Here is another Fragment of Fiction. Part one can be found here.
If you have watched as many movies as I have you have come up with all sorts of different ideas for how you would handle the scenario I described above. It is just one more aspect of being male. Testosterone and pop culture have more influence upon a man than we might want to admit.
Still reality has a way of making sure that you understand the difference between a movie and life. I am strong, probably stronger than most people I encounter. But not strong enough to break the metal bracelets that adorned my wrists, at least not without a healthy dose of angel dust or some other chemical cocktail. But letâ€™s be real, did I really want to break my wrists in the process of breaking free.
Not to mention two other minor details. My arms were numb. Whoever had cuffed me had made sure that they were so tight the circulation in my wrists was next to non-existent. Just to add insult to injury there was a steady thump between my eyes that was making it hard to focus on anything but the hammering in my skull. It was all I could do not to groan out loud.
Groaning was against the rules. I knew that much because the first time I did I received a strong kick in the side. If I learned anything from the movies it was that I needed to try and learn as much about where I was and who was with me as possible. The answer to the first question was simple. I was home. I knew that because I recognized the shapes of the various objects in my bedroom not to mention the smell of the soiled gym clothes I had left on the floor. Note to self, I need a girlfriend so that the next time I get my ass kicked inside my house I am not forced to inhale my own sweat.
Ok, second note to self. Whatever and whoever hit me knocked me into an alternate reality. I am married and I have children. For a moment the realization that I am not thinking clearly both scares and infuriates me. Someone is inside the home that my children live in. If there was any doubt about it, there is no longer. If I can free myself I am going to kill him. That is not drama. That is not the influence of pop culture. That is a hundred thousand years of evolution speaking. My inner caveman is yearning for a club. Given the chance I would gladly rip out my assailantâ€™s throat with my own teeth.
Graphic, but that is how I think. And did I mention that my arms are numb. I canâ€™t feel a damn thing. In between waves of anger and fear I have this sick feeling that I am going to have nerve damage. Ok, maybe I am a lot more scared than I want to admit. Maybe I am terrified. It was better when I was angry and frustrated. A good adrenaline rush kept my mind from wandering into places it shouldnâ€™t.
Alone in the dark. At least I think that I am. I canâ€™t tell. I canâ€™t hear any breathing. The wood floors arenâ€™t yielding any clues. There is no squeaking or tell tale tapping. The only thing that I can hear is the sound of my own breathingâ€¦.I think.
For a moment the pain in my head has subsided and I have my first real moment of clarity. I know a few things. I havenâ€™t a clue as to who hit me but I am fairly certain that it was a man. Canâ€™t say that I know this for a fact, it is more of a gut feeling based upon where they hit me and how hard. Not to mention that when I was kicked I heard a tiny grunt, or maybe that was just me. Hell, I know enough to know that I donâ€™t know much of anything.
I canâ€™t say with any certainty who hit me or even if they are still in my home. For all I know they are sitting on the bed staring at me. My eyes are beginning to adjust to the dark and I can slowly begin to see the various things surrounding me. In addition to the open gym bag there is a pair of wingtips, a dumbbell, a suitcase and a nightstand. I am not sure about the other side. I am afraid to move. In spite of the anger and a full bladder I am worried about what might happen.
In another moment I am going to urinate all over myself. For some reason the thought is pretty damn funny. I have this image of my assailant slipping in my urine and then knocking themselves out on the dumbbell. Maybe that is the anger speaking, but I canâ€™t help but smile at the idea of them falling face first into my own waste.