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“I was seeing a girl that knew one.” He turns his back and goes to the sink. “She explained all the different species.”
“But you aren’t scared of them?” I ask.
“No, I’m not scared of anything.” He pours out the water and cleans his hands.
“You should be,” I taunt.
His shoulders stiffen. “Your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“I thought I was perfect for you. You should enjoy my spunk,” I say, smiling.
“So there may be things we need to work on.”
“Bash didn’t want to change me. He liked me just the way I was,” I hiss. I try to move my arms to test the tightness of the knot.
“Quit talking about that vampire,” he screams, his hands clenching the lip of the sink, his head bent. I hope I’m giving him a headache.
“How does the eye feel?” I ask. I noticed my blind hit gave him a bruise. It is swelling slightly.
“It’s fine.” He touches it. “It was a lucky hit.”
Maybe if I annoy him enough, he’ll let me go. “Can you still feel it with all the work you’ve gotten done?”
He turns slowly to face me. “I’m going to go get supplies. You will learn to keep your mouth shut while I’m gone.” His eye twitches. “I won’t be long. When I get back, you will get your punishment for speaking to me in such a way.”
He looks around the room before stomping up the stairs. I hear the lock on the door click. Fucking asshole. The shock is wearing off. I’m starting to feel all the damage he did to my body. I have to get out of here. I study the room. He left the bowl. If I can get loose, I could hit him over the head with it. He was smart and left nothing that could be used against him. I don’t know what I expected; he’s done this before, numerous times. I hold perfectly still until I hear the door slam upstairs—he’s gone.
I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. It could be days or weeks. Bash has to be close to finding me. I feel deep inside that he wouldn't give up. Let’s hope I’m alive when he does find me.
I twist my head to see my hands. My wrists are red and bleeding. I must have been thrashing in my drugged-out state. They weren’t this bad before. I gasp as I try to move them. As much as the thought sickens me, my blood could be the key to getting out of them. I do what I can to spread the blood over my whole wrist and down my arm. Tears spring to my eyes as the rope grinds into the open cuts and burns.
“Motherfucker,” I cry painfully.
I pull harshly with my right arm. I barely have enough strength left in them. It could have been hours since the gun went off. Too bad the asshole didn’t leave that here. I have no reservations about shooting him until the bullets are gone. I’m cursing men in general when my arm suddenly flops on the bed next to me. I stare at it in shock. It fucking worked.
Excitement courses through me. I get to work on the left wrist, ignoring the pain. Needles are spreading over my free arm. I shake it to help the process along. Time slows as I slowly make progress. The pain is spreading through my body quickly. I’m almost out. I can’t give up. I wish I knew what time it was, so I know how long he’s been gone. I can’t be caught with one hand free.
I scream through gritted teeth as my other arm slips loose. I stare in shock that it worked and then sit up. My head is pounding, and I have to brace myself as the room spins. I’ve already lost too much blood. I shake my hands out; I don’t have the luxury of time for them to function properly. I reach for my ankle, fumbling with the knot. I have to concentrate on moving my fingers. I almost cry when I pull my foot out. One more. This one is going to be the worst. I refuse to look at the red spreading and soaking the bandage.
I freeze when the rope falls away. I did it. I scramble off the bed and bend over it when the room goes upside down. My injured leg flops uselessly to the floor. This is going to suck ass. All I could think about was getting off that bed, but now what? The door is locked. I look around and see a small window covered in a black curtain at the top of the wall. I seriously doubt I will be able to fit through or pull myself up enough to try. If I open it, though, it might give me time when he comes back. He would be distracted, hopefully long enough for me to scramble up the stairs, and I could lock him down here.
I drag my leg behind me and pull the chair underneath it. I take a deep breath and step with my good leg, using everything I can to stand on top. My thigh is shaky, and what muscles I have protest loudly. My hands leave streaks of blood on the wall. My nails scrape to find a handhold. I put all my weight on my good leg and almost pass out from the agony shooting down to my other. I rip the curtain off and see that it’s dark outside. There’s a little lock that I push easily open. The window opens to the inside, so I have to lean back enough to open it fully. Just as it catches to hold, I fall off the chair. I hit the floor with a squeal. Shooting pains zap through my limbs.
I stare at the ceiling. Where did it all go wrong? That stupid text. I was stupid enough to leave where I was safe. I could be snuggled up to Bash right now, continuing my plan to convince him to love me. He could be giving me orgasms. But no, I had to be stupid.
I have to move, but I don’t know if I can. I’m one giant wound. I wince as I sit up. I have to take it one small step at a time. The blood is flowing steadily now. I swallow; my throat is scratchy. I have to get up. Tears filled with frustration and pain trickle down my face. I picture Bash urging me to move.
I roll over, using the bed for support. I pause with my head resting on the bed, taking deep breaths. I’m about to step towards the stairs when I hear footsteps upstairs. Fear paralyzes me. My breath comes out in pants, and I pray it isn’t Sammy. He was much louder; these are soft as if barely hitting the floor. When I hear more than one set, I sob out loud.
“Bash,” I whisper. If it’s him, he’ll be able to hear me. I hold my breath, waiting.
“Marie,” Bash responds on the other side of the basement door.
“Yes,” I cry in relief.
“Are you away from the door?”
“Yes.”
