(Trigger Warning: panic attack)

Aurora's Point Of View

Bare feet on wooden floor. Body sprinting.

Go, go, go, anywhere.

My hearing became impaired. I can't hear anything, the unadulterated fear in me blocked out all sound. All I feel are wood floors. Wood floors. Wood floors.

Keep going. Go, go, go.

Panting, my wet hair slapping my face. Bare feet flying on wood floors.

Struggling for breath, naked, I can't hear. I just feel wood floors. wood floors. wood floors.

I'm sprinting, I'm a blur.

Keep going

Then, my conscious slowly seeps back in.

He tried to kill me. He could've killed me.

Now I'm running less on pure adrenaline and more on actual, conscious fear, which makes my heart eat itself alive with terror. My hearing returns and my panting, desperate breaths fill my ears. My lungs squeeze, desperate for a break, but I can't. I'm on survival mode. I'm petrified.

Am I slowing down?

Fuck! Don't think, just run, Aurora!

"Aurora?" He bellows. He doesn't sound angry, just curious. I hear foot steps.

I hiss in fear and redirect myself, I find the stairs. I sprint down them, each one, clambering down like a madman and-

Fuck, where do I go? I can't leave the front door, I don't know the security code Arlan puts in. Why hadn't I ever asked Nate for it?? Arlan probably gave everyone orders not to tell me, anyway, and his arm covered it when he put it in himself. Should I try to guess it?

I sprint to the door, eyeing it with panic. Small, green numbers meet my eyes and intimidate me.

Okay, let's try his birthday.

4-13-97 I punch in, and a voice comes from it, I jump.

'Error. If attempt fails again, alarms will go off' An automated female voice says.

Fuck. I can't risk that.

I whip around and whine in pure terror, my wet hair slapping my neck. I need to be quick but I'm looking all around, in the kitchen, and I don't know where to go, I've never gone beyond here.

"Aurora?" He calls again louder, a bit agitated.

I go running, I enter into some luxurious living room I pay no mind to. Any open entrance, I run through. I keep running and finally I see a tiny door, maybe a closet? I throw it open and slam the door, huffing, encased in vast darkness, wet and freezing.

"God," I whisper. "Please. Please," I don't even fully complete the prayer because my mind is too fogged with fear. My heart is pumping hot in my eardrums.

"Princess!" Sweet Dacie says, and my head whips up. She's not in front of me, is she in this house?! I grow clammy and panicked, looking around. Then slowly, I lower my head, exhaling silently.

"Princess!" I hear again, my head snaps up. Where is that coming from?

Am I hallucinating?

Is my conscious playing her voice in my ears, like she was actually here, to stop my body's wracks of panic? I'm going crazy.

I hear the faint sound of footsteps and whimper, crouching, curling into a ball, head tucked into knees. Maybe it's someone else. Maybe it's Nate, or Elise.

"Aurora," Arlan sing-songs, and my body shutters as my eyes fill, I bury my head in my knees. It's him. I bite my lip.

'God' I say in my mind, 'Please, please, get me out of this place'.

I locked the door, didn't I? I did Right? Now I don't know. Did I remember to lock it?

And it flies open.

I'm an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot-I didn't lock it.

"Aurora," Arlan sighs, he's wrapped in a towel now, figure shadowed from the darkness of the closet.

I sob and incessantly squirm towards the back of the closet, gripping desperately at anything to shield myself with only to palm the barren, cold floor.

"Please," I instantaneously bemoan, wrapping my arms back around myself.

His figure crouches slowly to my height, and darkness ominously covers his face as his head is in the dark closet. My breath hitches, my breathing so loud that it fills all the silence with its noise.

"Why are you running away from me?" His velvety tone implores. "We were having a lovely evening."

I gulp hard, the movement tightening my throat. Lovely evening? He terrorized me in multiple ways. Chaining me all day, touching me sexually and leaving me and my body confused, then dunking me head first under water. I feared for my life, I feared that my last moments may be with the captor that ripped everything away from me. How was he so calm, so even-keeled, so un-phased? His complete lack of emotions drove me only to affirm in my head he was sociopathic. There was no other way to explain it, nothing else to grapple with straws with. He simply couldn't feel. I got way too ahead of myself thinking I could gamble with the Devil to get some freedom and assert myself. He was far more advantageous in physical strength and manipulative mind games to even be broken through.

