Page 93 of Beautiful Obsessions
I rolled onto my side, wrists straining against the ties, testing them.They were tight, knotted well.I wasn’t dealing with amateurs here.
I forced my breathing to slow—dragging each inhale in, holding it, letting it out like I could steady the chaos clawing up my spine.
Think, Tone.Think.
Distance.Time.Direction.
I mapped it in the dark, piecing it together from motion alone.The first turns came fast—sharp, aggressive, like they were cutting through tight streets.Then the rhythm shifted.Longer stretches.Smoother roads.Fewer stops.
No traffic lights.No pauses.Just speed.
We were leaving the city.I knew it with a certainty that settled cold in my gut.
The engine pushed harder beneath me, the road stretching out, open and unguarded.No congestion.No interruptions.Just a growing distance between me and my life.
My stomach twisted violently, threatening to betray me again, but I locked it down this time—teeth clenched, breath shallow as I pressed my forehead to the cold metal wall.
Protect.
My hand—bound as it was—strained instinctively, trying to reach for my stomach.
Minutes stretched.Yet it felt like hours.
The vehicle slowed eventually, gravel crunching beneath the tyres.
There were voices outside.Then doors opening.
The air changed first.Then the smell hit—sharp, salted, thick enough to coat the back of my throat.
There was no mistaking it.We were at the docks.
They hauled me out again—rougher this time, hands digging in without care.My legs buckled on impact, knees threatening to give, but I locked them fast and forced myself upright before they could see it.
I wouldn’t give them that.
They pushed me forward, too quick, too careless.I stumbled more than once, barely catching myself as they dragged me along.Then my arm was yanked back, hard enough to jolt my shoulder, and I came to an abrupt stop.
Before I could react, they lifted me—brief, disorienting—and dropped me down again.
My heels hit wood.
Hollow.Echoing.
And then the subtle sway set in—back and forth, just enough to turn my stomach and confirm what I already knew.
I was on a boat.
I went still and listened.
Footsteps moved with purpose.Metal clinking—chains, loose fittings.The low, steady hum of an engine idling somewhere close, vibrating faintly through the boards beneath my feet.
The air shifted.Like it knew.A cold, creeping chill slid down my spine just as a voice cut through the space, close.
Smooth and measured, familiar in all the wrong ways.
“Well,” he said, a hint of amusement threading through his words.“You’ve made quite the impression.”
My stomach dropped, though it wasn’t from fear.It was something colder.
