a/n: SM owns all.

Sorry it's taken me awhile to update. Computer issues. Hope you enjoy the update!

Day 8

My mouth was dry, my hair felt damp from the amount of oil that has accumulated, and the urine I was sitting in was starting to irritate my legs.

It has been days since he came down. Every time I heard footsteps above me, my heart rate sped up and my breathing increased. My level of fear had heightened quite a bit, and I was about ready to cry at any given moment. The pain had subsided slightly, but my wrists were in a constant state of burning.

I rolled my head back and forth, using all the leverage I could muster in my legs to move just slightly to the right, out of my own urine.

I wish I knew what the hell was going on. My days and nights, not like I could tell which was which, were filled with constant scenarios of what happened. I tried to think, over and over again, of the last thing I remembered before winding up here. It was early morning, I'm sure of that, and I was walking from my car to my old house. Charlie, my father, just passed away, so my brother, Emmett, and I were going to pack the house up. My heart tugged painfully and big, fat tears fell from my eyes as I thought of my brother. Fun loving, big hearted Emmett. I could only imagine what he was going through right now. He would have shown up to the house late, as usual, and barged into the small little house, all alone down a small dirt road. Emmett would have seen my car, and then panicked when I was nowhere to be found. I swallowed past the dry lump in my throat and shut my eyes tight.

I opened my eyes the moment I heard footsteps above. My lungs hurt as I held my breath for seconds longer than I should have. When I heard the door creak open, I swallowed air in greedy gulps, as if he'd take them away.

It was dark, but there was a sliver of light cascading down the wooden stairs from the opening of the door. I could see him a little clearer. He was tall, thin, and his hair was in disarray. I couldn't make out the color, but I could tell it was longer and sticking up. I knew all of this evidence would be crucial to the authorities when I escaped. I recalled the movie Taken and what Liam Neeson taught me. I mentally noted his stature, his hair, and the lack of tattoos he sported from the elbows down.

"Don't look at me," he told me. He was at the foot of the stairs now. He was holding a bucket in one hand, and a towel in the other. "I said don't fucking look at me!" he yelled louder this time.

His voice startled me, and I looked away.

"It smells down here," he stated simply. I moved my lips to talk back, but nothing came out. "I need to clean you."

He moved closer to me, set the bucket and towel down, and then climbed the stairs again. He returned moments later carrying bed sheets.

He pulled out the blindfold and secured it behind me. The light clicked on, and he walked back over to me. He then forced me onto my side and I hissed at the sting caused by the handcuffs against my raw, bloodied wrists.

He murmured under his breath before fingering the wounds on my wrists.

"How long has it been like this?" he asked softly.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. I wondered why he hadn't noticed it before when he came down.

"Will you just fucking answer me?"

I cleared my throat, coating it over and over again with my own saliva. "A while," I manage to croak.

I heard him shuffle his feet, huff loudly, and run up the stairs. I breathed through my nose quickly and counted the seconds until he was back. 307.

"I need to wash this," he instructed, lightly tapping my hand above the cuts. I nodded. He brought me more liquid and I drank through a straw.

I heard him shuffle around, water was poured into the bucket, and then it sloshed around as he moved over to me again. All was quiet except the sound of a rag being plunged into the water, and the water being squeezed from it.

He started at my feet, scrubbing the bottoms and the tops. When he hit my pinky toe I cringed and pulled away.

"It's broken," he said.

"Yeah," I croaked out.

He washed up one leg, stopping at the cuff of my shorts, and then repeated the same process on the other leg. He lifted up my shirt, right under my breasts, and I froze.

"I won't hurt you."

I didn't respond.

He washed my stomach softly, turning me onto my side towards him.

He took a deep breath and was still for a few seconds. He washed my hip bone and up to my waistline and ribs.

"This," he said softly, poking my ribs, "does it hurt?"

I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut. "Yes," I moaned.

"They're broken. I'd say two or three. Right here," he ran his fingertips over my skin softly, "you're very swollen and bruised." He finished washing both of my sides, careful of my wounds.

"Who did this to me?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer me.

He cleared his throat after a while and asked, "How old are you, Isabella?" He was now washing my arms, avoiding the gashes on my wrists.

I didn't answer him.

He got up, went upstairs. He was gone for 71 seconds, and then he came back down. He started drying my legs and midsection, moving up to my arms.

"Did you graduate?" he asked, running a cool cloth over my face.

I didn't answer him.

As he leaned in, his scent assaulted me. He smelled of cinnamon today. I enjoyed it. His chest was above my head and I watched his chest rise and fall slowly.

