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What's that smell?
The narcotic fog began to dissipate, triggered by an odd scent that reminded her of closed basements. Sophie slowly realized that she was on a sitting posture, with the head fallen on her chest. As she instinctively tried to move or stand up, the ropes that forced her hands to remain on her back tensed and hurt the wrists. The skin protested the rough attrition, and Sophie let out a groan. She opened her eyes just then, only to find herself blinded by the absence of light.
A creak filled the air. Sophie heard the pull and thud of a door behind her, but she didn't make an effort to look back.
Don't even think of trying anything against me. You will suffer the consequences.
The manly, raspy voice of the intruder scared her, and she felt an uncomfortable weight on the stomach, resembling vertigo. With no intends of fainting on that critical moment, she gathered her remaining embers of strength and held onto the chair's edges.
Out of nowhere, a finger touched the back of her neck, tearing violent shudders of disgust out of her skin. Sophie tried to move away without success. An increasing fear caused a few warm tears to stream down her face. As suggested by the sounds she perceived, the guy took some steps afar and started to search for something in the dark. His hands found a switch and a click brought a bit of light into the room. Sophie closed her eyes to protect them from the sudden brightness.
When she opened them again, he was standing right there. Just a couple meters away from her. Dread intensified the stomachache as he stared at her, a blank expression on his face. Repressing nausea, Sophie sat still and waited for him to move.
An hour later, the guy took her by surprise and quickly reached her face with a grimy hand. The ice-cold touch made her shiver and gasp. The bindings tightened as she desperately warded off.
Stop! — He said bitterly. Keep struggling, and I'll give you something to shriek about.
Sophie paralyzed, in an utter state of alert, and made no further sound or movement while he approached even more. Her muscles were tautening, locked to keep her on a straight position. But when his hand grabbed her left breast, she couldn't help to spit him on the face.
Instantaneously, one of his fists buried on her stomach. The impact brought out the vomit and made her fall to the floor, chair and all. I warned you! — He yelled, cleaning the spittle and heading to the hidden door. From the ground, his dirty boots were her last sighting before passing out again.
The door creaked once more, striking her awake. How long have I been here? Concern rapidly transformed into retching, and she pressed her forehead to the cold concrete to ease the sensation. The man entered the room. She stared at him with a blaming, full of pain look.
I'm not going to hurt you again unless you do something stupid. Don't move and be quiet. — Regardless of what had happened before, he seemed sincere. So, she did as requested, attempting to act cleverly. A wet dishcloth went over the dry vomit on her face and chest, soaking it.
He lifted Sophie along with the chair and spoke to her hear. I promise I didn't bring you here to harm you. Now, I'm going to undo the knots. Don't do anything stupid. — There was a strange, calming tone on his voice. He removed the ropes and stepped back. Do you want to stand up? She nodded in response. Now, I'm going to help you. DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID. Sophie grabbed his hand and forced her legs to work. After a few minutes of trembling and shaking, she was able to be on her feet alone.
Who are you? — Her words came out pasty and weak. After a pause, he decided to reply. Call me Mike — A grin lightened his face a bit. He turned around to take something from a plastic basket, and she saw a window of opportunity. Out of almost mere instinct, she picked up the chair as high as she could and dropped it on his back. Mike screamed in rage and rushed to hold her against the wall, with both hands on her throat. Sophie couldn't breathe at all. He slapped her twice and then left the room, still vociferating curses.
Three months later...
Sophie! The yell toured the house. She was still in the shower but dashed her way out. In the last weeks, she had gotten to know him by his habits. Mike was the most polite and thoughtful man, as long as she didn't do anything stupid. Already dressed and with dripping hair, she joined him on the dining table.
Sweetie, I'm hungry as hell — She smiled at him and caught his eyes checking her body in a lustful way. You sicko! — The towel she had thrown hit him on the head. Both laughed loudly. Will you allow me to get the lasagna out of the oven? — The smirk didn't leave Mike's face, even while talking.
Later that night...
Mike was sleeping beside her. Looking so trustful, abandoned to the NREM phase. Without waking him up, Sophie got out of bed. Tiptoeing, she made her way to the kitchen, opened one of the drawers and pulled something out from it. A silver brilliance reflected on the wall. She went back to the bedroom and stood on the door frame.
Sophie did remember who she was, how she had gotten in that house and the circumstances of her arrival. Glancing first to the nine-inch butcher knife and then to the peacefully asleep man under the sheets, she was ready. In full tension, as a feline after its prey. The real hunt had just started.
The end?
I wrote this short story as an entry for the Week 1 of the Writing Prompt contest, hosted by @themarkymark. Many thanks to him, to the judges and to everyone who contributed.
This week's theme was tension, emotional or physical, but I wanted to go beyond and include both elements. I hope I did achieve that. Let me know what you think, see you guys on the comment box!