Listen to Mind games by Sickick

The cold stone floors of the dining room felt even colder against my bare feet as Enzo roughly pulled me downstairs the next morning. The grand space, with its polished dark wood and gold-trimmed chandeliers, seemed so out of place in my current reality. I had been in this nightmare for what felt like a lifetime, and now, sitting at the long, dark wooden dining table across from him, I felt like I was trapped in some twisted, surreal dream.

The food in front of me looked almost untouched — a plate of waffles, bacon, some fresh bread, fruit, and coffee. All I could do was stare at it, my stomach churning with emptiness, but not the hunger I'd expected. My body had long passed the point of wanting food. It felt as though every part of me had withered, reduced to nothing but a weak shell.

Enzo leaned back in his chair, his eyes on me as if he were waiting for me to perform some kind of trick. I couldn't bring myself to look up. Instead, I stared at the food, my gaze unfocused.

"Eat," he said, his voice low, almost too casual. As though this were some normal, everyday thing. "You'll feel better."

I didn't respond. My throat felt like it was filled with gravel, too dry and thick to speak. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel my breath shaking, shallow, as if my body had forgotten what it was supposed to do.

I shook my head, refusing. I wasn't going to play along. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. The thought of him trying to control every part of me made the bile rise in my throat.

His tone dropped, becoming more serious, like a threat. "I'll tell you what. You're going to eat. And if you do, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you talk to your family."

Don't fall for it.

"I'm sick of your games, Enzo," I finally managed to say, my voice rough, barely a whisper. "Just kill me already."

His smirk didn't fade, only deepened as he leaned back in his chair again, eyes glinting with amusement. "You really think I'd kill you?" He asked, almost like he was genuinely curious. "Not yet. You're much more valuable alive."

He motioned one of his men to come forward. The man returned a moment later, handing Enzo my phone. My heart skipped a beat, dread filling my chest.

Enzo took the phone from the man and dialed a number.

My hands shook as I watched him press the speaker button. My breath caught in my throat as I heard the first ring, and then my father's voice came through the phone.

"Hi Angel, we've been trying to call you. I understand you're on vacation, but at least let us know you're okay. Your friends were worried you weren't replying to your texts and calls. How are you? How is Italy?"

My chest tightened. It was real. My father, on the other end, calling me Angel like he always did. But before I could even open my mouth, before I could beg him to help me,  I heard the harsh click of the call being cut off. Enzo didn't give me the chance.

"Now eat." He ordered, his voice low but commanding, a promise of punishment hanging in the air if I didn't comply.

I shook my head, the fire inside me not yet extinguished. "Fuck you, you don't get to control me," I spat, but the words felt weak.

Enzo leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine, his smirk never faltering. "Oh, but I do," he said, his voice a dangerous purr. "And you're going to be a good girl and eat, love, won't you?"

I stared at the food, my body shaking with exhaustion and fear, the weight of his words hanging over me. The thought of giving in, of playing his game, felt like giving up. But I didn't have a choice, did I?

He sat there, watching me, his presence suffocating, as the seconds ticked by, waiting for me to comply.

I picked up the fork, feeling the weight of his gaze on me, his amusement dripping from every corner of the room like a poison. His eyes never left me as I reluctantly took a bite. I knew he was watching, waiting, testing me, but the hunger gnawing at my insides was louder than my pride.

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Good girl," he said, like he was rewarding a dog for fetching a stick.

I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I swallowed it down, pushing the food into my mouth with mechanical precision. I ate, as slowly as possible, keeping my face stoic. The entire time, Enzo didn't move, didn't say anything more, just observed me with that predatory look in his eyes. Like I was a show for his entertainment.

When I finished, he didn't say anything, just gestured for one of his men to bring me my phone. My heart skipped a beat. This was my chance. He was letting me call home, he was giving me a piece of freedom, but I knew I couldn't waste it. The phone was handed to me, and I glanced up at him, and found him watching me.

I could feel the panic rising in my chest. If I did anything wrong, if I tried to send some kind of signal, he would know. He would see it, and I'd be right back where I started—only this time, the consequences might be worse. I couldn't take that risk.

