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Out of all my life choices, I didn’t think hitting on a man at a bar would lead to me being kept hostage in a basement. Or rather, someone else’s basement. It’s too dark to make out any detail of the room I’m in, only shadows of a tall figure against the south – I think it’s the south – wall as he comes in every morning with a fresh breakfast and a helping of drugs to go alongside it. His voice, vaguely European, said that “The longer you stay cooperative, the longer you’ll live.”.
The room was comfortable, the bed more plush than my own, the sink didn’t feel as though it had been left to rot, my fingers always skated over the surface of the metal with no intrusions of rust. The floor was cold and I avoided standing on it. I had been brought a new change of clothes with the fourth breakfast, and received my clothes back the next day. One of the walls was not concrete but smooth, not cold like glass but artificial like plastic.
I haven’t seen that curly haired man since the night I met him. Gods above he was the most delectable man at that bar, all shaggy hair and toothpaste smiles, and I thought he was into me. Maybe he was, maybe it was just a coincidence that I ended up here on that same night but I can’t help but think the two events overlapped on purpose.
My suspicions were possibly confirmed when I saw a flash of a silhouette that I convinced myself was his. The next day I saw him again, he only peeked his head into the room the day prior, but the next time he walked in a few steps, stopped, whispered something in that velvety smooth voice he has to his European compatriot and then left. Oh. This was definitely some kink thing they had. He was the bait – good choice on that one – and his European boyfriend got a kick out of beating the shit out of anyone who touched his man. Good for them. At least someone’s getting a positive experience out of this. I wasn’t the first they had done this to, clear just by the sheer efficiency of it all; the fact they have a room in their house for this made it certain I wasn’t going to be the last.
—
Time didn’t pass as it used to. I could have been in this cell for a month or it could have been a week, a couple days with enough psychedelics in my system. Fuck, that was one hell of a trip. I’d give anything to go back to that awful smelling festival now. However, the only real way of telling how long I’d been here was how many pattern breaks there were. There was the first, second and third day where I’d been given different meals everyday. From the fourth it was the same nicely prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was another, fifth day where I saw that curly haired boy for the first time, and the sixth day where he visited again. So, upon a second thought, I’d been here for at least a week, maybe two.
The seventh pattern break was the most important one thus far. I had been close to falling asleep when I heard the door click open behind me. I didn’t have time to prepare myself for when the lightbulb that had apparently been hanging above my head this entire time flickered on, blinding me for a good few minutes.
“See, Will. He’s been keeping his food down and taking his vitamins. It looks as if he has actually gained some weight since he arrived.”
Those were vitamins? The supposed drugs I’d been taking every morning were vitamins? Great, that just added fifty more things to the ‘things that aren’t adding up here’ list I had been compiling since I got here.
“Okay, fine.”
Were they bickering? Is the reason I am still alive is because that curly haired boy, Will, was annoyed at his boyfriend? Both of which were behind the screen that I had not yet gained the courage to turn and look through.
“Excuse me.” A knock. A second one followed after a lack of response. Were they trying to get my attention?
I turned around after the second knock, not wanting to risk my life if he had to knock a third time, and I can’t express how confused I had become at what I saw. It was the pair of them, the european, the one that had been feeding me and giving me vitamins was dressed in some fancy silk pyjamas, grey hair flopping ungracefully over his forehead into a fringe and Will, the curly haired, smooth talking bait, looking at me as if he had been asked to identify his sister’s murderer, clothes and hair matted to skin with sweat. Night terrors. Poor soul. What kind of world is it where I would feel such deep sympathy for my captors? A fucked up one for sure. Either way, no matter the circumstance, the way Will clung on for dear life to his lover – who was unfazed by what must be a common occurrence – hit a little too deep. To be able to rely on someone with such sick desires, trust them to take care of you at your most vulnerable, it was something to be envied.
It was then I realised I had completely dove into my own thoughts and observations, gawking at the pair, eyes wider than a deer in headlights. My eyes flickered around as I forced them to stay open, the threat of sleep looming over me, I’d broken my well-set schedule, manoeuvred around non-existent mornings and evenings.
The European had turned his attention to Will, one hand cupping the side of his jaw, the other on his waist. “Go back to bed, dear one. I won’t be long.” He kissed the top of Will’s head, took his hand and kissed the knuckles too. And with that dismissal Will turned, beginning to walk out but not letting go of the other’s hand before he absolutely had to.