"This will sting," he whispered, placing a cloth on each wrist, squeezing softly.

"Fuck!" I yelled, trying to pry my wrists from his grip.

"Knock it off, you'll make it worse. This is cleaning the cuts."

"Why are you even doing this? Why don't you just let me rot down here?" I asked callously.

He sighed softly. "Because I have to."

"Why?"

He removed the cloths, dried my wrists softly, and applied something to the wounds.

He got up to move, placing everything in the bucket. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Wait!" I cried. "My legs, they're irritated. It hurts."

"Where?" he asked, moving closer.

"The back of my thighs. It's because…" I trailed off, too embarrassed to say that I have rash because I'm lying in my own urine.

He didn't say anything, just walked over the other side of the bed, rolled me away from him, and inspected my legs. He hoisted up my soaked shorts and sighed loudly.

"I'll be back later."

He ran up the stairs and slammed the door.

Later, I heard soft footsteps above and the door creak open. Soft footsteps fell on the wooden stairs. It wasn't the man I was used to, and fear shot through me.

Light illuminated my black blindfold, and a whole new scent filtered through the room. I couldn't quite place it.

"It's okay dear, I won't hurt you," the lady assured me softly, laying a hand on my exposed leg. I cringed and cowered away. She sighed softly and sat at the foot of the bed. "I need to change you, ok? The man who has been taking care of you informed me that you have a rash on your legs. I'm going to clean that, ok? And then I'm going to put you in some new clothes. I'm going to unbutton your shorts and take them down along with your underwear. Please don't fear, Isabella."

"Why does everyone know my name?" I asked softly, my voice quivering.

She stilled for a second and began pulling my clothes down. "We only know what we're told, dear."

"Wh-what's your name?"

"I'm afraid I can't say. You can call me doc, though, if you'd like to."

"Are you a doctor?"

She pulled my clothes off and placed them on the floor.

She giggled softly. "Oh no, but I am a nurse."

She cleaned my rash on both my back and inner thighs. She applied a cream and rubbed it in softly. She also cleaned between my legs, hushing me softly when I cowered away.

"Why is this happening to me?" I questioned.

"You know how sometimes you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there's nothing you can do but do what you can to make the situation better? That's what's happening now. I don't know why you're here or what happened, but I do know that the people who will help you in this house will never hurt you. You have my word, Isabella."

She finished up and threw a towel over my lower region.

"I'm ready down here!" she called up from the foot of the stairs.

I heard his boots stomp down the stairs and the two of them discuss something quietly.

"Okay, Isabella, I'm going to need your word that you won't try anything. Do I have it?" I nodded. "Good. We're going to flip your mattress and put some sheets on the bed for you. First, I'm going to uncuff these and clean your wrists again."

One at a time she uncuffed my wrists, cleaned them thoroughly, and then bandaged them up. My wrists were free and I could lower my arms for the first time in days. I moaned softly at the feeling and rolled my shoulders.

"They're stiff I'm sure. Take a moment and relax. Remember what I said, sweetie." Her voice, this nurse, she was comforting.

I did as she said and relaxed. I moved my arms slowly, blindly, and worked out the kinks. I cracked my knuckles and gently massaged each arm slowly.

"Alright, let's go," the man said, irritation etched in his voice.

"Knock it off," the woman said.

He huffed loudly before I heard him shuffling around the room.

"I'm ready," I said softly, not wanting to irritate the man.

The woman guided me up slowly and sat me in a chair. She patted my head in effort to soothe my worries.

"What kind of music do you enjoy, sweetie?"

I laughed. For the first time in days a tiny giggle escaped my lips and I laughed at her ridiculous question.

"What's funny?" she asked, giggling to herself.

I caught my breath and stopped smiling. It hit me. "I'll never hear music again," I stated pessimistically.

It was quiet, no one said anything. Was it because my statement was true? Would I ever hear music again? Would I ever see the sun, the moon, the stars again? Would I smell the rain, feel the electricity in the air during a thunderstorm? All of these things I've taken for granted I wanted now. Funny how that happens.

The woman stayed by my side and hummed songs while the man got my bed ready. She told me he flipped the bed, stripped the sheets, and replaced them.

"Now, I'll be coming once a week to check on you, okay? I'm giving your caretaker a tube of ointment he is to place on your wounds when need be. Also, he'll be down here twice a day every day to feed you and take you to the bathroom, okay?"

I nodded, as if I even had a say in any of this. I was somehow no longer sad, I was angry. Really angry. I just wanted to go home, see my brother, lay in my twin sized bed, and continue searching for a job.

