Nora

"Why isn't my alarm going off?" Nora asked herself. Still fairly groggy, she tried to rub her eyes. That's when she realized there was something very wrong.

'My hands, why can't I touch my face? Why is it so dark in here? Where the hell am I?'

Then she heard the voice.

"Ah, good...you're awake."

There was something wrong with the voice though. It was distorted. It almost sounded like Jigsaw from those

SAW

movies that Jake liked.

'Jake,'

she thought,

'That's who must have done this to me.'

"This isn't funny Jake. Untie me right now! You know I'm not into this bondage shit!"

"You want to know what's funny? I'm not Jake, and I don't give two shits what you are or aren't into," said the voice. "Now be still, you don't want your catheter to rip out."

"Catheter? What kind of sick shit is this? What the hell are you trying to prove you sick fuck?" Nora was really worried now. There was no way in hell this was Jake. She had to think.

Breathing to calm herself, she tried to figure how she was secured. She knew her hands couldn't reach her face. Her wrists felt like they were in separate sets of handcuffs; but she could move her hands further than a set of handcuffs would allow. Feeling carefully with her hand, she felt the chain that went to her wrist. Following the chain back, she came to a metal bar.

"Relax dear. Your bonds are quite secure."

Nora froze, "How can you see me you bastard? It's fucking pitch black in here!"

"Are you sure that being able to see would make your situation seem any better," the voice asked. "Would you like to maintain the illusion of hope? Or, would you rather discover the true extent of your predicament?"

"You fucking bastard," Nora screamed, "I swear you will..."

"What? Regret the day I ever saw you? Do you know that approximately 83% of the women that have woken up in my bed have made that exact same promise? Hearing the same thing over and over does get rather tedious. Now, I imagine you must be hungry."

'What sort of sick game is this bastard running here,'

Nora thought to herself. The last thing he said to her had actually scared her even more than waking up here.

'If 83% of the women that have been here said the same thing, how many actually left alive?'

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely registered a slight change in air pressure, right before she heard a soft thud. "Hello," she called tentatively, "is anyone there?"

There was no verbal response. The top of her bed started to move, bringing her body into a sitting position. "Hello," she asked again, "Please say something." She felt the bottom of a spoon rest on her lips, then it began pressing down slightly on her bottom lip. It felt like a larger version of a rubber-coated baby spoon.

Opening her mouth, she felt the spoon tip and then slide in, just like feeding a baby. The spoon was then removed from her mouth, leaving it's cargo of lukewarm oatmeal in her mouth.

Under normal circumstances, she loved oatmeal. This, however, hardly qualified as normal circumstances. The oatmeal in her mouth did remind her that she was, in fact, quite hungry.

'At least he is feeding me,'

she thought, and swallowed the oatmeal. The spoon was presented again, the same way, letting her know another bite was available. Taking the bite she asked, "Please let me go. It's not like I have seen you or even know where I am."

There was no response, just the spoon being presented again.

Nora turned her head to refuse the bite. Suddenly, there was a hand under her chin. Something was wrong though, it didn't feel like flesh. It felt like the hand was in a glove, a surgical style glove.

The hand wasn't strangling her. It turned slightly upward and there was pain, blinding pain, as the thumb and index finger pressed on either side of her lower jaw. She was forced to turn her head back to the front and open her mouth. The bite of oatmeal was deposited in her mouth and the hand left.

She swallowed and asked, "Please, could I have something to drink?"

The spoon was back. Nora considered attempting to refuse the bite, but the memory of the pain was still very fresh. Taking the bite, she tried asking again, "Could I have something to drink, please?"

Nothing was said, but a straw was put to her lips instead of the spoon this time.

She took a cautious sip through the straw, not knowing what to expect.

It wasn't water. It was some form of sport drink.

'Why is he giving me Gatorade,'

she asked herself.

After three swallows, the straw was removed and the spoon was presented again.

"How long have I been unconscious," Nora asked.

There was still no response, just the spoon at her mouth.

"Answer me, god damn it! Why the fuck am I here? How fucking long have I been here?"

Nora was getting pissed. Whoever was feeding her said absolutely nothing. They just kept putting the spoon to her mouth like they were feeding a baby.

"NO! Fuck your god damned oatmeal! Fucking answer me!"

Nora's head was rocked by a hard slap. As she opened her mouth to yell some more, a ball gag was forced in and quickly locked in place. The head of the bed lowered back to where she was lying flat. The next thing she felt was a pair of gloved hands examining her body.

The hands weren't groping her. It was almost clinical the way the hands explored her body. The continuing silence during her examination was very unnerving.

There were no commands or requests. Any resistance was met with pain. When she attempted to resist, one of the hands examining her body would move slightly from where it was and press with two fingers. With the pressure came pain. Sudden and intense, it made the worst cramping during her period seem like nothing.

By now, Nora was absolutely beside herself with fear.

'Who the fuck is doing this to me? Better yet, why me,'

she wondered,

'Will I ever see the light of day again?'