Trapped

(Kelly's POV)

Still trapped in this Godforsaken room!

The room was filled with the thick fog of Rashad's cigarette smoke, making it difficult to breathe. I could see him standing by the window, his silhouette outlined by the faint moonlight. His phone conversation was brief, with his responses limited to 'okay' and 'alright'. His nonchalant demeanor was in stark contrast to the tension that filled the room.

As the minutes ticked by, I closed my eyes, trying to escape the suffocating atmosphere. That's when I noticed it - a tantalizing aroma that made my mouth water. It was the smell of food being cooked, a delicious scent that was a welcome distraction from the choking smoke. I could hear the voices of men outside, their words muffled but their tone unmistakable. They were cooking, their voices carrying the rhythm of a well-practiced routine. "Put the pot down," one of them said, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

I opened my eyes, turning around to find that the guards who had accompanied us were no longer in the room. It was just Rashad and me in this small, wooden house. I felt a pang of fear, realizing how vulnerable I was. I wanted to get up, to see who was outside, to understand what was happening. But I was unsure if it was a wise move. So, I stayed put, feeling trapped and helpless.

Rashad, oblivious to my internal turmoil, continued to smoke by the window. I watched him, my heart pounding in my chest. He made a move to step out of the room, and I found myself holding my breath. "Move," I whispered to myself, my eyes glued to his figure. But then, he paused, returning to the burns of his cigarettes on the window. My heart sank.

He was about to leave again, and I felt a glimmer of hope. "Thank goodness," I thought, ready to breathe a sigh of relief. But yet again, he came back, dusting the burns of his cigarettes on the window. My frustration bubbled up, my whispered plea growing louder. "Move, for heaven's sake," I muttered under my breath, my gaze never leaving him.

Finally, he stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in the small room, startling me. I jumped up from the couch, rushing to the window. My heart was pounding in my chest, my palms sweaty. I peered out of the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the men who were cooking outside.

As I peered out of the window, my eyes widened in surprise. The men cooking outside were not strangers. They were the guards, the same stern-faced bodyguards who had accompanied us. Their faces, usually as impassive as a chimpanzee's, were now animated as they huddled around the fire, their hands busy preparing the meal. The sight was so incongruous, so unexpected, that I couldn't help but stare.

The smell of the food was stronger now, a tantalizing aroma that made my stomach growl in response. I watched them, my mind racing. This was a side of them I never thought I would see.

I leaned against the window, my heart still pounding in my chest. The room was silent now, the only sound being the distant chatter of the guards and the crackling of the fire.

But then reality crashed back. I was still trapped. Rashad could return at any moment. The fear crept back in, a cold dread that made me shiver. I pulled away from the window, retreating back to the worn-out couch. I was a prisoner in this room, and there was nothing I could do about it. All I could do was wait and hope for a chance to escape.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. I turned to see who it was. The guards walked in, their coats off, carrying a big pot of porridge. The delicious smell of the food hit me first, almost making me forget where I was.

And then, Rashad walked in behind them, a lit cigarette in his hand. He blew out a puff of smoke, filling the small room with a choking fog. The smell of the smoke mixed with the aroma of the food, creating a strange, suffocating atmosphere. I wanted to tell him to stop, to put out the cigarette. The room was already hot and stuffy, and the smoke was making it unbearable.

But I held back, biting my lip. I was still a prisoner here, and I couldn't afford to anger Rashad. So, I sat there, silent and helpless, as the room filled with smoke.

The men placed a big pot of porridge right in front of me. The heat from the pot hit me instantly, making me flinch. I was sweating, the room was stuffy, and Rashad, my so-called boyfriend, didn't seem to care. He was on the other side of the room by the window, blowing smoke into the already stifling air.

The food was served. I couldn't tell how many guards there were anymore. The masked man had blended in with them, his identity hidden amongst the familiar faces. A plate of food was handed to me. I wanted to refuse it, to show them that I wasn't just going to accept this situation.

But then my stomach growled, betraying my resolve. I took the plate from the guard, my hand shaking slightly.

I ate slowly, each bite an effort. I could feel their eyes on me, watching me as I struggled to swallow. The men ate with gusto, their faces filled with satisfaction. I was alone in this, suffering in silence while they enjoyed their meal.

The room fell silent as everyone dug into their meal. The only sounds were the clinking of spoons against plates and the occasional grunt of satisfaction. I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely noticed when Rashad broke the silence.

"Listen up, y'all," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He had that American twang in his voice, the kind you hear in movies. "Tomorrow, we're packin' up and headin' back to town. By then, the coast should be clear. Y'all got that?"

His words hung in the air, and I looked down at my plate, my appetite gone. Tomorrow, we were heading back to town. But where exactly were we now?

Suddenly, a guard walked over to me, his face stern. "Eat up," he said, his voice gruff. "You're gonna need your strength for tomorrow."

I looked at him, my mind racing. "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The guard's words echoed in my ears, "Eat up, I said, and do not ask me questions." I bowed my head, feeling a lump in my throat. The room was silent except for the sound of chewing and the occasional clink of spoons against plates.

So then, Rashad's voice cut through the silence. "We're going back to my crib in town as soon as I'm sure the cops are off our ass," he said, his voice filled with that American twang. "Now eat up and get enough rest. You're gonna need that tomorrow."

I managed to take only three more spoonfuls from the plate filled with porridge before I couldn't eat anymore. I mumbled, "I'm okay," my voice barely audible.

The bodyguard by my side looked ready to explode. He opened his mouth, about to yell, "Will you..." But Rashad cut him off.

"Let her be," Rashad said, his voice calm but commanding. "Take the plate from her and dish the meal out."

The bodyguard did as Rashad commanded, his eyes never leaving my face. There was a look in his eyes, a mix of frustration and relief. It was as if he wanted to say, "You're lucky," but the words remained unspoken. I watched him walk away, the room falling silent once again.

I stretched out on the worn-out bed, my body aching from the tension. I was about to rest my head when Rashad's voice cut through the silence. "You'd better not complain about being hungry on the road tomorrow," he said, his voice filled with a warning. After saying this, he fell silent.

I laid my head on the smelly pillow, closing my eyes. I didn't want to see this nightmare anymore. But as I closed my eyes, I felt the movement of Rashad getting up. The next thing I heard was the sound of him setting his gun. My eyes flew open.

I watched as he took out his bullets one after the other, blowing on them as if they were precious. He placed the bullets back carefully, his movements precise and practiced. When he was done, he pointed the gun at the mirror, as if there was a target behind it.

I watched all of this, my heart pounding in my chest. My mind was racing, my thoughts a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. I wished for a miracle of someone saving me from this scary nightmare.