"Go on up," the woman said softly. It was quiet for a bit before I heard his footsteps echo softly as he walked up the stairs.

"Here, sweetie," she said gently, placing something in my hand. "It's an energy bar. You need fiber and protein." I could barely make out this woman through my blindfold. Her hair was shoulder length and had a wave to it. She was small in stature. That's all I could notice.

I ate the food she gave me, and took a sip of the water she offered.

"I bet it feels good to utilize your arms again, huh?"

I nodded softly, my head down. "Do you have to cuff me again?"

She sighed sadly and nodded. "Just until we can trust that you won't run. You can't, Isabella. If you do, bad things are going to happen." She sounded desperate. "I shouldn't tell you this, Isabella, but we need to form a certain degree of trust here. It's not just your family that's being attacked here, it's ours too. We don't want this any more than you and your family do." Her voice quivered and she stopped.

I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to be sad. I didn't want any of this. Would I try to run? Could I? Would I get anywhere? What would happen if I did run? I thought about what the woman said as I chewed slowly on the energy bar. Her family was being attacked like mine… that means that I'm not the only one who…

"Where's my brother?" I asked franticly. She didn't respond. "Where is he!" I demanded, dropping the bar of food and standing quickly.

"I need you!" she yelled, standing before me and pushing me down.

"Is he okay? Is he safe? Is he-," I chocked back a sob, "is he dead?" I asked softly, giving into my feelings and letting the tears pass. Inside, I kept chanting the word "dead" over and over again. "This is my fault!" I yelled. "I did this!" I started yelling louder and louder, crying uncontrollably. Emmett. Just thinking his name made my heart sink. Emmett.

I felt a soft hand cup my neck a strong burn in my hip. And then nothing.

Day 38

I sat in the chair, the same chair that the woman puts me in every time she comes, and ate the protein bar she gave me. She's been here four times. Every time it's the same. She comes down, wakes me up, uncuffs my arms, changes the gauze and applies medication. She makes me walk through a door, and then another to get to the bathroom. She stays with me, but turns around. It was embarrassing at first, but now I just don't care. She bathes me, also. The first bath was divine. The warm water washed off all the dirt that had accumulated. She had to drain the tub twice and refill it to keep the water warm and clean.

Since the night that the man and woman had to sedate me, I hadn't thought about Emmett. The thought of him dead crushed me. I imagined him home, going to the bar on Wednesday night for Karaoke night, and singing ridiculous songs at the top of his lungs.

"What're you smiling about, sweetie?" The woman asked softly, running the cloth up my back softly.

I shook my head, indicating that I didn't want to talk about it. She was nice to me. She talked a lot, and that was okay. I'm stuck down here all day everyday with no communication. The man comes down twice a day to take me to the bathroom and feed me. He stays down for a few minutes and leaves. We don't talk. This is why I welcome the chatter of the woman.

"It rained today," she stated simply. "There was a rainbow afterwards. It was beautiful, Isabella. I thought of you the second I saw it."

Her comment made me smile. "Thank you," I replied gently.

She tipped my head back so she could rinse the suds from the shampoo. She hummed a song as her nails gently massaged my scalp.

"You're a very beautiful young lady, Isabella."

I didn't say anything. I never do. She says this every time I see her.

She dried me off when I stood and I put on a pair of sweat pants and an oversized shirt. Both of these articles of clothing were clearly men's, and I wondered , for the briefest of moments, if they were the mans.

She slowly walked me back to the bed and sat me down.

"I'll stay with you for a while so you don't need to be cuffed for too long."

"Thank you," I replied. It was quiet while I sat on the bed, picking at the skin by my nails. "Classical," I said softly.

"What's that, dear?"

"You asked my favorite type of music. It's classical."

She was silent for a moment. "That's lovely, Isabella, thank you for telling me." I could hear the smile in her voice.

She stayed down there for a bit longer before I yawned and asked if I could sleep. She cuffed me, kissed my forehead, and walked up the stairs. I fell asleep immediately and awoke some time later. I was startled from my sleep by the sound of music softly filtering down to me.

It was dark, but I could see a small sliver of light peeking through the door. It was open? That's when I heard the music. Soft sounds of keys from a piano. The song wasn't one that I knew, but it was beautiful. The music continued for a while longer before it stopped and the sound of a chair being pushed back on hardwood could be heard. Soft steps echoed and creaked in darkness of the night. It became eerily quiet and I held my breath. The door closed softly, and the sound of a lock echoed down the stairs.

I fell asleep again, this time I felt at ease.

