Bleu

by Michaela Haze

  I had pins and needles in my feet as I forced myself towards the door. A hand gripped my hair and tugged me backwards. My scalp burnt as I felt the hair at the nape of my neck strain under my attacker’s grip. The turquoise headed anime keychain dangled from his throat and he grabbed it with callous hands and ripped it from the wound. Blood spurted and I flailed my arms to hit any part of his body that I could reach.

  His eyes had changed colour from black to powder blue. It wàs unnatural. I screamed and raked my fingernails over his face, but years of nailbiting meant that I did little damage.

  My head swirled with dizziness. Using the heal of my palm, I slammed my hand into his nose and hooked my fingers around the nearest filing cabinet so that I could drag myself out of his grip.

  I huffed, as my lungs burnt with exertion. I kicked with my bare feet and they connected to something hard. I bit back my scream of pain as the bones in my feet crunched. My attacker hadn’t broken a sweat.

  The same sweet smell that had accompanied me in the taxi cab burnt my nostrils and I felt myself relaxing against my will. My kidnapper held my shoulders as I slumped. My head rested against his shoulder and he stroked my hair as if I was his lover.

  Tears leaked silently from my eyes as I felt every muscle in my body unfold and become sludge. I felt like I had just come back from a day at the spa, despite my mind screaming and bashing against the confines of my paralysis.

  “There, there.” His voice was soothing.

  I wanted to scream and beat his head in until it was a bloody pulp. I had never felt such a visceral reaction before. Never had anything penetrated my ‘cool girl’ exterior to such an extent.

  I felt my jeans turn damp and warm. My eyes burnt with shame. I had pissed myself.

  The smell of ammonia was strong, and I suddenly became aware that he held me tightly to his hard body as if he was trying to calm me.

  He jumped back as if he had been stung, swearing under his breath. My knees buckled and I collapsed as if I was going to pass out. I felt lightheaded from the thick and cloying smell on the air. Like pheromones. It mixed with the sharp and acrid scent of my piss.

  The warmth quickly turned cool and my jeans were uncomfortable as they stuck to my skin.

  I was broken, humiliated. Trapped and scared.

  All my fight left my eyes, just as the artificial calm had forced it from my body. I laid on the floor like a broken doll.

  The gash on his neck knitted together and healed more quickly than was physically possible.

  Bile rose inside of my gullet and I realised that my kidnapper was not human.

  He was a monster. A beast. Something wearing human skin.

  And he wanted to hurt me.

  Chapter 2.

  I laid on the floor for hours. My limbs felt like they were made of rubber and my jeans were soaked and cold. My head felt like it had become home to a thousand bees, but I didn’t even have the energy to try and crawl into a more comfortable position.

  I was alone in the makeshift office, with my cheek pressed against the floor. When night came, the only light was the dim security bulb that could be seen through the makeshift paper blinds.

  I had not heard another soul. Not the sound of a car starting, or a rogue voice of someone passing by.

  It was becoming more and more likely that I was going to die.

  I had fallen down the rabbit hole.

  My cheeks stung when a wave of fresh and silent tears broke free.

  What were Grid and Harrison doing right now? I wondered. Had they checked up on me? Did Grid notice when I hadn’t come back to the house?

  Had someone called the police?

  To my knowledge, it was Saturday night. I hadn't kept the long-standing appointment with my mother to go to mass in over a year. No one would notice I was gone when I didn’t turn up on Sunday morning.

  The semester was over. My course was done.

  Would anyone even find my body?

  “Strip.”

  My kidnapper was back, but I hadn’t even noticed his arrival. I was too deep into the dark sludge of my thoughts.

  I shook my head, unable to will my voice around my dry throat. The bottle of water that he had brought earlier had rolled under the cheap plywood desk, which I could see from my vantage point on the floor.

  The sweet smell was back when the man leant down and hoisted me up by my shoulders. He propped me against the filing cabinet like a broken marionette doll and began to peel my wet jeans down my legs.

