To all who may read this: The following story is just that; a story. A work of pure fiction. It is in no way intended to offend, incite or anger other people. If it does, my apologies. But, I am posting it here in the Lounge, a general discussion area, so I really hope it is not taken too seriously. So, having said that, read on if you wish, but keep in mind that this is Pt. 2. A search will fill you in on the beginning. Thanks. *********************************************
I lay on the bed, silently. My very breath has seemed to stop. My heart is beating so hard I believe it will burst through my chest. I can't hear a sound except for the "woosh woosh" of the blood as it courses through my body. 'What the hell have I gotten myself into,' I start to think. My memory is fuzzy and incoherent, like a poorly edited film or a jigsaw puzzle that's nearly complete, but the key peices are lost. I try to force myself to calm down, to regain my composure, but in my current state, that seems an impossibility. Hell, I'm not even sure what my current state is. Head pounding, heart racing, and my mouth feels like it's been used as an ashtray at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I've definitely felt better, Dear Reader. I start to calm myself down using an old army trick. I was never in the army, mind you, but I know someone who was and this is what they told me to do; breathe in through the nose for 5 seconds, breathe out through the nose for 5 seconds. What the hell, it seems to work, and I start to feel more in control, or at least more than I did 10 seconds ago.
The events of the day begin to unfold, slowly. I was at work, I remember that. Work sucked, I remember that. I was looking to get laid, made an appointment, I remember that. I showed up at the lady's apartment..... Oh my God. Dear Reader, the flood gates of my memory banks have been opened. Wide. Everything comes rushing back in an instant. There is no detail that I now can't recall, and believe me, there are some that I wish I could forget. I remember her voice, the way she looked, the way she smelled, and the texture of her skin(like a cloud). And I also recall being called Jonathan. Two other names are also resurfacing; Madison and Steve. Who the fuck are those guys? I assure myself that I have no idea. I remember the glass of wine, the odd taste of it and the expression of evil amusement on Anna's face(do you still want to fuck me, Jonathan?). And now my mind is back in the present, the here and now. The problem is, Dear Reader, that right here, right now, I am strapped to a bed, awaiting the arrival of Madison and Steve who want to "go to work on me", as the lovely Bitch-Goddess Anna so politely informed me. Something about their operation, and me being a backstabbing bastard. About that, I am completely fucking clueless. Part of my mind wants to ponder that part of the equation; who these people are, and what it is, exactly, that they think I know about them. I'm a bartender, for Christ's sake!
My mind wants to recall them, figure out who they could possibly be and what my connection to them might be, but at the moment that would seem a complete waste of energy. There are more pressing matters at hand. Such as the handcuffs that are pressing into my wrists. My fingertips are already feeling numb, achy, and I know that if I don't do something quickly, both of my hands will be utterly useless in the next couple of minutes. 'Okay, Winston,' I say to myself. (Talking out loud to an empty room doesn't really seem that odd in a situation like this.) 'Get a grip on things. Sort shit out. You've always been a quick thinker, good in a tight situation, so for fucks sake, THINK!'
I turn my head to the left, checking to see if there is any way out on that side-negative. There is nothing but pitch darkness in the corner of the room. I can't see a damn thing. Slowly, painfully, I turn my head to the right-a bit of luck for old Winston! The bedroom door was still open, and the light from the living room was shining through. Not much, but enough to give me hope. Enough to see a way out. All I would have to do is...
Click click click...The sound of high heels on hardwood floors; HER high heels. I can tell that she's coming this way. What the fuck does she want now? The door opens even more, letting more light in, then it is blocked; replaced by the wall shadow of the Bitch Goddess herself. 'Who are you talking to?' Her tone is so motherly and nagging that I almost start to laugh. But given my current state, that is probably not a good idea, wouldn't you agree, Dear Reader? I mumble incoherently, and close my eyes, hoping to give her the impression that I am still completely out of it, which is not entirely untrue. She snorts a short, contemptful laugh at me. 'You pathetic loser. You can babble all you want, and if you don't want to talk to me that's fine. Madison and Steve will be here soon, and I guarantee you'll be talking to them.' Now I almost do laugh. She no longer sounds naggy. She sounds like a whiny little girl, using the age old school yard threat of "my big brother is gonna beat you up." And she's calling me pathetic. I mumble a little more, anything just to get her to fuck off. 'Hhmmph, what a loser,' she says as she turns and walks away. My eyes were closed throughout this whole exchange, but even with them shut, I can tell that the room is brighter now than it was before. The Bitch Goddess forgot to close the door behind her. My fortune continues to grow.