"Come here," His tone is deep as an abyss from Hell, its fullness echoes in the closet and I shiver. He beckons with two fingers, curling them subtly. My stomach coils sickly.

"N-no," I whine breathlessly, shaking my head.

He tsked.

"Come on. Come here," He beckons me forward once more, disappointment on his face as if I'm some dog cowering away from its owner after eating a bad food. Fear grips my heart and chest.

"Please, just leave me alone!" I screeched, my heart rate thrumming like a bass line in my ear. "You can't kill me!"

He laughs just under his breath, then releases some loud mix of an exasperated sigh and judgmental scoff.

"For the last time," His head tips back in aggravation, his tattooed Adams apple bobs as he swallows. "I was not trying to kill you."

I don't know if I believed him. I mean, he did lean my head back up. I am still here, breathing, right now. Maybe he was just trying to get some sick pleasure from seeing me suffer and not actually kill me. Maybe it was some sort of sexual thing for him. I had no idea. Either way, it was sick, and it set forth a newfound sheer terror of him in me that I didn't know could expand any deeper. All I know is, I don't know who Arlan is. All I know is I don't know what's ever going to happen next, what he's planning to do with me. He was becoming more unpredictable by the day, by the hour, by the second. His terrorization was not the kind to tap you on the shoulder, but impose itself by inviting itself in, unexpectedly, against your will.

The fact that one human could entirely lack such a moral conscious made me feel ill that I was forced here with him in such a confined space. He did not sputter out apologies profusely like he usually would after assaulting me in some way. Now, his face almost seemed like one of a robot, unable to form emotions behind its steel cold metal face. My stomach coiled in sheer panic.

"Do you honestly think I would kill you?" He implores with a tilt of his head, making a sob split from my lips.

My chest starts heaving higher up and fills with a heavy terror when he says the word 'kill' again. Of course I think he would. He's insane! Psychopathic! He has no empathy, or even sympathy for others, and only cares about his own selfish life at the end of the day. He's a mafia man, for God's sake. He's killed others, who's to say he'd take mercy on me? It was growing too quiet between us after his question and I was growing nervous.

"Yes," I whisper hoarsely, my eyes darting to the floor.

"Well, you're wrong."

He takes the initiative and scoots towards me in the closet and I grip myself tighter, whimpering. I have no where to go, my back is literally against the wall. If I try to run past him, he'll just grab me. He's 100 pounds heavier than me, nearly two feet taller than me, I was at a complete disadvantage. I chose to simply accept that I had no where to go. His hands found the bare bones of my hips and gripped them, as he pulled my body and situated me to sit on his towel-covered lap. A ring-covered thumb wiped away a rolling tear from my right eye. I was so exhausted, I found myself coiling into myself, naked on my captor's lap.

"You're too precious to be all worked up like this," Arlan kissed my forehead, murmuring into my ear. "Come on now, you're going to make yourself sick," He caressed the bare skin of my wet back and I shuddered. On their own accord, my eyes, plagued with fatigue, shut heavily. The cool metal of his rings and the callused of his large fingers rhythmically rubbed my back up and down, up and down, continuing to caress me until my panting gradually subsided to somewhat regulated breathing.

"The fact that you think I would kill you is cute, at best," His deep, but soft laughter rumbled into my ear, making shudders parade down my spine and my body clench. "But I would never, babydoll. I need you. Even if I get infuriated with your bratty-ness, it doesn't mean I'd go as far as to do something despicable like that. My soul couldn't bare even thinking about losing you," He whispered.

I grew clammy in the hands and gulped.

"So...why'd you do it?" I asked breathlessly, confused out of my mind. Clearly he got some sick pleasure from me thinking I would die, how could he expect me not to think that I was going to die? He was doing this mind game on purpose, it was fucked up, he was repulsive.

He shifted up and moved me to face him on his lap.

"Let's get you dressed, I wanna take you out."

"What?" I whispered in shocked.

He had, per usual, deflected, not even answering my original question. And now he wanted to take out?! His illusive kindness did not phase me, just irked me.

"I would like to treat you," He stated.

