Personal Narrative

I scrambled away as fast as I could with my wounded legs, I fell of the side of the counter, and proceeded to walk/fall accross the floor. I fell and felt his hands come in contact with my arms and I started shoving his hands away from me, he's the reason I'm in this situation. I'm breathing hard and can feel the blood seeping out of my bandages, and I breathe harder. There's no air going into my needy lungs, no matter how much I breathe. I'm being burried alive by my own anxiety and fear of this single man standing in front of me.

Something sharp is stuck into my back and I attempt to keep getting out of the room but my body is sluggish, my limbs not moving the way I want them to. Soon enough I couldn't move my body at all, but my chest

was heaving, tears were streaming down my cheeks and my body shook with fear. He picked me up into his muscular arms and lay me down on the cold bathroom floor, this is where I die. The thought is scary, but what's even worse is the fact that I wouldn't ry to fight back.

I miss my brother, and he's wherever I would go, I'm willing to die to see him again.

It's sick but it's how I think, he was always the smart one. The rational one who thought through everything before he acted on anything, he could crack jokes at the most innapropreate time but it lifted moods. When he walked into the room he could brighten everyone's face, even if it was a tradgic time. I miss him so bad, God I miss you

Justin.

"Stop crying." He looks at me sternly, before gently taking off my blood soaked sweat pants, and my cheeks heat up. I let out a breath of releif when I realize I wasn't wearing my "My Little Ponies" underwear, but my plain black ones, and matching bra. He peeled off my bandages and any worries about my undergarments left my mind as I felt the pain. I hissed and choked on tears threatening to spill over.

"Damn." His whisper is the only sound in the room as I stopped breathing to stop myself from crying out.

His fingers brushed around the area, causing shivers to go down my spine, and pain to pulse through my leg. He gets a cloth and wiped the blood off my thighs and dots some anesthetic on my cuts. Tears fall again but I keep my composure.

He wraps a long white cloth around both of my thighs tightly, and sits me up. I've gained some control of my arms, I can flex my fingers now. He reaches for the hem of my shirt but my hands move to stop him, my eyes widening. He tenses under my fingers and pulls away.

"You do it then." He crosses his arms and and leans against the wall watching me. Oh, he wants me to take my/his shirt off. I sigh and feel my cheeks heat up, and grip the hem of my shirt with stiff fingers. My body was still slow thanks to the shot he gave me, and that's my excuse for the next thing that happened.

I stare at his eyes and slowly pull my shirt over my head, and throw it on the floor next to him, before leaning back against the mirror, his eyes are on my body, my legs, my stomach, my chest, and my lips before they meet my eyes. The light brown has replaced itself with an almost black, and my heart thumps in my chest, he stalks towards me and grips the counter on both sides of

me.

He looks down at my bandaged arms and gently places his fingers on the bandage, peeling it off slowly, which hurts less. After he's cleaned my cuts his eyes are back to normal, and he just stares at me, taking in my features. I probably look terminally ill, pale and skinny as hell with how little I've eaten. I don't even know how long I've been away from home.

His hands grip my waist gently and pick me up, setting me gently on the ground, I close my eyes and hiss at the pain in my legs but I know doing this will hep me heal faster, get stronger. I grip his arm as we slowly walk back into the bedroom, where the bed is white and made up again.

Instead of going to the comfy bed though he takes me into the hall and to a stair case. As I go to step down, the second I whiper I'm pulled into a pair of arms bridal style and a gasp escapes my lips. I look and see Mr. Kidnapper looking at me with a sadness I've never known, and something else. Care maybe? No, why would he care about me, he was the one who brought me into this situation in the first place, maybe he felt bad. Good, he should.

I was carried into the kitchen. It's large and dark, the counter tops and cabinets were a dark grey, the fridge was black and shiny, there was an island where the counters were the same shade of grey but the top was a light marble. The floor was dark wood, and the place was filled with plants.