Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Protecting Heather by Stephen Smith (C)2014

   **This is a work of fantasy and fiction.  The author does not condone
any sexual activity among persons under legal age in real life.

   -------------------------------------------------------------

   Ch.  4

   Heather awoke slowly at first, just catching a momentary feeling of
waking up before sliding back down fitfully into sleep again.  The first
thing she was aware of was feeling... stiff, somehow.  Sore.  And still so
tired!  She tried to roll over but it was more than she could manage for
some reason.  Her arms just wouldn't obey her.  (I feel SO tired.  Just a
little more sleep, mom.) But mom wasn't waking her up.  She remembered
there was something about her mom she had to remember.  She tried to take
mental inventory, but the task was beyond her and she succumbed to a light
sleep once more.  Some time later she became aware again, and opened her
eyes.  She was confused.  Where was she?  She remembered....  something. 
(Last night.  Mom, drugged out in a bad way again.  )Then what... (Janice
came by, to check on me).  She went to Janice's place.  (Was this it?  Was
this Janice's place?)

   She tried to sit up, but got that stiff feeling again.  What's wrong
with me?  She tugged at her arms, seemingly trapped under her as she lay on
her left side.  She felt a tug on the wrist of her other hand.

   (What the...!?  And I can't move my feet...?  )

   Suddenly her level of awareness jumped into overdrive.  She once again
scanned the room.  (Was this where Janice took me last night?) She was
lying on a bed, on her side, and her arms were behind her, and in that
moment she knew... her hands were tied together.  She tried to roll but was
pulled up short by something around her neck.  Turning her head to look up,
she traced a thin chain that extended to the headboard of the bed, where it
was held in place by a lock.  She started to panic, and craning her head
down she could see her knees bound together by a leather strap.  Beyond,
her ankles were each in some kind of leather cuff, attached together how
she could not see.  Her sneakers were gone, as were her socks.  A chain ran
tightly from the ankle cuffs down the comforter to the footboard of the
bed. Once again, the chain was secured with a small padlock.  She struggled
and twisted but to no avail.  She could not budge.  She flopped and was
pulled up short again, and after some moments of effort, she only managed
to roll herself nearly face-down, which was no good because then she
couldn't see anything.

   It took her several tries until she managed to return herself to her
original position on her left side, looking out across the room she found
herself in.  She tried to move her feet, but there was no freedom there. 
Knees... some movement but not enough.  She felt around each wrist with the
other hand, and found strong leather cuffs applied with no give, and a lock
securing the two together behind her.  She struggled to blow some stray
hairs that had wandered across her face, ticking her nose, but was
unsuccessful.  Suddenly the hair across her face became the most annoying,
tickling, frustrating thing she'd ever experienced in her life, and her
feeling of panic spiraled out of control as tears began to form.

   Heather closed her eyes, wishing this all way, feeling that it was much
too real for wishes.  She controlled her breathing, willing it to return to
something like normal, even though a feeling of fear gripped her stomach.
She opened her eyes again and this time took stock of her surroundings. 
Beyond the bed, a bathroom?  Yes.  Fridge?  Microwave.  Couches.  Table. 
An absolutely huge TV was attached to the far wall.  It all looked like a
big studio apartment with nice furniture in it.  In fact, everything had
sort of a `new' smell to it.  Fresh paint.  Unused comforter.  But
something else was out of place that she couldn't put her finger on.

   Then it came to her.  No windows.  (What kind of room has no windows in
it?) She wondered.  She did not like the implications of that.  She thought
of calling out for help, for anybody, but... her fear resurged.  She did
not know what sort of help that might bring.  She knew someone would come
eventually, but determined that she was likely going to be in a worse
situation than she was in even now.  So she resigned to wait.

   (And where was Janice anyway?  What had happened?) Her memory was fuzzy
around the edges of last night.  (Did Janice do this?  Is Janice here?  )
There were no answers, and she started to become truly afraid of what might
come.  The room swam out of focus as tears started rolling down her nose
and cheeks, but she fought hard not to sob.