"...I would really just rather be alone," I whispered, my brows inching together in confusion. The sudden shift of kindness was eerie to me.

"And I think we can still salvage this evening." What was wrong with him?! He just fucking drowned me! "Come on, love. My treat, to you."

"No," I irritably snap. "You-you won't even acknowledge that you've just tried to drown me."

"I think I've been more than lenient with you, Dove. I planned to leave you handcuffed to my bed handcuffed all day, and what did I actually do? I took a lunch break specifically to visit you, laid you in the bath and even made you cum," He seethed, and his last word made me shiver, sheer humiliation coating my face in pink coloring. "Which I thought would make you, if anything, relaxed, but you're so up tight. So I'm taking you out, that's that."

I pouted, feeling spent and defeated.

"Am I still handcuffed later?" I softly inquire.

"Let's just relax, Dove, okay?" He insisted, tone growing frustrated.

So I just shut up, head dropping. Maybe I'll just be silent for the night. What was the use anyway? It was beyond tiring being ignored. I had no fight left to argue. All my energy had drained in the past two days, where I gave every last ounce of it. Even if I wanted to thrash about and scream, I physically had no energy left to.

Arlan lifted my body up as he stood and my bare skin met his, both now dripping with frigid bath water. I shivered and curled up instinctually against him, fearful someone may see my naked body. He possessively snaked a burly, muscular arm around my bum to conceal any private areas of me, walking us out of the closet and back up the stairs.

As he climbed each step I found myself humiliated I was even holding onto him. I didn't want to show I needed him for anything, but what was I going to do, fall down the stairs? I tried my best to ignore his hold on my entirely exposed body, but with us so close to each other, I couldn't help but feel open my mouth again.

"You really scared me," I blurted out quietly, sniffling. "Please, just t-tell me why you did it, so I can be better a-and something like that won't happen again."

He was entirely silent, suddenly having nothing to say.

I shifted my head slightly up, peering up at him from his tattooed neck. His face was neutral, maybe his mouth was grimacing very subtly, but mostly neutral. Did he hear me? I know he's not deaf! It was infuriating!

"I-I feel like you aren't acknowledging that you just drowned me," I whispered, pouting downwards, urging for some sort of realization to dawn on him. It was irritating me.

Again, silence. And then we were back in his bedroom, where he laid out my body on the foot of his bed, first my legs, then the rest of me. He ventured to his vanity and slowly I sat up on my knees, watching blankly as he slid his towel off and sprayed a cologne along the sides of his neck. Unconsciously my arms wrapped around myself, teeth clacking. I was freezing, my hair still dripping. He slid on black jeans with a matching black hoodie, running some fingers through his newly shorter hair. He then opened the closet to the left side corner of his room, that he hadn't gone into since I stopped wearing my own clothes. When he opened it, he took out a slinky, red satin dress, the figure of it sinuous and suggestive. That's not my dress...did he buy that for me?

Approaching me, I gulped, craning my neck up to peer at his substantial height.

"Arms up, baby girl."

Resisting a sigh of annoyance, knowing I could very well dress myself, I lifted my arms. The red dress fell over me, a bit too tight for my liking as he pulled it down to my thighs. It pushed my boobs too high up and close together, I felt incredibly exposed. I was still cold, I wanted some comfortable sweats, something warm and soft.

"Why can't I just wear pajamas?" My fingers fumbled together. "I'm too cold for this. Or at least can I wear something looser."

"We're going somewhere nice," Was his clipped response, his eyes shamelessly boring into my chest.

"But you're wearing jeans," I countered, anxiously pulling up the front of my dress when he caught my wrist.

"Come on, let's go," He tugged me upwards, stalking towards the door.

"Arlan," I planted my feet and gasped, "I-I can't, I don't have underwear on," I struggled against his hold.

His walking halted, his rigid expression seemed to calculate my face, as if debating. Then, he sighed, moving past me. I took the opportunity to lift my dress again to cover my cleavage and fidget with the bottom, pulling it down. He returned with a plain pair of gray, cotton panties and I quickly took them from him, slipping them on and adjusting the dress.

"'Kay, now, let's go," He said under his breath, tugging my arm again.

Why was in he such a rush?

So much for a 'nice evening'.

But I resisted his arm again, planting my feet.

