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Another forty minutes go by, and I begin to hear her stirring in the corner as a pile of clothes and injured bones. I’ve been tending to my gunshot wound to the best of my ability, but I’m limited by the little that I have to stop the bleeding.
“What…?” she groans, attempting to sit up and quickly settling back down as her injuries seize her.
“What do you mean ‘what’? This is your doing. I hope you got what you wanted,” I spit, unable to hold back my spite as my constitution wanes from blood loss.
“I don’t... Ugh, fuck. I feel horrible,” she continues, choosing instead to roll over onto her side. She has a better feeling for how badly she’s hurting, so I won’t try to stop her. After all, she made this bed, and she can lie in it.
“Okay, yeah, you tried to project yourself through bulletproof glass. You might be feeling a little off,” I reply.
She scoffs. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t almost gotten me killed, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to get away from you.”
I try to take off my shirt in order to ball it up and use it to apply pressure to my arm. The pain has gotten so great now that I can’t even do that. If I’m not able to rest and keep this wound covered, we’re both fucked.
I take a deep breath, feeling the impact of hypovolemic shock begin to close off my lung capacity. “Okay, whatever, I need your panties to cover the hole in my arm.”
“What hole? How did you get a hole in your arm?” she asks suspiciously. “And why the hell do you need my panties for it?”
“I was getting shot at, remember? Anyway, I need them to stop the bleeding so that I don’t fucking die, leaving you out here to fend for yourself,” I respond with growing agitation.
“Well, I’d rather die than give you my panties, and I’d definitely rather die out here than go through whatever you had planned for me. And maybe I want you to die too.”
If I were in any condition to do so, I would be punching the shit out of this tree from anger.
Instead, I choose not to reply at all.
I decide to lie down next to her, crossing my arms over my chest for dramatic effect.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, totally exasperated and with a chill in her voice.
“I’m choosing to die since you won’t give me your panties,” I reply with no inflection whatsoever.
It takes her a minute, but she angrily rips off her panties from under her dress, tossing them onto my chest.
“Fine, but only because you’re going to get us out of here.”
7
Holly
Ihesitate to say that this couldn’t get any worse, but this is pretty fucking bad. Not only am I stranded in the freezing cold with a criminal in the woods, we’re being chased by a maniac with a machine gun. Add a throbbing headache on top of it, along with no panties, and I feel like I’d rather just die at this point.
The weather has gotten incrementally worse as well, beginning as a heavy snowfall and evolving into a heavy wind that bites at my skin. I wish I had a working phone so I could at least see how low the temperature has gotten. If it’s anything like it has been, it’ll get to ten degrees by eleven PM. I’m usually such a little bitch when it comes to being in the cold, so I’m in for a challenging time the longer this goes on for.
Not only is it getting colder by the hour, the brush and fallen branches under the snow are making it nearly impossible to walk a straight line without scraping my legs. It hurts, but it’s also frustrating me to the point of insanity. I feel like we hardly have a chance to get out of here alive in the first place – maybe we should just stop and wait for the elements to take us.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being dramatic.
After wandering through the woods in the pitch black for what feels like forever, all I keep thinking about is how stupid it was for me to stay late at work. Who the hell is even going to give me any credit for the work I did tonight? I’ve been gunning for a promotion for the last five months, and my boss has been giving me bullshit tasks to “show that I have what it takes”. It’s never been clearer to me that he’s been using my free labor to advance his own goals.
I feel so stupid.
If I had just been happy with the position I already have and kept my head down, I could have prevented all of this. It feels a bit stupid to think so far back into the past, blaming myself for wanting a better job, but it’s hard not to put blame on something right now. I know better than to blame myself fully, but knowing that there’s no definite reason or cause behind my suffering makes it even worse. I guess not everything happens for a reason.
“So, your name is Holly, yeah?” the strange man asks.
“What? How the hell do you know my name?” I ask defensively, stopping immediately and remaining firm in my position. Maybe now he’s finally ready to try to take me out himself.
“You were passed out for a little while, so I checked your ID. I put everything back in your wallet. I don’t need your money. You were being really withholding before, so I figured it was easier this way,” he replies with no remorse in his voice at all. He strikes me as the kind of person who is used to getting what he wants and getting away with things, so I guess I can’t be too shocked. It still feels violating, though. I didn’t give him my details for a good reason.
