My Dark School Of Thoughts

   I listened again and I heard the sound of his big boots scraping on the floor as he shuffled along, and each one of his tantalizing steps seems to go slower as he made his way to my door. I stared at the door in terror as I lay crumbled at the corner of the room, I felt my body convulse and my throat began to burn as tears start to pour from my swollen eye that looked frozen at the door like those of a trapped rabbit under the harsh glare of a car headlamp. My heart began to beat in sync with each of his agonizing slow step and I began to shiver in fear and anticipation, for I was sure my heart and lungs were going to give up if he doesn’t come soon. Finally he is at my door and after a pause I hear the clanging of the keys as he searches for the right one.

    I am a prisoner here and would most likely be for a long time if my ransom isn’t paid today. I have been held hostage for weeks before my dad was contacted, and I have endured the worst form of abuse during this time. His instructions to my daddy were simple: Do not contact the police or your daughter dies, the ransom money should be paid with random serial numbers in used bills and in small denominations, preferably fifties or twenties, and that he must come alone to the rendezvous for the exchange or I die. My father agreed to the conditions as long as he was allowed to speak to me and get reassurance that I was alive and being treated well, which he was allowed to do. 

   The door finally opened and the first thing I see is his hard hand swinging the door open, before he lumbers in as big as a grizzly and as fiery as a lion, then he tells me today is payday with an evil smirk on his face like I didn’t already know. I looked up to his ugly face and tried but couldn’t stifle back the laughter that always threatened to erupt in me anytime I looked at it. I’m laughing so hard that tears were falling down my eyes now, the tape covering my mouth muffled my laughter but I found myself laughing harder and louder, hoping to get  him to hit me. I hoped to feel his stinging blows to my bruised face probably for the last time, I wanted to see the hatred, the madness and the lust in his eyes as he draws nearer and I want to hear his proclamations of hate towards me before he loses control.

AFTER THE EXCHANGE:

    I blew a sigh of relief as our car engine rumbled along the countryside, the exchange went well and now I was finally free to live my new life as I see fit. There are bruises on my face and red rings around my ankle and wrist as a constant reminder of what happened and I now look back at it as the past but not without some fond memories. What I remembered most was how I sometimes did bad things just so he’ll hit me and say the words “I hate you”. I love the attention he gave me, the kind of attention I never got from daddy when I was growing up because he was too busy chasing millions, I loved being his victim, I loved being his punching bag and anytime he hit me, my pulse goes Topsy-turvy and adrenaline would course through my body like a wildfire. Most times he is so drunk when he comes to visit me, but I don’t care as long as he continues to come to keep me company, besides the smell of alcohol on his breath always got me horny. During his abuse, I made sure I cried even when I enjoyed it, because when I cry he thinks I cannot bare his oppression anymore, but that’s okay by me because I was afraid that if he found out that I enjoyed what he did to me, he might kill me.

    Do I regret the payment of the ransom? Hell no! It’s only an indication that I have survived that obstacle without dying and am moving on to better things; will I miss being beaten up and molested? Hell yeah! But a compromise can be reached to attain that feeling again though. Will I ever get that kind of attention again? I really can’t tell now! I guess I will just have to work towards it then. I look back at the last hour and cold shivers ran through my body as I remember sticking the knife into him again and again, I remembered the look of confusion and shock I saw on his face when he realized I had played him all along, and do I regret killing him? Hell no! In fact I enjoyed every bit of it. I turned to look at my savior at the driver’s seat, driving with determination and satisfaction, and a smile of awe broke out on my face as I stretched my hands towards him.

Her excuse for the cold bloodied act was that he would have never stopped searching for them if they had run with the money and she couldn’t have that. I stole a quick glance at her as she concentrated on the hand job she was giving me and I decided that she was too dangerous and had to be done away with when I was sure we were safely out of danger, for I fear that I was losing control of the situation and I was being manipulated by her. But before I finished the thought, she looked me in the eyes like she knew what I had just thought about, then teasingly lowered her head to my manhood and started working on it, like she was showing me what I would be missing if I carried along with my plans. The feeling was so good that I almost lost control of the wheels; I looked down at her and decided that I could let her live a little longer because she sure would come in handy and moreover I am the man in charge; Yes I am the man in charge! Is what I thought again like I was trying to reassure myself.