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My foot catches on a rock and I fall to my face, the ground tasting like absolute shit as my mouth digs into the dirt. I spit and draw myself to my knees, my side on fire. My fucking ankle is twisted. So there’s the end of that…
No more running.
I punch the ground and tears break the brim of my eyes in anger. I’m so close.
What the fuck do I do!? I hit my head harshly.Think!
I pause. What the hell is that?
I look up in panic. I see a car out there. I swallow. Hard.
I’m going to risk it.
I have to.
I push off the ground and hobble limply toward the street.
“H-hey!” I scream out as I rush toward the road, arms waving to the white sedan driving by….
My eyes flutter open and my head aches with a thundering chime. I try to grab the back of my scalp as a stinging drum plays out over my crown, but I can’t. What the fuck happened?
My hands are bound by rope this time. It itches. Burns…
… My head is warm and sticky and I feel a trail of it cascading down the back of my neck…
My head is bleeding.
It has to be.
I’m tied to a chair this time. And this time, instead of a cold finger, or a woman dressed in red, there's a man standing over me.
He’s tall.
Broad.
Black hair, slicked back. Clean-shaven. With eyes that look almost dead.
He’s looking down at me with them. They’re cold as they stare bleakly through me.
His arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched, but he says nothing when I blink up at him. He has a gun in one of his hands and it obnoxiously taps against his chest.
Did he hit me with the back of the gun?
I groan and tug on my arms…
They're wrapped tightly and I must have been pulling and tugging before I came to, because there’s what feels like lacerations beneath the ropes on my wrist.
I groan, in pain again and look around, groggily. There's no one else in the room.
Just me and him.
I stop myself from shaking, because it isn’t from fright and I don’t want to give him or her or anyone the satisfaction.
Truth is, I’m hungry.
My stomach growls and whirls with emptiness.
“Have a nice trip?” He asks.
