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21
Kit
Cheap Mafia Sitcom
Rita stops prowling and screeches in Chris’ face. “Call again, dummy!”
I dramatically groan and tilt to my other ass cheek. Both are numb, both are cold on the dirty floor, though my hands are toasty warm. “Can you stop leaving missed calls on his phone? You’re gonna make me look desperate and needy.” I scrunch my nose like it’s no big deal that my cousin and her boyfriend have me tied to a fucking oil heater.It’s a big effing deal!“Guys don’t like desperate and needy. Amiright, Chris?”
I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. I don’t know what time it is. I just know that my arms and back is warm, but my ass and toes are frozen. My wrists are tied to the heater, and the rope is cutting in and sending my hands numb.
I’m feeling very Jack Dawson right now.Where are all the axes at?
I have the biggest headache I’ve ever had in my life, and my shoulder is jacked up behind me in a position I know will hurt to put back where it belongs. I’m not scared of these idiots, not anymore. I’m pissed off. I’m really fucking pissed off, and if throwing in snide remarks every two minutes to piss Rita off is all the satisfaction I’ll get, then I’ll take it.
They took my phone before I woke up in this room, and in between calling Bobby and hanging up every time his answering machine picks up, they chit-chat between themselves about ransom.
Ransom.
As in, that’s the word they’re using.
Could they be anymoreHollywood ridiculous?
“He won’t answer,” Chris whines and paces the room. I get a sick thrill watching him cradle his arm. At least I didn’t go down without a fight.
“So, call him again! He’ll answer, he’ll come looking for her soon.”
“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” I petulantly argue. “I told you, we broke up. He’s not coming to look for a bitch he doesn’t even like. He won’t pay you a cent.”
Rita huffs and screeches like a three-year-old being told no to candy for dinner. Stomping from the room, she slams the solid door and leaves Chris and I alone.
Where has she gone? Where’s my aunt? Is Renee involved? And if Chris was my attacker, who hit Iz?
I groan for real at my rebelling body. My head aches so much I want to weep. My body is folded like an accordion and my ribs ache at the pressure on them. My left shoulder feels like it’s on fire, and every time I eventhinkabout moving it, it sings in pain and has me choking back the dread.
The room they have me in is cold and barren. Dirty concrete floor, a crappy metal table, and a single chair littered with ash trays and rubbish. A small rust-orange fridge rumbles noisily in one corner, and a sink overflows with filthy dishes and trash.
Is it unreasonable for me to be worried about germs right now? This place is so gross, I can’t stop my face turning up in petty disgust.
The room has only one window, no window treatment, and no light filtering in from outside. It’s dark. Pitch-black outside. I see no lights from passing cars, nor can I hear any. One single door to my right; the door Rita storms in and out of, but I don’t know if it leads outside, or to other rooms.
I don’t know if there are other people here.
I don’t know anything.
In an attempt to relieve pain in my numbing legs, I begin tilting to the right, but come to a whimpering stop when red hot pain sears from my shoulder and radiates across my back.
My mouth waters and my stomach rolls. I want to put my head between my knees, but I can’t even move that far. I don’t know what they did to my shoulder, but whatever it was, I’m thankful it happened while I was unconscious. The waves of pain I feel now can’t be anywhere near the agony of the initial injury.
I sit and breathe, concentrating on every sound I hear around me. Chris’ nervous pacing. The frogs croaking outside. The single drip of water in the sink, as it plops down on the plate at the top of the sink stack every twelve seconds.
When I think Chris’ pacing might push me over the edge into insanity, Rita storms back into the room. “Call again!” She turns to me and kneels down close. “You better fucking hope he answers this time, or I’ll hurt you, bitch. I’m not playing.”
Chris snatches up the phone from the table and redials, and we wait quietly, so quiet, I can hear the ringtone from across the room. I don’t know if I want Bobby to answer or not. I don’t want him involved, but I also don’t want her to hurt me. She’s getting twitchy. I don’t like twitchy bitches when I’m tied up and in pain.
I don’t get to choose for him. Bobby doesn’t answer, the call rings out, and sweat trickles down my spine when her feral eyes lock onto mine.
I refuse to let her know I’m scared; I refuse to let her win, so I fall back on my friends – sass, sarcasm, and denial. “I told you, we broke up. There’s a reason he’s not taking my calls.”
