Fragile: Book One in The Everett Gaming

My stomach felt horrible and I knew I needed to get up. The movement of my hands was met with resistance. I tried to move my hands to rub over my stomach and that’s when I realized that I was in the usual Sunday nightmare and began to panic. As the panic seeped in, I felt the familiar pain and burning in my wrists and ankles. I was chained to the old, hot radiator heater and a small space heater. Again.

“No! No, not again!”

I began to cry as I tugged on the chain. It didn’t matter though, no one would hear me. No one ever did.

My arms were cuffed in metal at my wrists and there was a chain attached to it in the center with the other end attaching to the radiator. There was also a chain attached to ankle cuffs that attached to a small space heater.

Howard.

Over the years, this has become a game to Howard. He comes over Saturday nights and does whatever he wants with me. He forces me to take some pills, has sex with me, beats me and binds my wrists and ankles in metal and then chains it to the heater. Usually I’m out of it and fuzzy towards the end when he’s shackling me to the heater. I think by then the drugs have taken their toll. I usually wake up in my own blood, vomit or urine. And by glancing around, I was in that mess right now. He puts my phone at a distance that I could reach if I tried hard enough. Then when I wake up I’m supposed to call him for the info where he’s put the key to the cuffs. It’s also always within reach if I stretch and try. But usually my head is in such a fog when I wake up that just dialing him is a huge task. After I’d get out of the hot metal, I’d go sit in the tub and let the water run over me. Sometimes I’d cry in there. Okay, most of the time I’d cry.

The first time I woke up it was just a few hours after Anthony had dropped me off. Thinking of him again brought more tears to my eyes. He was so nice and kind. He was a good Dom and I was stuck with Howard because I can’t behave right. I started crying, which made my stomach hurt more. Tears were now running down my face and I yelled at myself for giving into the tears now.

“Stop crying, Sydney! Wait until the shower.” I never minded crying in the shower because you couldn’t tell the tears from the water.

After my shower, I’d bandage myself up, try to make myself eat something and then use the rest of the day to recoup and get ready for the workweek. I loved my job. It made me feel like I made a difference and it’s the only place where I knew I did something right and a good job. I couldn’t even wipe my tears since my hands were bound. My stomach hurt so badly and I couldn’t ignore the pain. This wasn’t like other times. What was wrong with me? I rolled to my side just in time to throw up.

Shit, I think I fell asleep again. Or passed out. Same thing anymore. The clock on my microwave said 5:35. That’s odd. I glanced out the window and it was dark. Very dark. It should be getting light out. Anthony dropped me off around 12:30 in the morning. It should be starting to get light out…unless it’s not really 5:35 a.m., but rather 5:35 p.m. I couldn’t help but panic more with the idea that I had been knocked out for nearly fifteen hours. I pulled on the chains as hard as I could but it was no use. All it did was dig into my skin, burn and cut me more.

I was going to die. I hurt from head to toe. Howard got me back for not being here last night when he expected me. I went to a party with nice people and it may have cost my life. I saw my phone a short distance away but didn’t want to call Howard. I don’t want to play like this anymore. Another wave of nausea hit me and I threw up again and tasted blood. Lovely. Something was really wrong. I got really warm and started seeing spots.

I threw up again as I reached for my phone. I felt like I was going to pass out but quickly found a text string with Colin. I was desperate and felt like I was knocking on death’s door. I was forced into doing something that would forever change my life. It would turn out to be the very best thing that could have happened to me.

SB: help

I barely hit “send” before I threw up again. I couldn’t stop throwing up and tasted more blood. This was it. I was dying at age twenty-seven, alone in my apartment while chained to a heater. I closed my eyes in hopes that it would settle the pounding in my head. Faintly in the distance I could hear my phone ringing.

By Drew Sera

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