Slash

Rebecca tried to scream through the rag that had been stuffed into her mouth, but the material, and the duct tape that held it there, only allowed her to make a muffled whining sound. Her eyes, red and sore from hours (days?) of crying, blinked dryly at her tormentor as he simply sat across from her, his own eyes continually moving up and down her body.

The man would come and go, never saying a thing to her, merely setting in the chair facing her and staring at her; at her body; at her nakedness.

When moments of rational thought did come to her, she would curse herself for stupidly going bar hoping; for drinking too much on a work night; for trying to pick up a total stranger; for going with him.

He had seemed so nice, but then, didn't they always? His eyes had been what had attracted her, initially. They were such a dark blue, almost cobalt, and she had fallen into them the moment she had seen them. His eyes, so dark and mysterious, just what she had foolishly believed that she had needed in her life, had become black and evil.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself drunkenly going with him to his apartment, excitedly accepting another drink, and then waking up to find herself stripped of her clothing, bound to a hard wood chair by thick wrappings of duct tape.

Five days ago? Seven? She didn't know anymore. She was so tired, sleeping only when she passed out, and weak from hunger, the bastard not even offering her scraps in the all of the time that she had been his prisoner.

"What do you want?" she wanted to scream at him. "Why are you doing this to me?"

But she couldn't. She couldn't utter a word. She could only make the plaintive, whimpering sounds that he seemed to so enjoy. The spark that gleamed in his eyes when he sat their staring at her appeared to intensify when she made those sounds, and she knew that he was enraptured by it.

She fought to keep her eyes open while he sat there, motionless, terrified of never opening them again.

Her eyelids drooped, exhaustion pummeling her senses, and she jerked upright as she realized that she had drifted into the blackness of slumber. She blinked madly, insane terror screaming at her soul, and she saw that he was gone, the chair setting empty before her.

Oh, God, please help me! I want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore. Where is he? How long was I asleep? So tired. Hungry. The bastard! Why is he doing this to me?

The tell tale squeak of the unseen door opening brought a skip to her heart, her body trembling with fear as she wondered if he were just now leaving the room or if he were returning, her previous bout of sleep being longer than she had suspected.

He stepped in front of her, destroying her hope that he had been leaving, and she gasped inwardly as she saw that he was nude.

He's going to rape me! she screamed in her mind, struggling vainly, weakly, against the cloth-like tape that held her firmly to the chair.

"Shhhh," he commanded, even the sound akin to an order. "Be still."

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut as she sobbed, dry tears all that her dehydrated body was able to produce. Pain from her bindings clawed at her awareness as her body heaved with her unrealized sobs, agonizingly reminding her of how long she had been confined to the chair.

"I've taken better care of you than you deserve," he said, speaking the first words that she had heard from him since that night he had lured her to his apartment.

Lured? she thought, rather maniacally, her own laughter echoing within her mind. I picked him out! I wanted him. I went with him!

"Do you think I liked cleaning up after you?" he asked, circling her, talking down to her as if she were a misbehaving child. "Soiling yourself, stinking up my trophy room."

What's he doing? came a rather lucid thought, Rebecca noticing that he kept his hands either behind his back or to his side, out of her sight. Oh, God! What's he going to do?

"There is far more to this room than this little circle of light that you set in," he continued, shifting his conversation without missing a beat. "This is my trophy room, my collection, and I had to know if you would fit in here."

She remembered thinking, at some point previous, that the room was much larger than what she could see, the glaring bulb that hung over her head never dispelling the far shadows to reveal the walls.

"I've decided that yes, you are beautiful enough to be here," he announced, stopping before her.

He reached up and tugged on the end of a string that hung down from the darkness, fluorescent lights blinking to life.

Rebecca's mind tried to shut down as her eyes took in the sight of the far wall, what little semblance of sanity that she had left slipping away, only flashes of what she actually saw slipping through to her consciousness.

The large blade that he held in his hand.

The trophies that hung on the far wall.

The meticulously removed sheaths of flesh that once adorned the bodies of living women.

The sparkle in his eyes that burned brighter than ever.

"Don't worry," drummed his voice through her mind. "I won't ruin your looks. That's what makes you a trophy worth keeping."

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

He leaned down next to her ear and whispered to her. "I'll only slash you down the back."