“You’re number 202,” she said calmly.
That was my first mistake.
And every few hours, she tightens the ropes. -JBD-202- I Was Tied Up By My My Neighbor Hana
She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t hit. She just asks questions. Endless questions. What keeps you up at night? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Who would miss you if you disappeared? “You’re number 202,” she said calmly
It started with a knock. Tuesday evening, just after 8 p.m. Rain was coming down hard. Hana stood at my door, soaked through, asking to borrow a phone charger. Her voice shook — said her power had gone out, and she needed to call her mom. I didn’t think twice. I let her in. She doesn’t yell
When I woke, I was here. This unfinished basement. Concrete walls. A single bulb overhead buzzing like a trapped fly. My wrists bound with thick rope to an old wooden dining chair. My ankles tied to the legs. My mouth wasn’t gagged — she wanted me to speak.
My second was turning my back to make tea.