Rivet

Azalea. “Ow! Damn it!” I hissed under my breath, watching the box cutter tumbling to the floor and landing beside the scalpel. My breath came out in heavy pants from struggling to try and use the instruments to cut the cable ties to free myself. My attempts were pathetic, to say the least. If I ever get out of here, the first thing I was going to do was to ask Dante to train me how to break free in this kind of situation. Damn it, I should have tried harder in training. Moisture trickled down my hand. I turned slightly, to see a cut on my wrist, and blood was quickly seeping through the damage inflicted by the box cutter. “Oh, for fuck sake,” I groaned, feeling defeated. “Cut your own wrist, great freaking job.” If I didn’t get myself free, and soon, I was going to bleed to death. I planted my feet on the floor, dragging the chair toward the other side of the table where an object was laid down—some kind of knife, I think—and carefully tried to grab the instrument into my hands. It sta