One minute, you were tipsy at a party, laughing your heart out. The next, you woke up in the back of a car, wrists and ankles tied, tape over your mouth.

Everything else was a blur. You don't remember ending up in this random room with no food or water. You glanced around. A bed, a bedside table and a wardrobe. Simple. The room was spacious, yet, the air around you felt hot and sticky. You blinked. Once, twice. Hoping this was a bad dream.

It wasn't.

You're wrists and ankles were still tied but the tape was removed from your mouth. You blew a strand of hair away from your face and were about to scream for help—until you heard footsteps getting closer and closer.

Slow, purposeful steps towards your room.

They stopped.

You heard the door unlock, the handle rattle. Then the door swung open and — Rafe? — entered the room. He smirked. That smug, annoying smirk.

He shut the door behind him and edged closer to you.

You shifted away, trying to control your breathing. Opening your mouth to make a snappy comment, or a call for help, Rafe beat you to it.

"Look, you might think this is crazy—" He started.

"It is crazy." You scowled, eyes sharp as your wrists struggled against the rope, burning your skin.

"—but, I got a reason, alright?" He muttered, crouching down to be eye level with you.

You didn't let him finish. After ten whole minutes of arguing, screaming and snappy comments, Rafe left, slamming the door behind him.

Midnight that night, you were half asleep, staring at the dark floor as the moon was your only light source. Then, you noticed a glint on the floor. You scooted closer. A nail. A sharp, metal nail. Hope began to swirl through your chest as you pressed the rope against the nail. You scratched the rope against it, and slowly but surely, felt your hands break free.

You untied your ankles and stood up, frantically searching for an escape. The door? Locked. The windows? Boarded up—except for one. You ran across the room and pushed at the windowsill with all your might. It didn't work.

You wondered how fast you could run across the whole neighbourhood if you just smashed the window and jumped out.

Probably pretty fast.

You grabbed a nearby lamp and hit the window, hard. It smashed to a million pieces, shards flying everywhere. Suddenly, you heard quick footsteps around the house. Adrenaline rushed through you, flowing through your veins as you jumped out the window, rolling onto the grass.

Then you started running.

Barefoot with your dress ripped and stained, you ran through the neighbourhood, on the roads, like your life depended on it—because it did.

You looked over your shoulder. A sports car.

Coming straight towards you.