HUNTER

4

I'd been in the cage for almost four days now, and the hope that someone would find me was gradually dwindling like a camp fire. For the first couple of days I tried everything I could to get out. I tried picking the lock with a makeshift pick I made out of the wire of the mattress. Then realised I wasn't James Bond and tossed it aside after god knows how many failed attempts. Then I tried to see if there were any weak bars. Grabbing hold of one in each hand I pulled as hard as I could, not caring about the lightheadedness from the lack of oxygen. I tried everything, even trying to flirt my way out which hit my pride hard like a rock to the face when he laughed and left. By the third day I'd begun hoping that if I just waited then someone, anyone, would come to my rescue. I imagined them breaking down the door like Leon from Resident Evil and hauling me out of here with the bastard dead on the floor from a bullet wound to the brain. Just like in the games. But this is real life. It's not like in the games. Teammates are fickle, family are not always dependable, and lovers find pleasure in the arms of others. No, Leon was a silly daydream in a world where everyone was out for themselves. Even those who say they love you. Like Paul. I thought he'd been dependable. He hadn't. He'd been a wolf in sheep's clothing. Showcased himself as one thing but, deep down, was another. Just like Hunter. The man was a psycho!

By the end of day four I'd given up hope of Leon coming to rescue this damsel in distress. This princess was going to have to watch her own back. Like she'd been doing her entire life. Crawling around the floor I grab the pick I'd thrown away from under the bed, clutching it in my hand so it wasn't visible. If he wanted to play, oh, we'd play.

The man, himself, made an appearance some time later with his usual tray of tea and toast and red tie. The bloody thing provoked me. It seemed to stare at me with a smug grin. It was ridiculous, I knew that as it was a fucking tie, but something about it made me want to cut it up with a pair of scissors. Slowly.
"Good evening, Angelica." He placed the tray down and took his usual seat opposite. Since day two he had been sitting on the chair reading a magazine to keep me company. He didn't say much. Just flipped through his copy of Men's Health and made some noises which I assumed were appreciative of what he was reading. The night at the bar felt like it was years ago. Sitting, smiling, laughing, flirting, all the things I didn't do often. It had been a rare moment of complete ignorance. What a fool I was. I had sworn to myself it would never happen again.
"How was your day?" He pulled me away from my train of thought.
"Peachy." I stated glumly. Leaning my head back against the bars as I curled into myself in the corner of the cage.
"Mine was excellent. I went to that fancy place that's just opened up. The prices were extortionate, but the food.." he kisses his fingers appreciatively and grins. "Perfection."
"Yippee."
"You seem down today."
I finally turn my eyes to him, seeing his head cocked with concern furrowing his handsome brow. "Do we need to talk?"
"What about?" My voice drips with sarcasm. "That you drugged me and threw me in a cage? That my family haven't heard anything from me in days and probably think I'm dead. That you are keeping me here when I just want to go home!" I was shouting at this point, stood at the bars of the cage across from him, staring him down. My heart raced. Thumping against my chest in a violent rhythm. Part of me was terrified of what he would do with my sudden outburst, but the other didn't care.
"Your family are perfectly fine, Angelica."
"What?" I snap. Bewildered, and hurt that my family wouldn't be upset that I was missing. His face softens and he returns to his seat, leaning forward on his knees as he said, "you wrote them a letter, remember?"
No. No, I don't fucking remember.