With trembling hands, I dialed my dad's number, trying to keep my breath steady, trying to keep my heart from racing too loudly in my chest. The phone rang once... twice... and then I heard it.

"Hello?"

My dad's voice, warm and comforting. It should've been a relief, but instead, it felt like a knife to my heart. He had no idea where I was, what I was going through. How could I tell him? How could I let him know that I was alive, but not safe?

"Hi, Dad," I said, my voice trembling. "I'm okay. I'm just... I'm fine."

I hated myself for the lie. I wanted to tell him everything, to scream into the phone, to make him come and rescue me. But I couldn't risk it.

"Amari? What's wrong?" He could always tell.

"Nothing, I'm okay."

"Are you still in Italy?"

I nodded as if he could see me. "Yeah, I'm in Italy. Just... just getting some rest, you know? The place is beautiful. Everything's fine. I'm fine."

"Your voice doesn't sound fine," he said, his tone full of concern. "What's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

But before I could say anything more, before I could comfort him one last time or give him some sign that I needed help, one of Enzo's men entered the room, whispering something in his ear. I couldn't make out the words, but the change in Enzo's expression was immediate. His jaw tightened, and his calm, confident demeanor slipped for just a second, replaced by an undeniable flash of anger. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping back harshly against the floor.

"Excuse me," he muttered, his voice cold, before striding out of the room, leaving me alone.

I ended the call.

The silence that followed was like a weight lifting, but it came with its own kind of panic. I was alone. Unrestrained. Free—at least for the moment. I felt the rush of adrenaline flood my system as my mind screamed at me: Call for help. Do it now. This is your chance.

I looked at the phone in my hands, the device that might be my salvation. I glanced around quickly, my breath catching. He was gone, but how long would I have? This could be it. This could be my one chance. For the first time in days, I felt a sliver of hope.

I wasn't handcuffed. I had my phone. I could make a call. I could call for help.

My heart pounded in my chest as I bolted up the stairs, barely hearing my own frantic breathing over the deafening rush of adrenaline. The house was quiet, too quiet, but I couldn't stop now—not when I was so close. I reached the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me with a force that made the walls shake, locking it immediately. The cold tile under my feet didn't register; my whole body was on fire with fear and determination.

I stumbled for the sink, my fingers trembling as I grabbed my phone from my pocket. My mind was racing, panic settling in my stomach like a heavy weight. I needed to call someone. Anyone. But my hands were shaking so badly, I could barely unlock my phone. I dialed my best friend first, praying for a miracle.

Ring... ring... ring...

Nothing. I cursed under my breath and immediately dialed my ex, hoping maybe he'd pick up, maybe he'd care enough to help me. The phone rang on and on, and once again, it went to voicemail.

Frustration clawed at me, and my grip on the phone tightened as I swore out loud. My last shot was my coworker—surely, they'd be awake. I dialed. Again, silence.

No

I found the number I knew could save me. The one I should've called from the start. I hit the police line. I prayed to get someone that speaks english.

"112, qual è la sua emergenza?"The calm voice on the other end didn't quite match the chaos spiraling in my mind.

"Can I get someone that speaks english please?"

After a few seconds another voice replied, ""112, what's your emergency?"

"I'm... I'm being held hostage. I'm at a villa. I'm hiding in the bathroom on the second floorI don't know. I can't leave, he won't let me." My voice trembled, fear cracking the words. "Please... you have to help me."

There was a pause, just a few seconds too long, before the operator responded. "We've got your location, ma'am. We're sending someone over now."

"Please hurry or he's going to kill me," I begged.

"We have people on the way, stay on the line."

A surge of relief flooded through me. It wasn't over yet, but someone was coming. Someone was finally coming. I felt a small, desperate sob escape my chest, but I forced it down, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I couldn't let myself break. Not when I was so close.
I knew the smart thing to do was to wait on the line but I couldn't risk getting caught and ruining my chance of getting out of this nightmare.

Holding my breath, I carefully tucked the phone behind my shorts and stepped out of the bathroom quietly, trying to steady myself.

The second my foot crossed the threshold into the room, my blood ran cold.

There, sitting casually on my bed, was Enzo.

He didn't look surprised. Didn't look angry. He just looked... calm, like he'd been expecting me to do exactly what I did.

My body froze.