The sound of her heels is moving away from me now, across the apartment, and I can hear another door being opened. I want to make sure she is far enough away from me before I make my move. There is the sound of running water, and shortly after that, I hear a shower come on. Perfect. I open my eyes and turn my head back to the right, where now the entire side of the room is lit up. I can see my environment quite clearly now. The room is empty except for the bed on which I currently reside. The bed, however, is the key. It is a big bed. It is an old bed. It is a big old bed with a post at each corner. And my handcuffs, you guessed it Dear Reader, are attached to the posts, with nothing between them and the free air above. All I would have to do is slide my hand up to the end of the post and voila!, freedom. I try to move my right arm upwards, since that is the one that I can see most clearly. It's a no go. The position I'm in has cut off the circulation significantly, and the arm feels dead asleep. 'Think fast but move faster Winston,' I tell the empty room. If I can't move my arm, I will have to move my body. Sounds like a plan.
I dig my heels into the mattress and push as hard as I can, sliding my body back and against the headboard. My shoulder blades are now touching it, and this new position seems to ease the pressure on my weary limbs. I start to wiggle my fingers, hoping to get the blood flow moving again. 'Don't waste time Winston. Keep pushing.' I begin pushing with my feet once more,and again, I slide a little further up. Now my arms are almost parrallel with my shoulders. I try to move my right arm and this time it co-operates. Slowly but surely my hand is inching ever closer to the end of the bed post. There's maybe a quarter inch to go, maybe less, and that's when it hits me. The worst fucking charlie horse of my life. Every muscle in my back cramps up. The pain is exquisite. I want to scream, but dare not to. Wouldn't want the Bitch Goddess coming back now, not when I'm so close. My eyes well up with tears. This is the very definition of agony.
In my whincing, I failed to notice something; the shower had stopped. When I heard Anna's voice in the next room, my heart nearly stopped as well. 'Hello, Steve,' I hear her say. 'You guys got here quick. I'll buzz you right in.' Dear Reader, things have quickly gone from bad to worse.
I have no idea who Steve and Madison are, and Anna was just some chick I wanted to nail, but one thing is for certain; I had no intentions of being handcuffed to a fucking bed while the introductions were being made. After all, how ever would I be able to shake hands with my gracious new hosts? Fuck it. I had to get out, no matter how bad the pain was. I grit my teeth and remember that scene from Rambo 3, where he pours gun powder into an open wound to cauterize it. 'Suck it up, be like ole Rambo, ignore the pain,' I tell myself. Never being one to believe my own bullshit, I find it quite impossible to ignore the pain, but I suck it up regardless. I can feel something warm and sticky running down the back of my wrist, and am quite sure that it's blood. Oh well, deal with it. I give it one final effort, pushin with my feet and reaching with my arm at the same time. It works.
Almost at once I can feel the blood rushing back into a once dead limb. It feels so good that it nearly hurts. Yea, it hurts like a mother, but I'm free!! I get so caught up in my tiny victory that I almost forget that I have two arms, and the other one is still attached to the damn bed. The left arm is a cakewalk. I just roll over to the side, get on my knees and pop that arm loose. Both arms are now free, I'm free and for a second, I simply lay on the bed silently, revelling in my small but very important victory. The sound of a deadbolt being snapped open brought me back to the here and now pretty damn quickly. I sat up like a shot, listening.
I could hear three distinct voices; the Bitch, and two males. One of the men had a higher voice, like Joe Pesci(whadya mean I'm funny?), the other was deep and rough like a man who smoked corn husks and drank gasoline. Hearing is one thing, but seeing is believing, wouldn't you agree, Dear Reader? I moved off the bed, creeping slowly to a position behind the door where I could see into the living room from the crack between the door and the wall. I never really believed that fear could cause one to wet their pants, but man, I came pretty damn close! Standing in the very next room with the woman I came here to nail were two of the ugliest, pug-faced sons of bitches I have ever seen. But it wasn't their appearance that frightened me; the small one, Joe, was carrying a blade. To call something of that size a knife would be insulting, but it was also to small to be called a machete. Something in between? I don't know what you would call that, but it scared the living shiznit out of me!
I knelt in my corner, watching. Their voices had been lowered, so I couldn't make out any of what they were saying, but their body language was enough. Anna was motioning towards the room I was in, and the two pug-faced bastards were just staring at it. For an instance I thought that Joe was looking right at me! I almost lost my cookies for the second time in as many minutes. Things were looking pretty bad to say the least.
Anna and the big fella moved towards the kitchen. Joe said something to them and they all had a good laugh about it. 'Yea, laugh it up, fuckers,' I thought to myself. Joe was standing alone in the living room now. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold watch on a chain, checked the time, and then began to move towards the bedroom, machete in hand. For the second time in my life, hell for the second time this evening, I truly thought that I was going to die.
to be continued.......