Day 39

It was way past the time he was supposed to come down. I was lying in bed, trying not to pee myself.

Sometime later, when I was on the verge of having an accident, I heard the door open and smelled his scent immediately. Cinnamon. I breathed it in quickly.

He walked over slowly, placing something on the table next to the bed.

"I have to pee!" I all but yelled.

He uncuffed me, taking my hands in one of his large ones, and leading me through the doors. Because I was getting visits from both the man and woman frequently, the blindfold was left on at all times. I didn't bother me anymore; I don't even notice it's on. Darkness is darkness. He placed me in front of the toilet and put the water on. I don't know why he did it, but every time he took me to the bathroom, he ran the water in the sink. I shook my head, did the pee dance, and pulled my pants down quickly. I sighed and nearly moaned as I relieved myself.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"What?" I asked him, not able to hear him over the running water.

"I said I'm sorry," he said, yelling louder of the water. "I, uh, I slept in this morning."

I finished up and asked him for the toilet paper. He placed it in my hand.

"Do you watch me?" I asked.

"What? No! Don't be absurd. I'm not a perverted creep, Isabella."

I pulled my pants up. "I wouldn't know," I said sarcastically. This man made me angry. He purposely avoided conversation with me. "You never say anything to me."

"It's for the best anyways," the man said, waiting for me as I washed my hands. I turned to faucet off and he handed me a towel to dry my hands with.

When we walked back to the bed I sat back, waiting for him to cuff me.

"I'll, uhm, I'll stay down here for a few minutes."

The silence was awkward. I had given up on asking any questions regarding me kidnapping.

"Did you play that music last night?" I asked softly, sitting up on the bed, tucking my feet under me.

He was quiet for a minute before answering. "I did, yes."

"Did you play it for me?" I asked.

"I played it to play it, Isabella."

"I liked it. Will you play again tonight?"

"We'll see."

Another awkward silence filled the air.

"He's not dead," the man said softly, clearing his throat. "Emmett, your brother, he's not dead."

My heart sank and my lungs tightened. "H-how do you know?"

"The man in charge of this, your kidnapping, he also took Emmett."

"Wh-what?" I asked, utterly confused. Before I could panic again, I asked him a sincere question, "can you please tell me what's going on?"

He cleared his throat. "The woman who comes down here to keep you company and bathe you, she told me I need to form a bond of trust with you. This is all that this is, Isabella." I nodded my head. "There are things that you don't know about your family, and you probably won't believe me when I tell you, but your dad was a drug dealer."

"No he wasn't," I laughed. "He never did drugs!"

"I didn't say he was a user, Isabella, I said he was a dealer. My dealer."

"You do drugs?"

"No, not anymore, not for a long time."

"But, what? When? How?" The fact that my dad was a… a drug dealer… it was literally unbelievable.

"He was a dealer. He was a nice guy, but he did some shit that ultimately got him killed."

"Stop it!" I demanded. I didn't want this. I didn't want to hear this. "My father would never get messed up in that shit!"

"Isabella, calm down," he urged. "I'm not lying to you. I won't ever lie to you."

"How can I trust you? You keep me locked down here like some kind of savage! How could I ever trust you? You're a son of a bitch for what you do. I hate you."

He sighed loudly and grabbed my wrists roughly, cuffing me to the bed.

"You can hate me all you want, Isabella. You can hate me and know the truth, or you can hate me believe the lie you were fed your whole fucking life. I don't give a damn." He stalked up to stairs and slammed the door.

Day 43

Every day he came down was one of torture. He was quiet, not a word was said. He'd take me to the bathroom, sit me on my bed, feed me, and cuff me again before going upstairs. I wondered where the woman was and when I'd see her again. I missed the calming feeling she brought with her.

As the days passed, I thought more and more of what the man said. My dad was a drug dealer? He got himself killed? No, no it couldn't be. My dad was a happy, loving father. We struggled with money, sure, but not to the point where he'd think about dealing drugs!

The door opened and turned my head to the stairs. It wasn't the woman. I turned my head back to where it was and sighed softly. I couldn't keep silence up with the man anymore. I craved socialization.

He uncuffed me and grabbed my hands roughly, walking past the two doors into the bathroom. I didn't have to go, but forced myself as I didn't know when the next time I could go was.

He walked me back, gave me the energy bar, and waited until I finished. I ate it slowly, hoping he'd say something, anything. All I got was his impatient foot tapping.

The second I finished, he took the wrapper and pushed me back. He cuffed me and moved to walk up the stairs.

"Tell me," I said, loud enough for him to hear. "Tell me the truth, I'm ready."

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts.