Mila Wilson; hopeful architect, coffee addict, and college freshman. Her life is simple. Go to school, come home, sleep, start again. She likes it that way, a stable environment and a place that lets her creative thoughts flow. But when she ends up...
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THE next few moments feel distorted - unreal. The woman hurriedly aims her gun at him, unlocking the safety and loading it. However, she isn't fast enough. The mans' gun lets out two almost silent whistles. If I hadn't of been paying close attention, I wouldn't have known he actually shot the gun. The whistles are followed by a dull thud, the woman who had only moments ago been alive, lies on the floor completely still. I watch entirely frozen as her blood seeps endlessly into the light colored carpet. Her face lacked the angry expression she had, instead it was one of unsettling peace.
A disgruntled sound, almost like gurgling breaks the silence. I flinch back as deep red blood spills from the corners of her mouth, dripping into her blonde hair. I choke on a sob, forgetting the gag she had shoved in my mouth. She was awful but the familiarity that had struck me causes a tinge in my heart as I stare at her lifeless body. Death should never be decided by somebody else.
I cautiously glimpse at the man from the corner of my eye, panic pursuing every inch of my body. Tears fill my eyes but don't fall, leaving a blurry vision for me to deal with. From what I could see, he hasn't moved an inch from the doorway. His breathing is fast and labored, making me acutely aware of his exhaustion. Which in turn means he isn't in top shape at this moment so if I fought with all the energy I have left I might be able to run. My thoughts run still as I remember the fact that my hands are bound and the man has a very capable gun.
I have no plan, no words, and no good enough final words. So I choose to close my eyes, accepting my fate. There just seems to be one bad person after another, so maybe this finally is the end to my night – and life.
Footsteps and the sound of rustling material makes my stomach flip, knowing very well where he's going. I've given up on the idea of screaming and making a scene. He's clearly killed or highly injured whoever was out there and this apartment either has insanely thick walls or the neighbors just don't care.
The sounds stop, but I know better than to open my eyes. I can almost feel his presence, if that was even possible. The stillness and quietness is nerve wrecking, the metal handcuffs clanging together as I shake involuntarily. He's probably staring at me, calculating which way is best to dispose of me, I'm small so it wouldn't be to hard. That didn't help.
After an incomprehensibly long time – at least that's what it felt like – I finally open my eyes. I do it slowly, ensuring that my movement wouldn't be noticeable. At first it's just as blurry as beforehand, but after a moment it clears and I can see in front of me. The silver buckle of his belt is directly in my line of vision, reflecting a distorted image of the mess that I am.
I look up through my eyelashes and watch confoundedly as he slides the gun into the waistband of his trousers. With the gun no longer in sight, my mind automatically reaches for the best outcome. But I know it's too good to be true. Maybe he prefers strangling. Can my mind just shut up?
A gruff sound of a throat clearing breaks the lengthy silence. "I'm not going to hurt you". The strangers voice is so deep that I almost struggle to hear those precious words.
