Gotcha!
Been stalking you all week, boy. Thought you'd never make a wrong step.
Go on, struggle. You're not getting away from me. Look, your feet don’t even touch the ground the way I’ve got you in my grip. Hard to cry out, isn't it, with my greasy wide hand sealed across your pert little mouth?
Your rich folks taught you well. Taught you to always watch your back…to protect yourself from strangers. You never know what dark and dangerous things others might have planned for you. After all, you're worth an awful lot to them. God forbid anything should happen to their golden boy.
But you got tripped up, didn’t you, college boy? You got betrayed — by your own lust.
Oh, you like to kick? Well, I can squeeze tighter and break your arms if you want to try that again! Don't want to chance it??? Think I meant it when I said I would hurt you?!? That’s right. You’re learning, boy. You just stay still.
Mommy and Daddy would be so disappointed if they knew the company you keep...especially when you get the itch to fire up. I saw you get that text from your — pusher, shall we call him? I saw what Ramon wrote. Just one word: “In.” See, I followed you the last time you came down to this asshole part of town. Watched you make your score. Knew you couldn’t resist another message later in the week, inviting you to be the first to sample some fresh new product. That enticing, irresistible text you got earlier…? Meet the sender.
Aw, don’t look so confused, little bishie. These punk dealers will sell anything if the price is right. Ramon didn't need his burner phone. Not as much as I needed his number. And yours.
That message went out an hour ago. Why did you keep me waiting, hmm? I’m going to have to take that out on you later.
I almost gave up waiting. But then I spied your preppy little ass making your way under that stretch of “L” track…down this dark street…and to this out-of-the-way empty lot.
Sorry to disappoint, but there's no score here. Only the one I'm about to make.
Shhhh shhhhhhh. Now a train's coming overhead. I'm gonna remove my hand from your mouth. If you want to scream, go ahead...no one's going to hear...over...That...NOISE!
*****
That's enough of that. Breathe into the cloth, boy. Take in the fumes. Starting to feel light-headed? That's good. That's enough for now. Let's try that hand back over your mouth, see how you’re doing. Getting all tingly, little bishie? Starting to feel woozy?
What are you grabbing at? Put those hands down. Stop it! I’ll break those hands in half! I swear to Christ I’ll maim your ass if you don’t… stop…squirming!!! That’s it. Stay calm.
Soon enough, you won't be able to grab anything. Your delicate hands will be zipped good and tight behind your back. You ever been zip tied? It’s like having your bones fused together. Hurts like hell.
And when you come to, it’ll be in the darkened trunk of my car. You’ll find your ankles have been zipped, too, and your thighs plastered together with multiple wraps of shiny, sticky duct tape.
Blind and bound in the trunk, you’ll cry out feebly for help. That’s right. You won’t be gagged. Yet. See, I want to enjoy listening to you whimper and beg for mercy…until I get sick of your pathetic weak-ass crying and pull over the car to stuff your mouth with a couple of my old gym socks. My laundry’s been in the back seat for two weeks, haven't got around to washing it. I’ll just peel the crustiest, stinkiest pair from the pile and fill-up your helpless little mouth before I seal it shut with three or four tape wraps around that beautiful, dark-haired head of yours. Then I’ll knock you out again for the rest of the trip.
Once I get you safely out of sight, it’ll take a while for Mommy and Daddy to come through with the money. Whatever will we do to pass the time, hmm???
You’ve got a nice little body, bishie. Slim and smooth. Just the way I like my boys. And you know something else? It kind of excites me to see you look all helpless and under my control. But you can tell that, right? You can feel it pressing against you. Guess what? I think it wants to meet you!
The place where I'm keeping you has a closet with a pole. There’s a sturdy chair. A wooden post. And a piss-stained mattress on an iron frame. When this all over — when the payment comes through and you're back in the loving arms of your relieved and tearful family — you’ll remember those things in that room. You’ll remember what happened to you in there. And that memory is going to wake you up screaming — terrified and trembling — every night, for the rest of your days.
Second train’s coming. Want to give it another shot?
*****
All right, that's enough. Here comes the rag. That’s cute, but you can't hold your breath forever. That’s right. Just give in. There’s no use fighting now.
Be a good boy for me. Take a final, deep draw from the strange air, so we can get you off to slumberland and me to work. Those wrists and ankles aren't going to tie themselves.
That’s right. Sandman's coming. Go to sleep…go to sleep…
