks slowly around the couch and all of a sudden, he is right in front of me, crouching. But it isn’t the warlock’s eyes that look into mine. The warlock’s eyes are dark as the darkest night, like a window showing no soul living inside him. But these eyes are Emerald Green, shining brightly in front of me.  We look at each other.    Two strangers.    But we both feel it instantly.    My heart starts beating insanely fast, only this time not from fear, but from excitement. My brain feels like it is making summersaults. There are butterflies in my chest. I feel warm all of a sudden, like the temperature just went up by twenty degrees. I am sure my cheeks are all red as a rose from the heat. I don’t feel the cold anymore. I can only stare at him. He gasps, and I can tell from his eyes and mouth going up in a gentle, but surprised, smile, that he is experiencing the same as I am. It is like a trance we’re both in. Somehow, he finally manages to take his eyes away from mine, realizing my situation. He yells something to someone, but I can see black dots creeping in my vision. My body can’t take anymore, and the last thing I feel, before I close my eyes, is one of the chains being removed from my wrist, uproar and frustration all around me.