I lay on the bed, silently. My very breath has seemed to stop. My heart is beating so hard I believe it will burst through my chest. I can't hear a sound except for the "woosh woosh" of the blood as it courses through my body. 'What the hell have I gotten myself into,' I start to think. My memory is fuzzy and incoherent, like a poorly edited film or a jigsaw puzzle that's nearly complete, but the key peices are lost. I try to force myself to calm down, to regain my composure, but in my current state, that seems an impossibility. Hell, I'm not even sure what my current state is. Head pounding, heart racing, and my mouth feels like it's been used as an ashtray at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I've definitely felt better, Dear Reader. I start to calm myself down using an old army trick. I was never in the army, mind you, but I know someone who was and this is what they told me to do; breathe in through the nose for 5 seconds, breathe out through the nose for 5 seconds. What the hell, it seems to work, and I start to feel more in control, or at least more than I did 10 seconds ago.
The events of the day begin to unfold, slowly. I was at work, I remember that. Work sucked, I remember that. I was looking to get laid, made an appointment, I remember that. I showed up at the lady's apartment..... Oh my God. Dear Reader, the flood gates of my memory banks have been opened. Wide. Everything comes rushing back in an instant. There is no detail that I now can't recall, and believe me, there are some that I wish I could forget. I remember her voice, the way she looked, the way she smelled, and the texture of her skin(like a cloud). And I also recall being called Jonathan. Two other names are also resurfacing; Madison and Steve. Who the fuck are those guys? I assure myself that I have no idea. I remember the glass of wine, the odd taste of it and the expression of evil amusement on Anna's face(do you still want to fuck me, Jonathan?). And now my mind is back in the present, the here and now. The problem is, Dear Reader, that right here, right now, I am strapped to a bed, awaiting the arrival of Madison and Steve who want to "go to work on me", as the lovely Bitch-Goddess Anna so politely informed me. Something about their operation, and me being a backstabbing bastard. About that, I am completely fucking clueless. Part of my mind wants to ponder that part of the equation; who these people are, and what it is, exactly, that they think I know about them. I'm a bartender, for Christ's sake!
My mind wants to recall them, figure out who they could possibly be and what my connection to them might be, but at the moment that would seem a complete waste of energy. There are more pressing matters at hand. Such as the handcuffs that are pressing into my wrists. My fingertips are already feeling numb, achy, and I know that if I don't do something quickly, both of my hands will be utterly useless in the next couple of minutes. 'Okay, Winston,' I say to myself. (Talking out loud to an empty room doesn't really seem that odd in a situation like this.) 'Get a grip on things. Sort shit out. You've always been a quick thinker, good in a tight situation, so for fucks sake, THINK!'
I turn my head to the left, checking to see if there is any way out on that side-negative. There is nothing but pitch darkness in the corner of the room. I can't see a damn thing. Slowly, painfully, I turn my head to the right-a bit of luck for old Winston! The bedroom door was still open, and the light from the living room was shining through. Not much, but enough to give me hope. Enough to see a way out. All I would have to do is...
Click click click...The sound of high heels on hardwood floors; HER high heels. I can tell that she's coming this way. What the fuck does she want now? The door opens even more, letting more light in, then it is blocked; replaced by the wall shadow of the Bitch Goddess herself. 'Who are you talking to?' Her tone is so motherly and nagging that I almost start to laugh. But given my current state, that is probably not a good idea, wouldn't you agree, Dear Reader? I mumble incoherently, and close my eyes, hoping to give her the impression that I am still completely out of it, which is not entirely untrue. She snorts a short, contemptful laugh at me. 'You pathetic loser. You can babble all you want, and if you don't want to talk to me that's fine. Madison and Steve will be here soon, and I guarantee you'll be talking to them.' Now I almost do laugh. She no longer sounds naggy. She sounds like a whiny little girl, using the age old school yard threat of "my big brother is gonna beat you up." And she's calling me pathetic. I mumble a little more, anything just to get her to fuck off. 'Hhmmph, what a loser,' she says as she turns and walks away. My eyes were closed throughout this whole exchange, but even with them shut, I can tell that the room is brighter now than it was before. The Bitch Goddess forgot to close the door behind her. My fortune continues to grow.
