all. The shadow knelt down to me and I began having second thoughts about knocking the door.
Now I could see the shadow better, a black sweater, and the hood back on.
Eric.
He sat down Indian style across from me and I kept on glaring.
“It's 5 o'clock in the morning,” He spoke softly. “Sunday.”
“Why,” I muffled.
He understood and nodded solemnly. I waited for him to answer, but he said nothing. We just sat in silence, making it harder for me to withstand any of this. I don't get it. I just needed answers.
“If I take the tape off of your mouth,” he said slowly, “will you not scream?”
As if. But I nodded, taking a deep breath in, ready for the eruption of my voice.
He ripped the tape off as nicely as he could, but it still hurt my mouth. Then I let out my scream. Less than a second into it, his warm hand covered my mouth.
“I told you not to scream,” He said. The light was shining through the blinds and I could see his blank face better. “Will you just please not scream?”
I was still glaring at him when an idea sprung on me. I bit his finger. He took it back, and then I shouted again. He closed in on me—his face adjacent to mine, lips barley touching. I could feel his hot breath. I think I stopped breathing.
“Can you shut up,” he said, not in a mean way, his tone was pleading.
I nodded and this time decided to keep to my word. He pulled back, leaving me stunned to react. I wanted to ask my questions, but didn't know where to start.
“I suppose you want to know why you're in my closet,” he said, shifting his seating position to lean against the wall next to the door. Now we were both in the dark.
“This is your room?” I asked. I could now see some of it from the view I was in. There was a bed sitting in the middle, and from the way the light hit it, I could tell there was a window from the left. I could also see some posters hanging from the wall. Nothing strange, just a normal guy’s bedroom.
“Yes,” he said.
“Then why am I here?” I stared at him, but he looked down to evade the question. “You offered.” I reminded him.
“I did, but there are things that you may not understand.”
I squinted my eyes. “What does that even mean, Eric? Why am I tied in ropes? Why am I not at my house?” Then something hit me—last night. “What happened last night?”
A sharp exhale escaped his lips. I knew he didn't know what to say. “You got drunk.”
My eyes grew wide. “What? No I didn't!” But then memories flashed in my head, the dizziness. That feeling…“How? I don't remember any beer or vodka.”
He cleared his throat. What, another confession? “You did drink it, you just didn't know it.” I was about to say something but he stood up, stretching his arms. He zipped down his jacket, to reveal his gray shirt of some obscure band name I wasn’t all too familiar with. He headed towards the right, where I'm assuming there's a door.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” I shouted at him.
He came back, glaring. “Don't yell, I already told you,” he hissed. “I'll be back in a second.”
Eric left quietly and I thought to yell again. But I figured it was pointless. He’d come running back in and probably duct tape my mouth to ensure my quietness.
And I didn't bother trying to escape. I was tied in ropes. I thought about all those action movies where a hostage was in ropes and managed to escape. It dawned on me that those were just movies. This was real life and I was stuck. I could hear shuffling downstairs now. A soft woman’s voice accompanied by Eric’s deep one.
“How was the party last night, darling?” The woman said.
“It was fine,” Eric responded casually.
I couldn't tell what they were saying after that—they spoke very low. Then I heard Eric coming up the stairs arriving with a plate of fresh toast and a large cup of coffee in his hands. He sat down again in the same position from before. He put the plate and coffee between us. I looked down at the coffee then at him.
“I don't drink coffee,” I confessed.
He looked back at me with wild eyes. “No? But I thought everyone drinks coffee.”
I shook my head. “Not me. I don't like the taste.” Eric and I exchanged long glances and I tried to signal that I needed my hands to eat, but he was so dense I had to come out and say it. “How am I supposed to eat?”
His face went completely blank. “You raise both of your hands,” he said, as if that was obvious.
I did just as he told me and bit off a piece. I chewed it slowly, the butter melting in my mouth. Geez, I was hungry. I ate two more pieces of toast, hoping that I didn't look like a pig. But what should I care, it's just toast. And I am a hostage. Therefore I will be treated as such. Whatever food is around, I'll eat.
