Page 6 of Game of Revenge

I finally got to another door. It seemed to be my only way out, so I had to decide whether I was willing to take a chance on whatever was on the other side or go back to my prison.

I stood there for a moment, listening attentively to see if I could hear anything over my racing heart. The silence was not necessarily reassuring. I couldn’t hear anything. I could, of course, go back to the corridor and head the opposite way, but I didn’t have the strength to do so. I took a deep breath. Here we go. Life or death. I assembled the little bit of strength I found deep in myself and proceeded.

Grabbing the doorknob, I turned it slowly to the right. As the door opened, it creaked a bit. I quickly looked behind me, worried that someone would've heard the noise. There was no one. I opened the door a little wider and peeked through.

I found myself in a small, dark, and messy kitchen. There was some sort of a stove on my right, a fridge on my left, as well as a very beaten-up sink. There were several gallons of water on the floor and a skeletal kitchen island in the middle. That was where they must've been making my meals. That would explain the noise I would hear from the room.

I proceeded to the back of the kitchen where I could see an open door. Considering the amount of light that was coming in, I hoped it was a door to the outside. After a few more steps, I thought I might actually have a shot at freedom.

I got to the open door and finally stepped outside. I found myself in a beat-up backyard where the grass and cement appeared to be competing for space. I noticed three black-and-silver motorcycles parked outside. There was still no one there, and I could actually see a road. If I could only run to it, I would be free. I would be able to stop a car and get some help.

I hesitated again for a second, worried about what they might do to me if they caught me. But now wasn’t the time to be scared or change my mind. I told myself I had to keep going.

I looked behind me one last time, then to my left and right, and started running low, trying to keep myself as close to the ground as possible, my dress making the task quite challenging. I stopped by the motorcycles, frantically looking for keys, but did not find any. Giving up on that idea, I continued running a little faster toward the open road.

Discovering a line of trees bordering the road, I decided it was my best chance for cover. I followed the road behind the trees for as long as I could. When I reached the end, all I could do was run or walk on the grass next to the road. There were no houses for miles, just empty land.

I had no idea where I was, and I hadn’t seen one car pass by for the ten minutes I had been walking. The sun was out, bright and shining, beating on my bare back and shoulders. It looked like it would be hours before dark. My hope was to find either a ride or shelter by the time night came.

As if by magic, I saw a car speeding toward me––a pickup truck kicking up so much dust that I had to cover my eyes for a second and hold my breath.

The car sped past me, and I felt instant defeat. But as I was just about to continue my trek, I noticed the truck start to drift sideways as it came to a stop, blocking the street behind me completely.

Something didn’t seem right, and I instantly questioned whether this person was a friend or enemy.

A man got out of the driver’s seat, looking at me attentively for a few seconds. He then started slowly walking toward me, as if not to spook me. I didn’t know if I should run away from him or stand my ground. It all depended on his intentions, and I had no control over that. As he got closer to me, I could finally see his face, although I couldn’t make out his features very well.

He wore an angry scowl. He was wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans, a white shirt, and a perfectly tailored gray suit jacket. He had a gun tucked into the right side of his jeans. He started walking faster and faster toward me.

Panic invaded my senses, and I started running in the opposite direction with all my strength, my bare feet burning as they hit the hot concrete with force. I had to get away from this man as fast as I could. Perhaps another car would come by and help me.

Unfortunately, he was next to me in the blink of an eye. He grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, lifted me up, and before I knew it, he was carrying me on his shoulders. I was fighting him as best as I could, pulling on and scratching his jacket, kicking my feet—to no avail. He wasn't fazed, his toned body too built to feel any of it.

“Let me go!’ I screamed. “Let me go! You can’t do this! LET. ME. GO!”

He held me tight with his left arm behind my knees, seemingly unharmed by my attempted attacks. I could no longer kick him as his strong forearm held my thighs firmly against his chest.

“Stop it!” he ordered brusquely in perfect English. “There is no point in fighting. There’s nowhere for you to go!”

“Ahhhh!” I continued to scream even louder.

My hands were tired from aimlessly smashing against his hard back, but I had to continue fighting. He definitely was not the savior I was expecting him to be.

We got to his pickup truck, and he opened the back door, shoving me in on my back. I looked up, horrified, as he was getting in, closing the door behind him.

What was he going to do with me?

I started kicking, trying to push him out and looking behind me to find a way to open the door at my back. He abruptly held my legs to stop the kicking. With each of his hands holding my thighs apart at my knees, he pulled me violently toward him and positioned himself in between my legs and on top of me, his weight pinning me down. He was going to rape me—I was sure of it.

This couldn’t be happening. My blood rose to my brain, but I couldn't move. I was now not only screaming but also crying from fear. The idea of a stranger penetrating me against my will made me want to die.

“Please stop!” I pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you!”

Now that I could not move my legs, he grabbed each of my wrists. I closed my eyes, waiting for impact. I was sure he was going to hit me. Instead, he just held my wrists together.

“Damn it, stop fighting me!” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I opened my eyes, confused at what he just said.