Panic

I couldn't breathe.

The air was too tight, and my throat was raw, weak from all the screaming. I had stopped that some time ago, knowing it was useless. It would not help.

He was still out there, just waiting.

He was always waiting.

Always watching.

He had taken me away at my most vulnerable, when I had too much to drink. He dumped me in his car, not caring if I broke a bone from the way he dropped me.

He wanted me to suffer.

"Please," I muttered, "let me go."

Silence.

It seemed like hours and hours before he replied, his voice deep and bitter.

"I'm never letting you go."

I shook my head, trying to move my arms to touch my face, to rub the tears from my eyes. They, my hands, were bound by shackles.

Panic spread through me like a virus and I started to cry again, louder this time. I dropped my head.

The door opened slowly, and as his footsteps came closer, I felt his hands on me. He grabbed my face with rough hands and forced me to look at him.

I knew then that I would not live to see the next sunrise. I would not live to see anything.