“Welcome back.” The European nodded at me, “You haven’t spoken a word since you got here, no words of anger or wailing. Do you have anyone that would be searching for you?”
I shook my head, averting my gaze from his.
“You are very lucky, young one. If Will had not grown to become attached to you, you would already be dead.” It was very matter-of-fact, psychopathically calm. He crouched to meet my eyes, tilting his head in some recognition of something he did not seem to want to tell me. Until, of course, he spoke again.
“I understand why he chose you. You remind him of someone we once knew and who we have since lost to time.” His eyes were downcast when I chose to meet them again, guilty. “Please, rest well. I believe he may come and speak to you in the morning.”
I nodded, turned back and bundled the blankets up to my face, praying that I would wake up with a life like theirs. Sleep came easy enough, I had new developments to consider to distract my brain into falling asleep.
The next morning, just as the European had predicted, Will came in with my breakfast, flicked on the light, clicked open the one-sided door and sat on the floor, placing the tray in front of him. He stared as I sat opposite him, picked up a knife and fork just as I had for the time I had been here and prodded at the food on my plate. The way he was looking at me, a mix of confusion and guilt didn’t help with my appetite.
“Are you okay? Do you want to leave?” Will asked, with barely a breath between his questions.
Truth be told, I didn’t know one way or the other. On one hand, I was being wholly cared and provided for, better than I was taking care of myself. However, the whole ‘being kidnapped and kept in a dark room for upwards of 2 weeks against my will ’ was quite a heavy downside. My apprehension was noted with a sharp intake of breath, eyes darting around my form attempting to figure out my health for himself.
“I don’t feel unwell, if that’s what’s important.” He visibly relaxed at that, the guilt of holding another man – one that reminded him of someone who was probably dead – hostage was a likely new feeling for him. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? Like Peach and Bowser, how she kept getting taken away with no extra safety precautions against him? Either way, it wasn’t healthy that I felt such a large helping of sympathy for the hot mess that is Will.
He raised his eyebrows at me as if to ask me his secondary question again. I obliged. “I don’t know if I want to leave.” I paused, trying to gauge his reaction, which had unfortunately become unreadable, as if he had retracted into himself and was watching through the hollow lenses of his eyes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the food and the lack of torture is great – really broke my expectations there!” No response. Wow… tough audience huh? “Though it would be nice to leave, go outside, the kind of thing a prisoner wants in solitary confinement, y’know?”
I’ll be completely honest, I did not expect to make a comparison between myself and an inmate – but there is quite a bit in common, except from the whole treatment thing – though, it did seem to chip through Will’s mask. Success.
“Okay. We can go outside.” He bluntly got up, picked up my breakfast tray, and held the door open for me. “You can have your breakfast in the garden.”
Has it always been that simple? Could I have just asked the European to turn the light on? Would he have obliged?
At first, my legs refused to cooperate, convinced it was a trap, that he laced the food with something but felt bad so let me choose the terms of my demise. However, this was thrown out of the window as soon as I made my way upstairs, I quickly learned that the European was not on board with letting me out of the cell that – I’m assuming – he made. Will, ever the perceptive man, noticed too soon that I could feel the glare of his boyfriend on my back, and that it made my muscles tense so tight I could barely muster up the strength to continue forward.
“Hannibal.” He warned, not needing to give context in order for him to be heard and acknowledged. My back relaxed, and I quickened my pace so that I was able to catch up and whisper a small thank you to Will. “There’s no need to thank me, he’s an asshole sometimes and needs to be reminded of the fact.” His nose scrunched as he spoke, their lovers spat was more vicious than I thought. Maybe there was trouble in paradise after all… If paradise was set on the backdrop of kidnapping and – likely – violence.
After being completely submerged in almost pitchblack for approximately 2 weeks, maybe even a month, the harsh glare of the sunlight was not as welcoming as I remembered it. The clouds hanging in its path lessened its burning sensations, but shielding my eyes with my hand worked far better. I kept my eyes down, squinting at the plate with white dots scattered across my retina, trying to at last figure out what I was putting into my body. I ate in silence, accompanied only by the domestic sounds of life in the house behind me and the peaceful rustle of wind in the trees. Feeling the fresh air on my skin wasn’t a sensation I was used to, usually it would go unappreciated as normal things did; now I could feel the hairs moving on my arms, goosebumps raising on my skin. Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to run and never look back.
I knew in the depths of my heart that would not end well.
So, I took the brief respite from capture that had been gifted to me on a silver platter, and absorbed the sunlight into my body while I still could.