  I raised my hands feebly and tried to squirm away to no avail. His nostrils flared in disgust at my sorry state.

  He took off every item of clothing with a methodical touch. My t-shirt came over my head, and he folded it neatly and placed it on the office chair. The face of the alpaca on the front stared up at me, as he rolled down my cotton underwear and folded that too.

  Goosebumps raised over my flesh as I sat on the cold floor. He placed his arms under my own and hoisted me up. He spread me on the desk and bent my knees, leaving me entirely exposed.

  I could not move my body. My eyes were wide as they rolled around my skill in a frantic attempt to kick-start my legs into action.

  “Are you strong? Little girl?” He knelt at the end of the desk, between my open thighs. He did not look; it was as if my position was natural and not in any way sexual.

  I could not answer his question because I did not know. I couldn’t summon the strength to shake or nod my head either.

  “Do you know why you're here?”

  Because I was stupid enough to get into your car. My internal monologue screamed. My throat choked out a sob.

  “Fate brought you to me.” He continued. “What’s your name, lovely girl?”

  I stared at him, unblinking.

  Lenora Eloise Hiscock.

  I said nothing.

  “You'll tell me, won't you?”

  I stared at the ceiling. Two fat tears rolled down the edges of my eyes until they mingled with my hair and ran behind my ears. I counted the tiles on the ceiling. I recited Pi to fifty places. I thought about chess manouvering. Computer code. My favourite K-pop stars in descending order.

  My body jolted when I felt his fingers ghost a trail up my inner thigh. I cringed against his touch.

  “You're wet.” He said. His voice was thick with amusement. I wanted to scream that he was a liar and that I wasn’t turned on. I was disgusted.

  Mind and body had disconnected. My reactions were against my will. Traitorous.

  His fingers jabbed inside of me roughly, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “We’ll have fun, you and I.” He said. The stench of his pheromones made me feel drunk.

  He took his hand back and wiped it on his tailored trousers with a smirk. His touch made me burn, against my will.

  I was left cold and empty, and alone in the dark again.

  I woke up in a different location. No longer in the portable office of the scrap yard. The itchy carpet had been replaced with cold concrete. I rubbed my eyes as I allowed them to take in the new room.

  There were iron hooks on the wall, which looked perfect for restraining a large animal and a work bench covered in pitted holes on the other side of the room. There were no blood stains, only a dusty scent that hung on the air and combined with the smell of my unwashed body.

  I was naked from the waist down, but my alpaca t-shirt was back on my body so at least I had some modesty. I stretched my fingers out and wiggled my toes. Sighing in almost orgasmic relief that I could finally move my body. I wondered what had happened to me. I had been paralysed. By fear? By something else? I had no idea what had been wrong with me, but it frightened me. I did not like the idea that someone could come in and with one touch to my skin completely rob me of the ability to fight back.

  I shivered against the cold, and pulled my knees to my chest.

  Looking around the room, I saw there were no windows. The light clicked off and I bit back a scream. I placed my hand in front of me
to try and feel my way around the darkness, only for the dim light to switch back on. Motion controlled. That would get annoying really quickly.

  Standing up, my knees buckled together like one of the newborn giraffes that I had seen on a nat-geo documentary once. I clasped at the walls to try and remain upright. Pins and needles swallowed my ankles, which meant that it felt like I had completely lost my feet. I looked down to make sure that they were still there.

  I had no idea why I had been taken. I wasn’t the prettiest girl. Or the smartest. People often used words like 'strange' to describe me if they were pressed.

  I barely went out. Often holing myself up in my house share and watching obscure Japanese animation; Korean Dramas and a smattering of SuperWhoLock.

  Not a day went by when I didn’t retweet Misha Collins or lament the lack of season two of Attack on Titan. My mum had said that I was barely living. But it was my life.

  It was hard to focus on the inane and trivial thoughts that normally occupied my head. Now that I had the ability to move again I wished that I had watched some survival videos on YouTube about how to forge a weapon from literally anything.

