Chapter 80: Escalation

Chapter 80: Escalation

As Tessa rushes towards me, her towering form a blur of motion, I struggle to stand. The room spins wildly, the effects of the alcohol making my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Before I can fully rise, her fist connects with my face in a vicious arc. Pain explodes across my cheek, stars bursting behind my eyes as I crash to the ground.

The plush carpet does little to cushion my fall, and I taste blood in my mouth, metallic and warm. Tessa’s hands are on me in an instant, her long fingers wrapping around the gun and wrenching it from my grasp. I watch helplessly as she tucks it into her waistband, my last line of defense disappearing from view.

Suddenly, Tessa’s hand is in my hair, her grip painfully tight as she yanks me upward. A cry of pain escapes my lips as she begins to drag me across the room, my feet scrambling uselessly against the carpet. The world blurs around me as we move through the house.

Tessa’s voice fills my ears, a constant stream of fury and disbelief. “You fucking psycho!” she screams, her words piercing through the fog in my brain. “What the hell is wrong with you? You tried to kill me! You’re insane, Jason! Absolutely fucking insane!”

Her tirade continues as she drags me down the hallway towards Erica and my room. As we near the bedroom, a wave of anger washes over me, hot and potent. Defeat settles heavy in my chest, mingling with the alcohol-induced nausea that threatens to overwhelm me.

I try to focus, to formulate a plan or even just a coherent thought, but my mind is a jumble of confused impulses and half-formed ideas. The room, Tessa’s grip on my hair, the throbbing pain in my face, everything feels distant and unreal, like I’m watching it happen to someone else.

‘It all escalated so fast.’

With a final burst of strength, Tessa whips me onto the bed. The mattress creaks under my sudden weight, the soft comforter a stark contrast to the violence of the moment.

In one fluid motion, Tessa snatches a bottle off the nightstand and smashes it against the wooden surface. The shattering glass is deafening in the tense silence.

Tessa looms over me, the jagged neck of the bottle clutched in her trembling hand. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, like a cornered animal. I’ve never seen her like this, her usual cool composure has evaporated, leaving behind something raw and primal.

“If you fucking move,” she hisses, her voice low and dangerous, “I will kill you.”

The broken bottle hovers inches from my face. I believe her. After what I just did, I have no doubt she means every word.

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I try to stay as still as possible, even as the room continues to spin around me.

Tessa’s eyes dart around the room, frantic and searching. They land on Erica’s bag, carelessly tossed in the corner. With the bottle still trained on me, she rummages through it one-handed, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.

“Who the fuck brings ropes to a vacation, Jason? You fucking pervert?” she mutters, pulling out a coil of soft, black rope. Her tone is a mixture of disgust and grudging admiration.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I almost laugh. If only she knew the half of it.

Tessa approaches the bed again, her movements cautious but determined. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” she growls, emphasizing each word with a shake of the broken bottle.

With practiced efficiency that surprises me, she begins to bind my wrists and ankles. The rope is smooth against my skin, but she pulls it tight enough to bite. I wince as she secures the knots, hog-tying me on the bed.

‘Well, this is certainly new.’

Tessa steps back, her chest heaving as she surveys her handiwork. The rope binds me tightly, restricting my movement completely. The bed creaks softly beneath me as I test my bonds, finding them frustratingly secure.

She begins to pace, her long legs carrying her back and forth across the plush carpet. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her black top, twisting the fabric nervously.

The weight of her words settles over me like a heavy blanket. I can feel the rope biting into my wrists and ankles, a constant reminder of my helplessness.

But as the initial shock begins to wear off, I feel a strange sense of calm washing over me. My racing heart begins to slow, my breathing evening out. It’s a familiar feeling, one that I’ve experienced far too many times in recent months.

‘I’m getting way too used to being kidnapped or dealing with traumatic situations,’ I think to myself, a humorless chuckle threatening to escape my lips.

I take a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs and then slowly release it. The room comes back into focus, the dizziness receding. I look up at Tessa, meeting her gaze steadily despite my compromised position.

“What do you want?” I ask calmly, my voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances.

Tessa’s eyes dart between Erica’s sleeping form and me, her gaze flickering back and forth like a pendulum. Tessa’s brow furrows, her lips pursing in contemplation. She looks like a child in a candy store, unable to decide which sweet treat to indulge in first.

Her gaze rakes over my bound form, taking in every detail from my disheveled hair to my bare feet. I can almost feel the weight of her stare as it travels along my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Then, just as quickly, her attention snaps back to Erica. She studies the rise and fall of Erica’s chest, the soft parting of her lips as she breathes deeply in her drugged sleep.

Finally, Tessa breaks the silence, her voice laced with frustration. “I don’t know,” she groans, running a hand through her dark hair. “I just don’t know.”

As if on cue, my alcohol-addled brain decides it’s had enough of being upright. The room tilts sideways, or maybe I’m the one tilting. Either way, I find myself toppling over onto my side, still firmly hog-tied. The mattress gives a soft ‘whump’ as I land, my cheek pressed against the cool fabric of the comforter.

Tessa’s eyes widen in surprise, her train of thought derailed by my sudden movement. She takes a step closer, peering down at me with a mixture of confusion and concern etched across her features.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice softer than before, a hint of worry creeping in despite the circumstances.

I blink slowly, trying to focus on her face as the room spins lazily around me. “Yeah,” I slur.

Tessa’s eyes suddenly light up, a wild smile spreading across her face. It’s as if a switch has been flipped, transforming her from a confused captor to something more sinister. She moves with deliberate slowness, each step measured and purposeful as she approaches the bed.

The moonlight streaming through the window catches on the gun’s metal surface as Tessa raises it. With exaggerated care, she presses the muzzle against my temple. The metal is shockingly cold, sending a violent shiver through my body.

“How do you like it?” Tessa purrs, her voice low and dangerous. Her grey eyes, usually so calm and collected, now dance with a manic energy that makes my blood run cold.

The room seems to shrink around me, the walls closing in as panic claws its way up my throat. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my ears, drowning out everything else. Each breath comes faster and shallower than the last until I’m hyperventilating.

Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as I struggle against the ropes, my muscles straining uselessly against their bonds. The fibers dig into my skin, but I barely notice the pain through the haze of terror that’s engulfed me.

Tessa watches my breakdown. Her eyes roam over my trembling form, taking in every detail of my panic attack. As her gaze travels lower, it suddenly stops, fixating on a point below my waist.

Her eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow in exasperation. The wild energy that had possessed her moments ago seems to drain away, replaced by a weary sort of resignation.

“Jason,” Tessa says, her voice heavy with pity. “Seriously?”

I follow her gaze downward. Despite the terror, my body has betrayed me in the most annoying way possible. The fabric of my pants does little to hide the obvious evidence of my arousal.

“God damn it,” I say, annoyed with my body’s response.