By Bondagegimp
Reflective Interlude
I’m still staring in disbelief at the keys in my hand. What’s going on? This isn’t how I imagined the decision would go. I thought Bob and I would sit down together, talk it over again, and then I’d decide. But he’s leaving me to make this decision alone. He probably thinks he’s said everything he has to say. For him, there’s no compromise. Yes or no. Free or a slave, and that’s it, completely and without exception. No say in the matter. His property.
He’s putting me on the spot, forcing the decision I’ve been putting off until the last minute. I could have decided in the last few days. Well, now I have to decide… and Bob seems to be taking advantage of my indecisiveness. If I don’t decide, I’ll be choosing him, or “us,” as he puts it.
I’m supposed to free myself. He’s built in a hurdle. Or is it another one of his tricks? Maybe he gave me not all keys? Or the wrong keys? That wouldn’t be his style. Would it? Who knows? Perhaps I should check that first before I spend too much time pondering this. I look for the key ring labeled “Handcuffs and Leg Irons.” There are more keys than handcuffs and leg irons I’m wearing. Apparently, it’s the ring with all its corresponding keys. It takes a while until I find the right key, but it fits. Maybe that’s his tactic? Not enough time to unlock everything?
Try as I might, all I could possibly see outside was mown grass. One by one, the doors to the cells opened. The guys in green pushed a gentleman’s head down. They kept us from hitting our heads as we shuffled, hunched, out of the cage. Thank you. The familiar face left. I wouldn’t see it again for hours. But my sense of time was gone. I had no watch. I had no phone. They were in my luggage, which was labeled “Lukas” on blue painters tape, in a clear plastic bag labeled “Lukas” on blue painters tape. Every rule I had seen, every request thus far, I had followed to the letter. I didn’t want to be a target. I needed to be good.
I think I’m at the right spot. None of us have ever been here before. The guy that was supposed to drive cancelled three days ago. I volunteered because I get motion sickness in the back seat, but being the young guy I feel I have to take the worst seat. I like the power and control that driving gives me. But it also means when something goes wrong, it’s my fault. One of the two others in the car is telling me to follow the GPS. I’m trying to match the red circle on a screenshot to Google Maps. He tells me to turn right. I don’t. I block out everything he’s saying, trying to focus on what instinctually feels right. I keep driving and then find a parking lot with a dozen cars, and an old white school bus with paint over whatever label it used to have.