You felt uneasy as you and Rory got into bed Saturday night, something just wasn't sitting right. It could be any number of things, the fight you and Rory had earlier that day, the man who seemed to follow you and Rory while you walked back from dinner, or even Chinese food that Rory ordered. You ask him if he had locked the door, now being the 5th time you've asked him since you got home an hour ago. His disgruntled "yes" did nothing to calm your nerves however; you climb into bed and make an attempt at falling asleep.
You wake up in a daze, still groggy; "it's still dark out it can't possibly be time to get up," you mumble to yourself. After a few seconds the fuzziness starts to fade away and you become aware of a cold sensation on the inside of you right thigh. Thinking its just chills from the draft you pull your legs in, only to stop when the cold pushes back against your leg. You pull your head out from under the covers as you hear a familiar voice say, "Now Kate, didn't your daddy teach you to never to play with a loaded gun?"
Your mind is in a racing. How did he get in here? How does he even know where Rory lives? You glance over your shoulder in hopes of seeing Rory coming to the rescue. But no, Rory is lying on the other side of the bed, his hands and feet zip tied together, and a ball gag in his mouth. The realization that Rory can't save you begins to slowly sink in. I can see it in your eyes, the realization that you are completely and utterly helpless and that no one is coming to save you.
My gun begins to slide further up your inner thigh. "We're going to play some games tonight Kate, that all right?" You nod your head in response while doing everything to avoid making eye contact with me. "Now Kate, either you can go first or Rory can go first. As the lady, it is your choice." You quickly glance over at Rory; even I can tell what his eyes are saying, "please, don't make me go first."
You feel the cold steel of the gun barrel against your chin as I turn your head back towards me. My unwavering stare tells you one thing and one thing only: Pick. "Rory," you say as you instinctively look away from him.
I grab you by your oversized sweater lifting you off of the bed; once you regain your senses you realize that that familiar cold feeling is resting gently on your neck. "Now Kate, go into the closet and bring out all of yours and Rory's toys." Confused you head off to the closet and return with a box overflowing with sex toys, all shapes and sizes. Without breaking eye contact with Rory I ask you "Kate, go ahead and pick out your favorite strap-on."
Rory's eyes widen upon hearing the word "strap-on," wriggling on the bed, you can hear him trying to talk through the ball gag. Most likely nothing more than a pathetic attempt to convince me to let him go. If he only knew where the night would take him. In his struggling he rolls himself off of the bed, and with no hands to catch his fall he breaks his nose against the cold floor. I glance over, half considering picking him up and moving him, but no - lying face down in his own blood for a while will do him some good.