He paused long enough for me to think he was going to make me wet myself just for his cruel entertainment. Then he walked over, dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved a small pair of keys.
“Don’t try and run,” he warned, eyes dark.
I shivered at what was behind them. Not a threat. A promise. But there was something mingled with that. Not pure malice. There was a panic. A kind of hopelessness. I knew he was a bad person. But what turned a bad person into an evil person was that hopelessness. With nothing left to lose, evil bred.
“I’m not going to try to run because I’m currently trying not to wet myself,” I said truthfully.
It was funny how something as seemingly simple as needing to use the bathroom could surpass needing to know the reason for one’s kidnapping and the fate of one’s life.
He inspected my words and the desperation behind them and nodded once, lifting the keys.
My hands were lead when the metal came off.
They literally thumped onto the mattress, not at all under my control.
I tried to use them to push off the bed, but they wouldn’t hold my weight, they barely twitched in response to my brain’s command. I desperately scooted with the rest of my body protesting at the use of muscles that had long since locked up having been in such an unnatural position for so long. I worried that even now that I was free, I wouldn’t be able to make it from the bed to the bathroom.
My knees buckled when I put weight on them. I half limped, half ran to the bathroom, my arms still hanging uselessly at my sides. I didn’t even have the strength to close the door behind me. Nor could I spare the time.
I had been married to the man in the other room, after all. I’d shared all sorts of things with him. Then he’d hit me, broke me, kidnapped me. So him seeing me pee wasn’t exactly going to be something I was going to dwell on.
I managed to make it to the toilet with great pain.
And the relief itself was so painful I almost cried.
But I reasoned I’d have plenty of reasons to cry as I hobbled back into the bedroom. Craig was sitting on the other twin bed, head in his hands. It popped up as I entered the room.
“I got you food,” he said, nodding to the grease-stained paper bag I hadn’t noticed him carrying.
My stomach growled audibly at the mention of food and spotting the water bottle next to it. I only now realized how painfully dry my mouth and throat were.
I should’ve refused the food and water. That’s what the strong and plucky kidnap victim did, right? Refused to consume anything given, tried to escape at any given moment.
And I was in a given moment right now. I was standing. I wasn’t cuffed. My bladder was no longer in danger of exploding.
But my arms were still little more than useless, it had been an effort to even get my panties down, I was thankful for the fact I was only wearing Heath’s tee.
I didn’t know if my weak legs would enable me to run. My arms certainly wouldn’t allow me to fight.
Craig was watching me. He stood, striding to the bag, snatching it, along with the water and moving toward me.
I instantly backed up, my face throbbing in warning.
Something crossed over his features as he did so. He stopped advancing.
I didn’t stop retreating until my hip bumped against a side table painfully.
He placed the bag on the bed then backed off.
“It’s vegetarian,” he said. “Probably half cold. Not great, ‘cause there are not many options, but it’s something.” He shrugged as if the food was the only thing he had to be sheepish about.
My eyes went from him to the bag.
My stomach contracted painfully once more. My tongue expanded in my mouth.
The paper bag was in my hands before I quite knew my decision had been made and I struggled to try to stuff the fries into my mouth with one almost useless hand while unscrewing the water bottle with the other.
The cold greasy fries hit my stomach and it was both glorious and painful as my body didn’t quite know what to do. The same happened with the water, but I didn’t throw up, so that was a positive.
I ate the veggie burger in silence, trying not to notice the fact that there was no tomatoes or ketchup in it because Craig knew I didn’t like tomatoes or ketchup.
It was a strange thing to have this man treat me so brutally and then do something as considerate as to make sure my burger didn’t have the condiments and vegetables I despised inside.
He was silent as I ate.
“Why did you do this, Craig?” I asked quietly balling the paper bag up and putting it aside.
He jerked as if he didn’t expect me to speak.
Or maybe he didn’t expect my voice to be as low and soft as it was.
He stood, snatching up the handcuffs.
“Sit back,” he ordered.
The thought of being chained back up like that, hopeless and helpless panicked me immediately. My arms still burned, still throbbed and were already red and raw.
“I won’t run,” I lied. “You don’t have to cuff me.”
He was on me in two strides, he brutally snatched my arm and dragged me up the bed so hard I was sure my shoulder popped out of the socket. The pain was white hot and blinding, it was only the click of the cuffs that told me I was chained to the bed again.
“Why do you have to make everything so hard?” Craig hissed in my face, his breath rank.
I didn’t answer.
I was too busy trying not to cry from the pain in my wrists and my shoulder.
Craig scowled at me and straightened.
He started to pace. There was an erratic, panicked quality to it. One that prickled at my skin. Because there was a desperation to him. People did uncharacteristic things when they were desperate. And punching me in the face was one of Craig’s characteristics. I hated to think what he’d do to me in the clutches of whatever this was.
He stopped to stare at me.
A stare that crawled up my spine like a deadly spider, waiting to strike.
“If that cunt hadn’t bled me dry, none of this would’ve fucking happened,” he hissed, eyes bulging and face red.
It took me a second to realize the ugly word was being used to describe Rosie.
“She ruined fucking everything,” he continued. “You ruined it. Why did you leave me? I fucking loved you!” He was screaming now.
“Because you communicated your love with violence,” I said evenly, both surprised and proud at my even response. “That’s not love.”
He glared. “Oh, perfect fucking Polly is against violence,” he mocked. “But you didn’t have a problem in sending that cunt after me and taking everything I had.”
I stiffened. “I’m against violence, but I won’t stop her from committing it against you if you use that word to describe her again,” I said my voice chilly. “And she will find me. They all will. And at this point, they’re likely not going to listen to me when I tell them not to hurt you. And I’ll tell them that, despite you hitting me, chaining me to a bed and calling Rosie that vile word. Because you still have a chance to get out of this. But it’s getting smaller by the second. You know my family, Craig. You know my sister’s husband runs the most successful security company in the city, if not the state. You know they’ll find me.”
They’ll save me.
The damsel.