He pulled a switch-blade out of his pocket without talking his eyes from mine. I was completely mesmerised once more as I gazed into the live, steel grey, and the dead, moss green. It was totally captivating.
Beads of sweat began to form on the nape of my neck, but from the running earlier. My mouth ran dry, and it became extremely difficult to swallow. My breathing became laboured as it rattled through my chest.
He stood up straight, and grabbed the previously discarded chair leg he had kicked away from me. I closed my eyes in anticipation, and flinched as I heard to wood whistle through the air and collide with the side of my head.
Stars exploded in my vision, and I lost all feeling in my limbs. The world went black briefly, but I fought to keep conscious, and narrowly succeeded.
When I was able to open my eyes again, the first thing I saw was his leering face peering at me. I vaguely felt his hand on my wrist; he was checking my pulse. To make sure he hadn't killed me no doubt. He didn't bother to restrain me; I could barely lift my head, let alone try and escape again.
His face came into view once more, and there was a look of pure determination in his eye. He gritted his teeth, twisting his mouth into that painful grimace. I felt the cold blade of the knife trace its way up my neck and across my jawline, and shuddered involuntarily underneath him.
"What, you're not having fun? This is fun. It is, I promise." he murmered in my ear. I felt his breath on the side of my face. His fingers moved my hair out of his way.
I scrunched my eyes up as I saw him raise the blade in front of me, and felt the tip dig into the soft flesh of my lower eyelid. I gasped, and though I didn't want to give the monster the satisfaction, tears began to fall, and I sobbed quietly.
"This is what they did to me first," he whispered in my ear, and dragged the knife down my cheek. I felt the blood flow down my face and pool in the crook of my collarbone.
His thumb wiped it across my throat.
"And this," he continued, lifting my vest top to expose my stomach, "is basically what they did to me next."
With the precision and care of a surgeon, he cut a jagged wound across my lower abdomen. I screamed in agony as blood poured from it, but he clamped his hands over my mouth to cut off the sound. There seemed to be an understanding in his eyes.
"I did that too. It gets better though. Soon you can't feel anything." He wiped the blade on his jeans, cleaning it.
The knife came back into view again, and he started working his way upward, recreating the wounds he seemed to have had endured himself.
I blacked out from the pain in fits and spells, only to be dragged mercilessly back into consciousness in searing agony.
He didn't talk to me after that, or if he did, I didn't hear him, concentrating on blocking out every single slice and flash of the razor sharp blade.
The torture seems to go on forever, and just when I didn't think I could take much more, there was a streak across my vision, and his wieght was lifted off of me.
I turned my head to get a better view, and saw him struggling on the ground against a much larger figure.