  I pulled myself along the wall. The action of walking took a lot longer than I was used to. I did not count the minutes, but grimacing I finally made it to the work bench on the other side of my prison.

  I rubbed my hands against the rough and pockmarked wooden surface. Noting random holes and notches. I searched the back wall where tools should have been fastened for easy access only to find nothing at all.

  I eyed the iron rings imbedded in the concrete of the wall. I surveyed every surface as if it contained the answers to the universe. There were iron chains in the corner, coiled like a snake.

  Kosoku. Restraint.

  Akuma. Demon. Devil.

  Koko wa doko? Where am I?

  Rattling through Japanese words in my mind helped to slot my sanity back into place. I took a calming breath. Whatever was going to happen, and I would have bet my entire set of Harry Potter Funko Pops that my situation can only get worse.

  I rubbed my face, exasperated. I had started thinking of trivial fandom shit. My mind was not coping with the situation at hand and my concentration was shot.

  I wanted to go home.

  I wanted to hug my mother whilst I listened to her rant about Maureen at the church and her M&S cake that she had entered into the church fete competition.

  I was a flagrant atheist but sitting inside of a prison after a man with weird eyes had kidnapped me from outside of a campus nightclub had sparked the urge to pray to any deity that could get me out of the hellish situation.

  I had been sat still for too long and the light had turned off again.

  I stared into the darkness for the longest time. My mind quickly turned to all the horrific things my kidnapper had done and would do in the future.

  He had invaded my body. My skin itched with disgust. I rubbed the tops of my arms and shivered. I felt sick. Not physically, but as if my soul had become mushy like a mouldy piece of fruit.

  “You fucking stink.” He said.

  The man had literally come out of nowhere. I blinked, unable to make sense of his sudden appearance. The door had not opened. It was a heavy affair, made of reinforced steel. I would have heard it.

  “What are you?” I whispered.

  My kidnapper cocked his head to the side, his facial features held an expression of aloof distain. He did not answer my question.

  “Your name, lovely girl?” He licked his bottom lip, his eyes raked over my body and I tugged my t-shirt down to cover the space between my legs.

  “Lenora.” I said.

  His eyes narrowed. “It does not suit you.”

  I shrugged, but the movement was forced and my stiff shoulders caused my actions to make me wince.

  The man took off his blazer slowly and hung it on a hook over the workbench. He began to roll up his sleeves with precision and an intense look of concentration.

  I watched his methodical movements as if they were a dance with a perfect number of steps.

  “Will you behave, Lenora?” he did not look at me as he spoke.

  “If you give me your name.” I spoke before I realised that I had opened my mouth. Once the words were out there, they could not be taken back.

  My response amused him, and the expression was ugly on his face. His smile did not reach his eyes, they held no spark of emotion.

  “My name is Gregory.” He said, his dark irises flickered over every facet of my face as if he searched for some clue as to what I would do with the information.

  I blinked. Shocked that he had answered me.

  I reached down and tugged the edge of my shirt, to hide my bare legs. My dignity laid in tattered on the floor of a dingy scrapyard office.

  “I would like you to have a shower, Lenora.” Gregory said softly, he turned and opened the door as if the heavy monstrosity weighed nothing at all.

  Now that he knew my name, it had become clear that he intended to use it as much as possible. If he thought that it would endear me to him, he had no idea what he was doing.

  I intended to follow him but found myself unable to stand up straight. Gregory reached forward to grip my arm, but I wrenched myself out his vicinity. Unable to stomach the idea of his touch and it’s effects. He placed his hand on my back, over my t-shirt, which did not have the same dizzying feel as when he touched my bare skin.

  The intoxicating and sickly sweet smell that came off of his skin was thick enough that I could taste it at the back of my throat.

  Candyfloss and cough mixture. I realised with a jolt. I had been trying to place it since I had first encountered the toxic aroma in the back of the taxi. I had finally identified the closest possible thing.

