Six(11)

I looked down at the carpet and swallowed hard, then did as he requested. He immediately went to work securing my ankles to the legs of the chair and my wrists to the arms. He even went as far as taping just under my knee and at my elbow to the frame. Needless to say, I wasn’t getting out of it on my own.

Another piece of duct tape was held out in front of me. “Can’t have you screaming.”

I pulled away from him, but it didn’t help. He slapped the tape over my mouth, leaving me only my nose to breathe from.

“I’ll be back.” He let out a dark chuckle. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I cringed as the door slammed shut. There was the sound of him starting the car, and then nothing.

I scanned the dimly lit room, then looked down at myself. Taped up for who knew how long, all alone in the blistering silence.

My heart started to pound in my chest, my nostrils flaring with each labored breath. I struggled against the tape in a very futile effort to get free. Whimpers echoed in my throat, my face scrunching up as tears started to stream again.

Everyone was dead, except me, but I would be soon. Maybe his fast death was the better way to go, rather than experiencing the cruel torture of waiting, of being subjected to restraint.

Hope was slipping from me, as much as I clung to it.

Breathing became difficult. I couldn’t get enough air, and it felt like I was going to suffocate. The more I thought about it, the worse it became.

Every shot echoed. The smell of the room.

Dead.

Everyone.

After a few minutes, the world went black.





Rattling stirred me, waking me from my slumber. My eyes fluttered open as my head rose in time to see through the darkness a figure step through a door, locking it behind them. A flip of the switch, and I cringed against the harsh light.

After adjusting, I looked at the man, and everything came rushing back.

I guess in sleep I hoped to forget I was a captive taped to a chair.

Six walked to the bed, dumping half a dozen plastic bags.

“Did you just wake up?”

I scowled at him.

He chuckled, then stepped over, ripping the tape from my mouth.

“Ouch! Asshole, motherf*cking hurt!” The sting of the tape taking hair was worse than a wax job.

“You’ll be fine.” He rummaged through the bags, pulling out a few boxes of hair dye.

“What’s that for?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious.

“Are you going to tell me what you know?”

I shook my head again.

He pulled the gun out of his waistband. “Should I just shoot you now?”

“No.”

He tore open one of the packages, emptying the contents before locating the instructions. “Then it’s time for a change. Your hair is too unusual. We need to blend in.”

“Oh, hell, no.” I shook my head and glared at him. “I’ve never dyed my hair, and I’m not about to start now.”

“You won’t. I’ll be doing it for you.”

I cursed as I looked down at my restraints.

He disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a few minutes later with his hair inches shorter than it had been and what I assumed was a bottle of dye for me. I whimpered as he began squirting the brown liquid onto my hair, scrunching it in with his glove covered hands. I cringed with each crinkle, my bottom lip jutting out.

The only good thing was if he was bothering to dye my hair, I was going to live a little longer. But how long would it really be before I got a bullet of my own?

After he was done, I was stuck waiting for him to get the chemical smelling shit off my hair while he showered.

A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom naked, running a towel over his hair. My mouth popped open as I stared at the chest and cock my tongue spent a lot of time getting to know not twenty-four hours prior.

Was I really thinking about that now? The clenching of my thighs, as best they could in their restraints, answered that question for me.

“You couldn’t put on clothes?” I asked, embarrassed by my reactions.

Slut much, Paisley?

“What does it matter?” He moved the towel across his chest and down his legs, making sure to shake his junk at me. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

Yeah, but that was before I knew you were a murderer.

He opened up a leather bag he brought in with him and pulled out a knife. After slipping it out of its case, he stepped over to me and sliced at the tape. It hurt like a motherf*cker when he yanked it off my arms, taking some fine hairs with it and making me regret I pulled my sleeves up, before doing the same to my legs.

Stiffness had taken over from so long in one position that it took me a minute to stand.

“Go wash that out,” he said, then handed me a T-shirt. “Here.”

I looked at him as I took it, noticing something was off.

“Your eyes…”

They were blue when I met him. I was sure of it. Bright blue, but no longer. Brown with flecks of gold and honey—an effect contacts couldn’t replicate. His real eye color.

He didn’t say anything, but it was another part of Simon that was a lie.

When I stripped my shirt off in the bathroom, I noticed a few spots and stared at them.

Looking down at my pants, there were more of the same small dots. Then more on my shoes, contrasting against the white.