The sound of her heels is moving away from me now, across the apartment, and I can hear another door being opened. I want to make sure she is far enough away from me before I make my move. There is the sound of running water, and shortly after that, I hear a shower come on. Perfect. I open my eyes and turn my head back to the right, where now the entire side of the room is lit up. I can see my environment quite clearly now. The room is empty except for the bed on which I currently reside. The bed, however, is the key. It is a big bed. It is an old bed. It is a big old bed with a post at each corner. And my handcuffs, you guessed it Dear Reader, are attached to the posts, with nothing between them and the free air above. All I would have to do is slide my hand up to the end of the post and voila!, freedom. I try to move my right arm upwards, since that is the one that I can see most clearly. It's a no go. The position I'm in has cut off the circulation significantly, and the arm feels dead asleep. 'Think fast but move faster Winston,' I tell the empty room. If I can't move my arm, I will have to move my body. Sounds like a plan.
I dig my heels into the mattress and push as hard as I can, sliding my body back and against the headboard. My shoulder blades are now touching it, and this new position seems to ease the pressure on my weary limbs. I start to wiggle my fingers, hoping to get the blood flow moving again. 'Don't waste time Winston. Keep pushing.' I begin pushing with my feet once more,and again, I slide a little further up. Now my arms are almost parrallel with my shoulders. I try to move my right arm and this time it co-operates. Slowly but surely my hand is inching ever closer to the end of the bed post. There's maybe a quarter inch to go, maybe less, and that's when it hits me. The worst fucking charlie horse of my life. Every muscle in my back cramps up. The pain is exquisite. I want to scream, but dare not to. Wouldn't want the Bitch Goddess coming back now, not when I'm so close. My eyes well up with tears. This is the very definition of agony.
In my whincing, I failed to notice something; the shower had stopped. When I heard Anna's voice in the next room, my heart nearly stopped as well. 'Hello, Steve,' I hear her say. 'You guys got here quick. I'll buzz you right in.' Dear Reader, things have quickly gone from bad to worse.
I have no idea who Steve and Madison are, and Anna was just some chick I wanted to nail, but one thing is for certain; I had no intentions of being handcuffed to a fucking bed while the introductions were being made. After all, how ever would I be able to shake hands with my gracious new hosts? Fuck it. I had to get out, no matter how bad the pain was. I grit my teeth and remember that scene from Rambo 3, where he pours gun powder into an open wound to cauterize it. 'Suck it up, be like ole Rambo, ignore the pain,' I tell myself. Never being one to believe my own bullshit, I find it quite impossible to ignore the pain, but I suck it up regardless. I can feel something warm and sticky running down the back of my wrist, and am quite sure that it's blood. Oh well, deal with it. I give it one final effort, pushin with my feet and reaching with my arm at the same time. It works.
Almost at once I can feel the blood rushing back into a once dead limb. It feels so good that it nearly hurts. Yea, it hurts like a mother, but I'm free!! I get so caught up in my tiny victory that I almost forget that I have two arms, and the other one is still attached to the damn bed. The left arm is a cakewalk. I just roll over to the side, get on my knees and pop that arm loose. Both arms are now free, I'm free and for a second, I simply lay on the bed silently, revelling in my small but very important victory. The sound of a deadbolt being snapped open brought me back to the here and now pretty damn quickly. I sat up like a shot, listening.
I could hear three distinct voices; the Bitch, and two males. One of the men had a higher voice, like Joe Pesci(whadya mean I'm funny?), the other was deep and rough like a man who smoked corn husks and drank gasoline. Hearing is one thing, but seeing is believing, wouldn't you agree, Dear Reader? I moved off the bed, creeping slowly to a position behind the door where I could see into the living room from the crack between the door and the wall. I never really believed that fear could cause one to wet their pants, but man, I came pretty damn close! Standing in the very next room with the woman I came here to nail were two of the ugliest, pug-faced sons of bitches I have ever seen. But it wasn't their appearance that frightened me; the small one, Joe, was carrying a blade. To call something of that size a knife would be insulting, but it was also to small to be called a machete. Something in between? I don't know what you would call that, but it scared the living shiznit out of me!
I knelt in my corner, watching. Their voices had been lowered, so I couldn't make out any of what they were saying, but their body language was enough. Anna was motioning towards the room I was in, and the two pug-faced bastards were just staring at it. For an instance I thought that Joe was looking right at me! I almost lost my cookies for the second time in as many minutes. Things were looking pretty bad to say the least.
Anna and the big fella moved towards the kitchen. Joe said something to them and they all had a good laugh about it. 'Yea, laugh it up, fuckers,' I thought to myself. Joe was standing alone in the living room now. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold watch on a chain, checked the time, and then began to move towards the bedroom, machete in hand. For the second time in my life, hell for the second time this evening, I truly thought that I was going to die.
to be continued.......
