A montage of my last twelve months at Wallens Ridge plays through my head like a movie. When it dawns on me there’s been more bad times than good of late, I reluctantly lift my chin. Dimitri isn’t the answer to my problems, but neither are the men who want to keep me locked up for life. In here, I can’t protect Demi. The shitty attempt I’ve made the past twelve months leaves no doubt to this.
Air whizzes out of Dimitri’s nose when I bob my chin for the second time. “All right… but I’m going to need to knoweverything.”
As snippets of information on the sheet of paper Warden Mattue demanded I memorize pop back into my head, I ask, “Have you got a pen and a piece of paper? You’re gonna need it.”
23
Demi
Ijolt awake, startled and confused. I’m in the living room of my childhood family home. My entire body is throbbing in agony, I’m bleeding from multiple knife wounds, and my head is so woozy, I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve been here. Hours or days could have passed since I killed the man who tried to rape me. I’m truly unsure.
I thought the police would have swarmed my room within minutes of my gun firing. Instead, I had to crawl out from beneath the man who rendered me unconscious with a brutal head collision in the second leading to his death. I think I was knocked out for a couple of hours. It’s hard to tell time when you’re barely lucid. The dark sky didn’t help either. It was as black as the veins weaved around my heart, lifeless and cold.
When I first freed myself from the man who felt much heavier than he did hours earlier, I crawled toward the front door to call for help. A change-up only occurred when I reached the living room. Max was whimpering in the far corner of the bloodstained space. He wasn’t putting any weight on his back leg, and his face was nicked up and scratched, but I was confident none of the blood soaking the floor was from him. He maimed our first intruder as effectively as I did the second one.
My home was the scene of a massacre, and it’s in the town my uncle rules more than he nurtures. I’m not ashamed to admit I was scared to seek help. If I got one of the rare, good police officers in Hopeton, they’d take one look at my surname and lock me up for life. If I got one of the men on my uncle’s payroll, I’d be indebted to my uncle even more than I already am. It was a lose-lose situation for me, so instead of finalizing my shaky crawl to the door, I joined Max in the corner of the room, where I’ve drifted in and out of consciousness for God knows how long.
I’ve used the bathroom a handful of times, and I think at some stage last night, I poured some kibble into Max’s bowl for him, but a majority of the time has been spent in the living room, staring at the door, confident Caidyn will eventually show up. I could have called him for help if the man lying lifeless in my room hadn’t smashed my phone. It’s sitting in pieces on the floor in my room with Justine’s cracked canister of pills.
I’d probably have a better grasp of reality if I took some of the oxycodone sprayed across my bedroom floor, but since I promised Maddox I wouldn’t take pills to numb my pain, I’m facing my demons head-on instead of in a drugged haze. Is it stupid for me to do? Probably, but tell me one time I’ve been rational the past sixteen months?
“Hey, Max,” I breathe out slowly when a furry head rests on the top of my thigh.
One of my eyes is so swollen, I can’t see out of it, and the other isn’t much better, but I know I’m safe because Max is with me. He’s limping, and his ego is as bruised as my face, but he gave up a greasy burger to protect me. When we get out of here, he’s going to be spoiled rotten.
“What have you got there?” I stammer out when I feel something cool brush against my leg. I identify the object he dragged into the room with my hands more than my sight. “Is it juice?”
My cheeks ache when he barks in response to my question.
He’s so damn clever, I can’t help but smile.
The pain stretching from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes eases when I uncap the bottle of juice and pour a generous portion into my hand. Max laps up the sticky goodness rolling down my palm before he nudges the bottle with his head, encouraging me to take a sip.
I realize how weak I am when it takes a mammoth effort to lift the bottle to my mouth. I can only hold it in one hand since my right one was cut by the masked intruder.
“That’s enough for now,” I say to Max when he announces his annoyance about the minuscule sip I take with a growl. My throat feels as dry as a desert, and I’m as thirsty as hell, but with how weak I feel, I don’t think I could make it to the bathroom if the need arises, so I need to keep my intake of fluids to a bare minimum. “I’ll have some more later.”
I scratch Max behind the ear when he flops his head back onto my thigh with a whimper. If he could talk, I’m sure he’d express concerns that we’re never going to get out of here.
I feel the same way.
Over the next forty or so minutes, I teeter between lucidness and incoherence. There’s peace on both sides of the coin. When I’m lucid, I remember why I fought so hard to live, the promises I made, and who they were made to. When I’m incoherent, my thoughts drift to the weeks I spent at the cabin with Maddox after his first death match, then the two months where I felt truly free from my uncle’s reign. It’s a heart-mending time that sees my hope rising instead of dithering when the sound of car doors closing breaks through the ringing in my ears.
As shadows dance across the faded drapes hanging in the front window, Max backs away from the front door. He never removes his eyes from the entryway, not even when the warped wood splinters under the force of someone’s boot.
I slant my head to the side to protect my eyes from the blinding sun rays beaming in through the door just as Max’s backside braces against my knees. He’s in the prime position to pounce. He’s just waiting to assess whether this intruder is a villain or a hero.
We’re left a little unsure when the vision clears enough to spot who’s cautiously entering the living room. Dimitri isn’t as evil as his father, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Even with Max growling and barking like he’s about to rip Dimitri’s face off, Dimitri bobs down to my level. He’s a good four feet away from me. Max won’t let him any closer. “Is there anyone in the house with you?”
I shake my head, grimacing through the pain it causes. “H-He’s dead.” His eyes follow the direction mine take when I drag them to the room a petite female is pacing toward. Well, I assume from her height and size that she’s a female. My vision is too blurry to confirm without hesitation. “T-There was another man. I don’t know where he w-went. Max took care of him.”
“Okay.” He looks like he wants to say more but is too shocked to speak. He isn’t the only one. Even with my eyesight poor, I can see the remorse in his eyes. He won’t ever say it, but he’s suspicious my assault was orchestrated by his father.
When a flurry of red re-enters the room, Dimitri stands to his feet. “Stay with her while I clear the area. If this blood is from a second perp, he wouldn’t have gotten far.”
“He may have if the man in the bedroom’s rigor mortis is anything to go by. He’s been dead a couple of days,” replies a highly distinctive female voice.