"I'm not getting in a car with you," I quietly objected. "You just tried to drown me, I don't trust being in a car with you."

He rolled his jaw in pure frustration, the veins on his arms protruding blue against his olive skin.

"Dove, if I were to crash a car with you in it, I would go too," He narrowed his eyes. "And do you really think I'd deny the world of Arlan Paris's existence? If you do, then you really don't know me at all."

I guess he had a point. An arrogant, stupid point. I lowered my eyes under his gaze and let him lead me by the wrist again and lead us out.

It is nearing dusk, an arctic purple mist of color overtaking the sky. I open the car door and settle into the large leather seat, reluctantly clicking my seat belt in and laying my cheek against the cold window. His hand meets my thigh and I jump, peering at him.

"Relax," He extrapolates the word, shushing me. "Try to be peaceful, Dove."

But with him, I felt anything but.

We are driving in silence, the ambience of tires faintly pealing against the gravel is the only sound meeting my ear drums. As we gently halted at a stop light, I noticed a father and young son, maybe five years old, playing catch above the dashboard. I lift my head from the window to observe. As the son emphatically lurched the basball forward, the father dramatically soared in the air to clutch it in his mitt, before throwing up a thumbs up and proud smile. The son did a little dance, proud of himself, and the father ran forward, lifting his son and swinging him around. I buried my head in my knees, feeling sad. Arlan's hand met my left knee and I jerked back.

"L-leave me alone," I whimpered, eyes misty.

"Excuse me?" He gripped my chin, pulling my face from hiding. His glare was icy and I sniffled, tears falling. My throat felt thick and locked, my nose hot.

"I wish I had a father," I whispered.

His eyes scrutinized me.

"Where's this coming from?" His dark brows arched.

"I just...saw a father playing catch," I slipped my face from his grip, and he let me, resuming his hands to the wheel, "With his son. And it made me sad."

"Fathers are dumbfuck fuckers who can piss themselves until they're in their graves," He spat out venomously, jamming his foot on the gas so we soared forward at the green lighting. I gasped, grasping onto my bearings, heart pumping. "You don't need one, no one does."

"Sl-slow down," I panted.

Rolling his jaw, Arlan let up on the gas, the car now rolling at the speed limit. He sighed heavily.

"I'm allowed to be upset!" I claimed, sadly. "I often hold it in, because seeing other parents is a part of life. But sometimes, it triggers me. Have some sympathy."

"I'm sorry, Aurora," He said quietly. "I just think it isn't worth it. We're better than anything our parents could've been."

You're just as bad as yours, I thought. We drove the remainder of the time in silence.

We entered the restaurant, on this random Wednesday and at this time, it was hardly filled. Arlan picked a table towards the left in the back, and I followed, my head down. He sat across from me and I reluctantly settled into my seat.

"Are you drinking?" I ask softly, hoping he's not.

"I have to drive, silly," He said.

Well, at least he had some morals there.

"I have too much of a headache to drink, anyway," He said, beckoning the waiter.

As the older gentleman in a black apron approached, I drowned Arlan out as he ordered. When we were alone again, he pulled out his phone and began reading texts. I sat with my hands between my thighs, legs swinging slightly. I felt so confused, why were we here?

Silence filled us for fifteen minutes until the food came, and some sort of pasta dish was settled in front of both of us, the glass plates clinking slightly upon being settled down. I think I mumbled a thank you, but honestly, who knows. He began forking down his food, probably starving, I guess. I was staring blankly at the gray walls, noticing the little bumps in the paint. I pushed around my food aimlessly.

"Eat."

His voice brought my attention back as I peered at him. He raised his dark brows expectedly.

"Acknowledge what you did," I faintly whisper.

His mouth purses into a flat line, eyes narrowing. He stabs around at his pasta.

"Then I won't eat," I look away.

"Fine, Dove, you wanna know why I did it?" He finally says.

"Yes," My eyes and voice hold desperation as I gaze back at him. He studied me intensely, mouth still in that tight, flat line, like he couldn't physically get the words out.

"Well?" I said exasperatedly.

"Because you got your pleasure, and I wanted mine."

I felt my eyes overtake their sockets as they widened, horror evident on them as I gasped on my own breath.