I was stricken with thirst as I finished the toast. Eric was already guzzling down the coffee, I said, “Do you have any other drink?”
“No, just coffee.” He handed me the coffee cup. I stared sickly at it. Half a cup of coffee, left for me. But I was thirsty and there was no other option.
In absolute slow motion, I brought the coffee cup—with both of my hands—to my lips. Tilting just slightly for the bitter liquid to touch the edge of my tongue, I swallowed a sip, hating every bit of it. “Ugh!”
His forehead creased. “You really don't like it.”
“I already told you that,” I said, taking another sip only because I was thirsty and it wasn’t too hot. But after that sip I put it down on the carpet—I couldn't take it anymore. Eric took the coffee and drank some more. After he was finished, he pushed the cup and plate aside and we sat in some more silence. I still couldn't believe that I was here, in Eric's house. Not invited, but kidnapped. I feared I would be stuck forever in a dark closet. But for what? “So…what’s the big plan?”
Eric seemed to have been caught off guard with this. A simple question that would make me understand everything—was he going to answer? “Ever been confused...about life?”
I nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, but I never go and steal a person to store in the closet.”
He chuckled nervously. “You wouldn't get it then.”
“Get what?” I said, impatient. “That you kidnapped me? Because I don't think there's a bigger picture to that.”
He got up, taking the dirty plate and cup with him. “I know that you don't understand. I wasn't asking you to. But that's my reason, anyway.” He shrugged and walked out of his room.
I let my head down, really beginning to worry now. What was going to happen? I tried scooting out of the door, but to no avail. I was stuck for good, unless Eric decided to let me out.
When he came back in, I asked him “Can you untie the ropes at least?”
He cocked his head sideways, as if the question made no sense. “You'd run away.”
He was absolutely right. I would. “It's itching me.” I whined.
“I'm sorry.” He said, sincerely. Eric moved near me, taking both of my wrists. He studied them hard, seeing no implication of damage or scarred skin. “It doesn't look bad, Dorothy.”
I frowned at him. “But it itches.”
“I know you're not lying.”
“Then let me go.”
“No.” He let my wrists fall.
“Then help me at least.” I lifted my hands out again to him.
He thought for a minute then grabbed my wrists carefully. He gently pulled back the scratchy rope to reveal them. “Where's it itching,” he asked, his eyes focusing on my hands.
“A little to the left on my right arm,” I said, he brushed his fingers over the spot I guided him to, scratching softly.
“It's weird to scratch other people,” he muttered.
“Yeah, I guess it is. And we wouldn't have to be in the awkward position if you’d just untie the rope,” I added with a hint of sarcasm.
“Dorothy,” he said cautious, locking his eyes onto mine, “stop complaining.”
“I think I’m entitled to.” I stuck up my nose in the air, noting that I am so much better than him. Crazy, he is. He dropped my wrists, letting them fall on my lap. A harsh sigh uttered from his throat. I didn't look up to see what the matter was—I didn't care anymore. Whatever was going on with him…is just serious. I don't want to make him anymore confused—too confused and he would do something I would regret.
He left me alone, saying he had somewhere to go. He locked the closet door before he left and I heard him and his mother go out the door. I began to wonder if there was anyone else living in this house besides them.
I observed his closet. Small, dingy, filled with t-shirts on coat hangers, pants on the floor around me, folders and books on the shelf where the hangers were. My purse was next to me, and—
Wait. My purse?
I stared at it for a long minute, hoping at least that this could really be true. I touched the black purse, yes...it's here. I opened it and took a peek inside which reminded me that I needed to find time out of my busy life to organize it. I shrugged, better late and stuck in a closet than never. Before searching, I knew that Eric had taken my phone and I was right. It wasn't in my purse, besides the gum wrappers and my wallet.
Stupid purse was no use to me. I tossed it aside, pissed off yet again. Putting my head down, I brought my legs up to my chest, stretching my arms over them. I had to figure out a way to get out. In no way was I staying here in a psycho’s closet. I tried a new position—one that would take off the ropes.
I put my hands in between my feet, so carefully to not step on them. I attempted to push down on the rope around my hands, but