Utmost.

“Cultivated specifically to your deepest needs,” he says.

Who the hell does he think he is to even begin to understand my needs.

I notice a book on the hideous coffee table next to the couch on which I lie, bound. It’s a small, black, flocked velvet, with “secrets” in gold on the front cover. This guy thinks he has secrets, huh? What a waste of a cute book.

He’s smiling at me and I hate it. I would spit at him if I ever learned to spit across a room. Instead, I look away and notice the ceiling is rather odd. I frown at it, entranced a moment.

He asks if I’m uncomfortable. Hands tied with thick rope at the wrist in front of me as well as my ankles being bound roughly with the same unforgiving rope. I reply, “fuck off.” He smiles again and I hate it.

The ceiling really is strange when you stare at it, the walls and doorways too. Something is.. off. Nothing is wrong with the floor or this asshole of a man, so I’m confident it’s not just my vision. Perplexing. I hate that I can’t figure it out.

Finally, he leaves me in peace in my misery. I hate this room, I hate that I’ve been plucked out of my normal life by this dick who thinks he’s some badass. I hate that I don’t know where I am, or why, and what the fuck is wrong with this seemingly misplaced ceiling. I wish I were home, I think.

He walks back in with a glass of water. I’m already giggling inside thinking how I’m going to kick it if he hands it to me. He tells me to “drink up” but instead of gently placing it in front of me like I has envisioned, he quickly but rather gently pulls my head up and back by my hair and I have no choice but to drink. I spit some of it out, fearing it’s more than mere water, but he assures me he’s been tasked to take the utmost care of me and that he would do me no such harm.

I really hate it when he’s kind and respectful, gentle in his persuasion. What a tool. How can you act like you’re a hard badass and say words like ‘utmost.’ I want to taunt him, make him lose his cool, I want to get under his skin. If I’m here anyways, I might as well make it entertaining, but he’s unfazed.

He’s staring at me again. That look where he thinks he knows more than I do. That calm, discerning presence. I turn and say, “I can get out of this.” Meaning my restraints, measly rope so loose it’s laughable, really.

He smiles patiently and watching me intently says, “Is that so? — Why don’t you then?”

I hate how calm and unperturbed he is. He isn’t at all offended that I just insulted his handiwork. He wants to see me try and fail and to laugh at me, but I’ll be the one laughing when I get out, moron.

I pull my hands down and my knees up in one swift motion, I kick the rope off my wrists and just like that, my hands are free. I’m too eager to realize that was too easy.

He walks closer, clapping his hands gently, and smiling, says, “Well done, very good.”

This is the point, the exact moment where I finally feel the cold clutches of fear. Up until now I have felt only anger and hatred, I felt rage, I felt disgust, but now.. Now I feel is confusion and much more precisely, fear.

He is not at all bothered by how I act towards him. My visceral distaste, my snark, my attitude, it doesn’t move him one way or another, he’s taken nothing personally. He’s cool, calm, and dastardly collected no matter what I do. He maintains his composure like this is exactly how he wanted this situation to play out. He looks almost.. proud.

“What will you do with your newfound freedom, I wonder?” he says. I smile, thinking of my next move. I move to remove the rope from my ankles, he’s still not bothered. He watched from across the room, tilting his head as he watches, as I’m fucking amusing to him.

“Would you like some help?” he asks with that grin as he watches me struggle.

“Motherfucker..” I say under my breath a bit. He walks slowly around to the back of the couch as I struggle with the rope. He rests his hands on the back of it behind where I sit and leans in, “It helps.. to take a deep breath, and focus..” he says.

“Fuck you!” I say, filled with frustration and agitation.

He chuckles slightly. “Take your time, there’s no rush here.”

The floor suddenly does start to look funny. He does too. And my hands. And everything.

The water.

He did put something in the wa—

Photo by joah brown on Unsplash

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