Inch by terribly slow inch, she drags me backwards towards the door until eventually, she slumps me against the wall outside. Her breath comes fast, her chest rising and falling in quick succession, like a rabbit that’s recently run into a sharp-toothed cat.
‘How the heck am I going to get you all the way to the car?’ She isn’t really asking me, looking exasperated, sweaty and annoyed.
After catching her breath, she resumes dragging me slowly towards the rear stairwell, pausing at the top to curse.
‘I’d roll you down, but I’m really trying very hard not to have my wedding date bruised like a peach that’s got lost in the bottom of a kid’s backpack.’
I guess I should be thankful for that.
Turning us both, she pulls me down the stairs headfirst. My upper body is protected by the way she holds me, but my feet bounce down each step, and I watch them utterly unattached. It’s like they belong to someone else.
Maggie’s breath is hot against my cheek, her mutterings and curses leading us down the steps.
I take some small solace in how difficult she’s finding it. Glad my kidnapping is at least tiring the weirdo out.
‘Goddamn.’ she whines. ‘I should have kidnapped the skinny guy from the bottom floor.’
Wish you had.
‘But he’s got too many cats. Can’t leave them alone for so long.’
Each word comes with a huff of hot breath.
The dirty concrete fire stairs look different from my point of view than they ever have. Most times I’d used them, it was escorting women up to have a night of anonymous sex, spending the steps up kissing them and keeping their eyes on me to stop them from making any mental notes that would have them finding me again.
And now… Maggie’s dragging me down them like an oversized rag doll.
After what seems like forever, we make it to the rear alley, and rain hits my face. I react to it without thinking, my hand closing into a fist.
I moved.
I MOVED.
The sedatives must be wearing off, given how long it’s taken Maggie to get me downstairs.
I don’t have enough movement to get away, so I remain limp, intending to look weak until I have the strength to escape.
It takes every ounce of willpower to avoid tensing my fist as we struggle into the carport. I bite my tongue as she humphs and hauls me into her little blue car, fastening me into the passenger seat with a click of the belt.
‘Fucking hell,’ she groans, leaning her forehead against the cold metal of the doorframe, her cheeks bright red from exertion. ‘You’re going to have to walk when we get home, because there’s no way I’ll get you back up there.’
There will be no getting home with her. I’m going to bide my time as she drives through London, and as soon as I can use enough of my muscles, I’m going to throw myself from the car in the busiest spot available.
The people will call the police, and I’ll get her crazy ass thrown in jail.
Then make a podcast.
The views will be wild.
Maggie closes the door and leans back against it for a few minutes. I work my fingers, finally feeling them again. My arms still won’t lift, but I can turn my head a few degrees to the left and right.
Nearly.
Fifteen more minutes and I think it’ll be enough.
Maggie moves to the driver’s seat, sitting heavily and gripping the steering wheel.
‘I’m not made for this.’ Her words tinge with bone-weariness. I flick my eyes to her, taking in every detail. She doesn’t look like how I imagine a kidnapper to look. Surely there should be a spike of excitement at catching her prey. Adrenaline. She looks somewhat sick to her stomach if I’m honest. Worried. Anxious. Her fingers are white where she’s so tense.