  He led me up the narrow staircase from my prison. His closeness spoke volumes. If I ran, he would find me. He would touch me and it would not be pleasant.

  The hallway was nondescript. No pictures. Just generic magnolia paint as if it had recently been furnished to be as unoriginal as possible. Gregory led me to his bathroom, which was clean. He ran the shower as I stood in the doorway with my arms around my body likr I was about to loose all of organs through my bellybutton if I loosed my tight grip.

  “Come on, Lenora. Time to wash that rancid stink off of you.”

  I shot him a look at could have curdled milk, but he appeared uninterested in my drama.

  “I will leave you to it. Behave.” The last word was said with such dominance and power that I did not understand the rush that it caused. It was a compulsion to obey, like he was a puppet master. Bile rose in my throat, but I stayed entirely still until the door shut behind me.

  When I was satisfied that I was alone, I searched the door for a lock but found none.

  Enthusiastic to remove the smell of stale urine and two days of sweat and dirt from my skin, I stepped into the hot water and forced every muscle to relax one after the other.

  I spotted a bar of soap, which was cracked. Barely a slither. Rubbing it over my hands, I lathered and began to scrub my body with a fervour that was beyond my control.

  My vision flashed. I saw his hands between my legs and I found my own hands washing my body with fevered motions wherever I had felt my kidnappers touch.

  My hands tingled and my skin felt tender and raw as I rubbed the soap into my skin hard enough to leave bruises.

  It was the best and worst shower of my entire life. Each for various reasons.

  I stepped out onto the bathmat and searched for a towel but found none. My dirty t-shirt laid on the floor and what had once been my favourite item of clothing now caused a kneejerk reaction of vomiting in my mouth.

  I opened the cabinet under the sink as I searched for anything that I could have used to help me. A razor. Toothbrush. Knife. Anything. The drawers were empty.

  You are so Fucked, Nora.

  Chapter 3.

  Gregory came back to find me sat on the closed toilet seat. Naked and despondent
.

  He offered me a fluffy robe and a hairbrush which he promptly took back when I was finished.

  He was a clever one. As I had held the plastic in my hands, I had imagined fashioning the handle into a shiv worthy of Orange is the new black.

  He led me further into the house. It’s magnolia coloured walls and basic IKEA furniture told me nothing about the man that owned it.

  I followed behind him like a dog on a short leash. Gregory and I walked into a small dining room, he pulled out a wooden chair and gestured for me to sit down.

  I folded my arms across my body as if I could protect myself from him. I knew that I could not. I was thankful that he hadn’t touched me and taken away my ability to move. To speak. To fight back.

  Don’t be thankful to a fucking rapist. A harsh voice drifted to the forefront of my mind.

  “You smell more pleasant now, Lenora.” Gregory sat down at the opposite end of the table. I eyed the windows as if they would give me a clue to what was outside but the blinds were fastened shut.

  I thought about screaming. I wondered how closely we were to civilisation. If we were in a terrace house or maybe an isolated cottage in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere.

  I remembered the harsh feeling of his methodical probing between my legs. I clenched my thighs together and stared at a small scratch on the wood grain of the dining table.

  “Not going to speak to me?” Gregory's lips hinted at a smile, but his black eyes lacked any warmth.

  “Would you like me to talk to you?” I whispered. My throat was sore from thirst. My stomach was crippled and shrunken from intense hunger. My head swirled and made it difficult to concentration. I don’t think I had ever gone to long without eating before.

  “As my guest, your conversation would be a delightful addition to your company.” Gregory said lightly. He stood up and brushed past me to retrieve a jug of water from the kitchen, beyond on the open doorway.

  When he returned and placed it in front of me, I ignored the glasses and grabbed the giant jug and lifted it to my mouth. I did not care that water slopped down the front of my robe. I was so thirsty that I felt like my blood had turned to sand. I gulped down the water, breaking my lips from the edge of the jug like an Olympic swimmer to take a breath.