Bitch

The air was suffocating and clammy. The bag was still pulled over her head and her hands and feet were still tied together. The ropes rubbed painfully against her wrists and ankles, and the bag was tied on so tightly around her neck, it was nearly strangling her. But what Chantelle was most worried about was the fact that she was now lying on the floor, in the filth and dirt, while wearing her designer dress. Oh, and also the fact that this could be a life or death situation. She could be raped, or she could be murdered- maybe even both. It scared the living shit out of her. Her bum was wet on the damp ground, and she could feel the grime sticking to her long, bare legs. ‘Ugh,’ she thought, trying to squirm out the tight bindings.

Suddenly voices came from the opposite side of the room. Deep voices...young voices. Chantelle immediately started to panic and tried to scream, but it was muffled by a gag that was tightly wrapped around her mouth. This panicked her even more. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, and she couldn't even scream. Chantelle started hysterically kicking about, slamming her heels down onto the floor and thrashing her tied arms around the air. Harsh laughs came from the other end of the room but she just ignored them, screaming and kicking even more. Suddenly heavy footsteps entered the room, followed by an angry voice.

"What the fuck is this?" an older voice came, "I told you to nick her bag, NOT FUCKING KIDNAP HER!"
Chantelle stop flailing, she just whimpered silently, feeling very, very sorry for herself.
"Seriously fuck-heads, since when did "steal the bag" sound like "kidnap the girl and bring her over here"?" the older guy spat. "She better have fucking rich parents because I am NOT letting this bitch go without a ransom!" the man snapped.
"Well, her heels cost more than this whole fucking place, so I'm guessing she has rich parents." one of the younger kids replied quietly.
"We could definitely use her," the other one pointed out. "We could definitely hold her at ransom, and we also found some nice valuables in that expensive handbag of her's. That handbag is worth more than her." the boy scoffed.
"I don't fucking believe this." the older man groaned, and Chantelle could imagine him shaking his head in disappointment.
She strangely smiled to herself under the safety of the paper bag, serves them right.
"Since when did we become fucking kidnappers?" the man scolded. "We can't blow this off easily, we'll have to forget the money and just dump her back into the street and hope to god she didn't see our faces; because if she has, we're fucked."
"Dude, if we just dump her the police are gonna trace us, and if we force her parents to pay a ransom then they'll defiantly put us down." one of the younger boys said.
"Then what do you suggest then, Callum?" sneered the older man.
The boy, Callum, thought for a moment. "I dunno," he mumbled quietly.
Chantelle listened intensely, her shaking palms getting sweaty and prickly goose-bumps rising on her lengthy, naked legs.
"I say we keep her in at the underpass." the other younger boy spoke up.
"How?" the first younger boy asked.
"Just keep her there with the others, lay low and ask them to keep an eye on her. We can work out what to do with her then." the second boy explained.
"Sounds good," the older man agreed, "Alright, roll her in, take what you can and then drop her off at the underpass. I'll drop by later to speak to her; until then keep her out of sight and the attention at minimum: I don't want the police snooping around the place and then finding a kidnapped rich-girl."

There were more footsteps and then the sound of a door opening. Chantelle flinched when it was slammed shut again. The door frame rattle and she could feel the floor beneath her feet vibrate under the full force of the slammed door. Her heart was racing and her hands were trembling. She was starting to panic uncontrollably.

All she could think about was how long she had been gone and if her parents had realized she was missing yet. ‘No, stupid, stupid girl. You told them that if you were missing it meant you had fucked off, remember?’ Chantelle thought to herself, cursing herself over and over again. Sickened by the thought that they could be sipping champagne right now and enjoying the quiet, while their "precious" daughter was tied up...where ever the hell she was, and the kidnappers were not planning on letting her go!

Chantelle kept on replaying the events of the night before. Conjuring up her own little story of what her parents did after she left. Maybe they went back to the hotel, woke up in the morning and then immediately panicked, calling the police, and now every cop in New York city is out searching for Chantelle's poor, lost soul, and they will get her eventually. Everything will be alright. Or her parents woke up to find her missing, therefore taking in her tantrum words the night before and finally accepting that their daughter had ran away for a "better life" and was never coming back. They would drink champagne and celebrate that she'd moved on, not even thinking about the possibility that she could be in trouble. She was screwed.

She was going to be alright. She had to keep on telling herself that. It was all going to work out in the end. She had to be alright. The cops would eventually find her. They had to find her. She hoped to god that they would find her and put these loons behind bars for good. If she couldn't have hope then what did she have? Everything had been taken from her in a blink of an eye: her freedom, her parents, her perfect life.

Her palms itched agitatedly and her breath grew rapid. Chantelle tried to desperately calm her self down from the panic attack that was daunting upon her. It was funny, before she would pretend to have a panic attack in front of her friends to catch attention. She loved seeing their pathetic faces fill with worry and their continuous questions asking if she was okay. But now she was actually having a real panic attack...and it wasn't funny at all. Secretly she knew it wasn't going to be "alright". She had no phone; the police would never be able to trace her in such a big city, and her parents probably hadn't even acknowledged her disappearance yet. She would be dead before anyone found her.

Suddenly the bag was untied and yanked from her head, catching her long eyelashes as it went. Chantelle blinked, her eyes squinting in the bright light and her head spinning as her vision adjusted. A man was staring down at her. Well, a boy really. He could have only been around 20 years old, with brown hair cut short and dark brown eyes. He had a round face, and his skin was slightly tanned. His soft jaw was covered in a fresh layer of stubble. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, but he wasn't ugly either. He was one of those plain people that you just tended to blatantly miss and walk past in the street without noticing. But this was one of Chantelle's kidnappers, so she had to study him in complete, faultless detail.

"Well, at least you're pretty." he muttered, suddenly grabbed Chantelle's hair, hauling her to her feet painfully.
Chantelle screamed into the gag, thrashing out with her tied hands but the man just pushed her back against the wall.
"Now, who's clever idea was it to tie your hands at the front?" the man muttered, shaking his head.
Chantelle whimpered, staring at the man with petrified eyes, tears of black mascara rolling down her grimy face. Chantelle's bottom lip quivered, and she felt horrible. She was so...helpless. She had her big gob, and she had her spiteful attitude...but these things weren't going to help her in this situation. She now wished she had taken up martial arts instead of dance lessons.

The room stank of dust and cigarette smoke. The only light came from a grime-covered, flickering, naked bulb that hung from the cracked ceiling, and the only furniture was a hard wooden chair at the back of the room. The bare, stone walls held no decoration other than unreadable words scratched hastily into the cold surface, and there was no warm heating to fight off the bitter cold that made Chantelle's brisk breath fog up. The man grabbed one of Chantelle's bare arms tightly before dragging her across the room. Chantelle tried not to stumble on her ridiculous heels but still cried out as he tugged at her arm sorely. She hadn't stopped crying since the bag was taken from her head, and she hadn't stopped cursing herself since she'd woken up. ‘Damn parents. I bet they haven't even noticed I'm gone.’ Chantelle thought malevolently to herself. She'd had her freedom taken away but the only thing she still bore was her sharp bitterness. Hatred for everyone around her still lingered, and Chantelle sniffed, sticking her nose up proudly in the air. She would get them back for this, she was better than them. She could beat their asses any day. She'd show them. You don't fuck with Chantelle and get away with it too easily.