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Black tinted your vision as you cracked your eyelids open, a dull ache behind your eyes immediately making you shut them again. You groaned softly and lifted a hand to your head as you rolled over on whatever it was you were laying on. Unfortunately, you were closer to the edge than you realized and you promptly landed in an undignified heap on a hard concrete floor. You groaned again, this time much louder, and slowly pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees before taking in your surroundings.
You were in a room that looked like a bare basement, nearly devoid of all signs of inhabitance. There was no carpet or wallpaper and the only source of light was a stark light setting, adorned with nothing but light bulbs. Aside from the small cot next to you, there was a wooden table across from you with two chairs next to it and a rather dirty toilet next to an equally dirty sink that rested in the opposite corner, making you cringe at the sight of them. A three-seater couch, facing away from you, rested close to a set of stairs.
Stairs.
You scrambled up as quickly as you could, ignoring the throbbing in your head as you bolted towards the stairs. You darted up the wooden steps two at a time and practically slammed into the door in your haste to escape. Desperately turning the knob and attempting to yank the door off its hinges, you wanted to cry at the realization that the door was locked and you were trapped. The man with the metal arm was nowhere to be found but you knew he was the one to bring you to your prison. Falling to your knees, you buried your face into your hands as the reality of the situation set in.
For all you knew, you were never going back home again.
As the first tears started to burn your eyes, you felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. Despair, fear, sadness…anger. What was it about you that made this man incapable of leaving you alone? What had you done to deserve him stalking you and then kidnapping you from your own home? You had promised you would stay quiet about what you had seen that night in the parking lot. God knows he scared you enough when he threatened you with death if you didn’t. But it was just so unfair that this terrifying murderer had fixated on you after he was the one who didn’t kill you in the first place, even though by all means he should have.
“This is bullshit!” you yelled into the empty room, your voice echoing back at you.
You made your way back down the stairs, your bare feet stomping against the wood, feeling angrier and angrier the more you thought about everything this man had put you through. With a harsh screech, you erupted into a flurry of destruction. The table and chairs were flipped, the cot stripped of its bedclothes, the mirror broken; nothing was safe in your chaotic storm. As you threw one of the chairs at the stairs, you suddenly felt exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. You were drained. You were tired of this.
You just wanted to go home.
The sound of footsteps didn’t give you long to consider that thought and your head whipped towards the stairs. It was him, the man with the metal arm, it had to be. As your gaze fell upon the other chair beside you, you felt energy rush back into your being. If you did this, you only had one chance.
You could only hope he didn’t kill you before you managed to get away.
You grabbed the chair and hid within the shadows under the stairs, waiting for your kidnapper to make his way down into the basement. Heavy footsteps made dust on the stairs above you drift down before coming to a sudden stop, probably at the sight of the broken chair, then rushing down into the room. You took a deep breath before creeping forward as quietly as possible. The man clearly heard you anyway as he whipped around to face you just you smashed the chair over his face. A set of keys slipped from his hand as his grip loosened, the force of your hit driving him to stumble backwards with a sharp yell. You snatched the keys up and bolted back up the stairs, immediately trying the first key between your fingers. Luck was on your side as the lock turned and you threw open the door, only to have a hand grasp locks of your hair and yank you backwards while another slammed the door shut again.
You screamed in pain and frustration as the keys were stolen from your hands and the door locked before you were shifted over the man’s shoulder. He carried you back into your prison and none too gently dumped you on the couch. You went to stand up and fight against him again when the look on his face stopped you.
Flaming eyes glared down at you while barely concealed rage contorted his features into a vicious snarl. You curled in on yourself, any fire in you dissipating at that single infuriated look.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” he asked, his voice shaking with hostility.
You stared at him incredulously.
“Trying to escape, obviously. You kidnapped me!” you snapped back.
His fists clenched by his sides and you swore you could see a vein straining in his neck.
“That was for your safety! I’ve been looking after you since I took you!” he barked.
You laughed hysterically and gestured around you wildly.
“Oh, because kidnapping me is clearly you looking after me!” you retorted, a break in your voice evident.
The man ran his hands through his hair and growled in clear exasperation.
“Don’t you understand? I’m protecting you! I’m doing this for you! They’re not just gonna look for me, they’re gonna look for you too!” he thundered.
“But why? Why is whoever you’re talking about going to look for me? Why are you doing this for me? Why are you so adamant about me staying with you?” you shouted, your throat becoming raw from how harshly you were abusing your voice.
“I DON’T KNOW!” he roared.
You reeled back in fright, scrambling along the length of the couch in an attempt to get away from him. All of the anger in the man seemed to leave his body in a great gush of air, his shoulders falling low and his fists unclenching as he looked away from you. The sudden silence between you two was tense, not a single sound made.
“Please just let me go,” you said quietly.
He lifted his gaze and met your imploring stare. Conflict flashed across his features before he sucked in a sharp breath and turned away from you once again.
“I can’t.”
You watched as he started to clean up the room from your earlier tantrum.
Neither of you spoke.
-----
Steve was worried.
Ever since he had escorted you back to your apartment building a few nights ago, he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. He had tried to shake it off but the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him and so he had tried contacting you to no avail. Either you were ignoring him, which was very unlike you, or something had happened.
As he climbed the stairs to your apartment, Steve felt increasingly tense the closer he got. By the time he reached your door, his muscles were taut with apprehension and he hesitantly knocked on the pale wood. When no answer came, he knocked again. And again. And again. After three minutes with no sign of you, he gritted his teeth and forced his way into your apartment.
The first thing he noticed was that it was unnaturally quiet and still in the usually cozy abundance of your home. It was as if no one had been there for days; no one to fill the small apartment with life. Steve frowned and moved into your living room, instantly zoning in on the knife embedded into your coffee table. He rushed forward and went to yank it from its wooden confinement before he pulled his hand back, not wanting to taint any possible evidence he could gather from the hilt. His eyes scanned your living room, taking notice of little things he hadn’t seen before. The scuffed up rug near the entrance to the kitchen, the clear gouge in the floorboards most likely made by the knife, the still open window letting in the sounds and smells of the street below.
Steve clenched his fists before digging his phone out of his pocket and dialing Natasha’s number.
“Tasha? I need your help.”