I had managed to knock the blanket off of me, so now I was freezing. I pulled against my wrist restraints and found that they were too tight to even think about getting them off. I did the same to my legs and noticed that the left felt slightly loose. The hole was still too small for my foot to get out with my shoe on, so I began rubbing my heal against the leg of the chair attempting to get out of the shoe. After a few minutes I started to break a sweat from frustration and trying so hard, but thankfully I heard a sliding sound and the heel of my foot was free from the shoe. I hurriedly pulled my foot out of the rope, trying as best I could to ignore the burn it cause to my leg. I then used my free foot to pry off my other shoe, this time it was much quicker and easier.

With my legs out of their confines I began scooting myself across the room to the table, hopefully I could find something useful there. The wood protested loudly with each movement forward, but I eventually made it to the edge of the table. There was a roll of duct tape, the rag, and more rope. I couldn't see anything that would help me. I sighed deeply as I looked around the dark room and spotted a desk to my left. Despite my legs aching protest I dragged myself to it.

It took even longer to get to the desk, I was already so tired from all the trauma that had already happened to my body, but I refused to let that stop me. I used my toes to pry open the drawers and the only useful thing I found was a screwdriver, but I was going to take what I could get. I grabbed it up between my toes, careful not to drop it as I brought it up to the top of the desk. I turned the chair until my back was facing the desk and began knocking the side of my arm against the desk, hoping the screwdriver would fall into one of my hands.

After the fifth hard hit the screwdriver rolled off the desktop, but missed my out stretched fingers. I had to go through the whole process of getting it back on the desk, trying to find a way to be more careful this time around. I ended up dropping it this time.

"Dammit!" I shouted slamming my back against the chair I was tied to.

I had no choice but to keep repeating the task over and over again, I didn't want to freeze to death and I definitely didn't want Max to kill me either. Several more tries later I finally caught it and I felt as if I could cry from satisfaction. I wedged the metal of the tool between the rope and my wrists, thankful for the nicks in the thick metal as I pushed it up and down as best as I could. Hours later, or so it seemed I began making some progress, I had managed to tare through more than half of the rope and despite my cramping hands I kept pulling my wrists apart to possibly make room to take one out. To my grateful surprise the threading of the rope frayed and popped apart, so I was quick to free my right hand. Max really didn't do a bang up job of making sure I didn't escape.

Afterwards I freed my left wrist and proceeded to rub the tender flesh to ease some of the pain. I hurried to my feet, relishing in my freedom as I quickly began to think of a plan for escape. At this point the sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon and the air was still frigid, even though it disgusted me I wrapped the tattered blanket around myself so I wouldn't be so cold. While I sat there in the dark I began to understand that if I was going to make it out of this alive I would have to fight. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but if I was going to die, I'm at least going down fighting.

Even though I had become exhausted from all the terror I had gone through I refused to even let myself think of sleep. There was no way I was going to allow myself to be vulnerable to Max again. It's almost insane to think that I used to believe that I loved him, that I could trust him, but now even the idea of it seems utterly impossible. Since I had no clue when he would be returning I moved my sitting position to beside the door and all that was left to do was wait, I had my plan in order. Now I can only hope that it can be pulled off.

I accidentally must have passed out because I woke up with sweat pouring down my face and the room was brightly lit by the sunlight through the holes in the roof. I began to panic that Max had finally shown up, but then it dawned on me something must have woken me up and that's when I heard the approaching sound of a car engine. I quickly got to my feet, wrapping my hands tightly around the handle of the screwdriver.

I listened to the car approach and the doors opened and slammed shut, I was surprised to hear Darby's voice.

"Why are we here again?"

"To finish what I started."

"I thought you had killed her yesterday?" She questioned and I wanted to vomit from how casually she had said it, like she was asking if he should've went to the store yesterday. Like murder was nothing.

"No, but I am today."

"Then what where you doing here all day?" She whined.

"Don't worry about it!" He snapped, "Just wait in the car."

"Do you need this?" I'm guessing she's talking about the gun she had with her the day
before.

He scoffed at her as if he was insulted by the idea, only saying, "No."

I hurried over to the desk to duck beside it, just so he wouldn't spot me right off. I heard the sound of the creaky old door opening and I held my breath as I heard him shut it behind him. It was now or never, so I waited until he was in front of the chair he had me trapped in.

I took a moment to listen to him as he called out to me, "Tristy, where are you?"

I sprinted up to him so quickly he didn't even have time to react as I smacked him upside the head, causing him to trip on his own feet. While he was on the ground I answered in a growl, "Right here mother fucker."

"You think you can fight me?" He questioned sitting up glaring at me.

Right when he jumped to his feet I lunged the screwdriver in front of me and I was certain I was dead until I heard a sound that seemed to becoming familiar to me. Max let out a choked gasp and I finally opened my eyes to see what I had done. The end of the screwdriver had disappeared into his abdomen. He rushed to try to get it out and without thinking I grabbed the tool again, yanking it out of his body.

"Don't ever call me Tristy." I warned holding the bloody screwdriver in his face.

He clutched his gushing wound and I wondered if he might bleed out, I didn't want his death on my conscience. I quickly grab the cellphone sticking out of his front pocket, calling the police and then an ambulance. For not even a second did I take my eyes off of him and the never ending paranoia that Darby would come through that door as soon as she heard the sirens had my stomach in knots. I wasn't risking letting them have the upper hand again.
Suddenly I heard the wailing quickly approaching and I have never been happier to listen to that piercing sound, I had done it. I had saved myself.

Notes