Chapter 18 #2
"Yeah, you know, when I first met him, I was this scrawny, timid kid.
And nobody likes the fucking new kid, you know?
Anyway, I started getting picked on, and there wasn't much I could do about it, until Elias stuck up for me.
I'd never even spoken to him, and he knocked this kid on his ass at recess, and no one ever fucked with me again.
Later, I found out it was only because he'd seen the pool and wanted to come over and swim. "
I laugh a little. "Yeah, that sounds right."
"But he needed a place to hide, too. He and Nolan both did; I didn't understand that then. It worked out, though. I immediately signed up for hockey. We were all inseparable. I mean, until now. That's why it's so weird, I think. I barely remember my life before he was part of it."
"I'm sorry, Dax. I miss him, too."
"I know you do, princess. We should probably go home," he says before kissing my forehead.
I close my eyes. "Give me a minute. The room is spinning."
"Yeah, I feel that, too. I think I'm about to fucking pass out."
That must be what happens next. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but when I open my eyes, the sun has set.
Dax snores softly at my side, sprawled out on his back. His shirt has ridden up, and he never buckled his pants, leaving his lower abs and that 'v' that dips below his waistline exposed.
It's one of my favorite things to look at. He's one of my favorite things to look at.
I run my fingertips over the exposed skin, tracing the space just above the elastic of his boxers. "Dax," I whisper. "Wake up."
When he doesn't move, I sit up to grab my phone, but I do it far too quickly. My stomach retches, and I pull myself to my feet, shuffling toward the washroom.
I barely make it into a stall, not bothering to lock it, before everything comes up. It's a familiar kind of hurt. I've been doing this too much lately, like I did in high school.
Once it finally stops, I rest my rug-burned cheek against the toilet seat and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
I'm a fucking mess. I know I need to get it together—finals start next week, for fuck's sake—but I can't. I need to move on, but I don't know how, and the world won't let me, anyway.
I force myself to stand, but before I leave the stall, the lights go out, plunging me into darkness.
"Dax?" I call apprehensively. "This isn't funny right now."
Slow, heavy footsteps close in on me.
"Dax…I'm scared. Please, stop."
No response. The footsteps move closer, and I feel around in the pitch black space for the stall door. "Help!" I scream, finally getting my hands on it.
I slam it closed, but not before he gets his arm between the door and the stall. "Help!"
He's definitely not Dax.
"Stop! Help me! Someone help me! Dax!"
The person on the other side grabs at my shirt while I struggle to hold the door closed. I'm losing ground—I can't hold off them forever.
"Elias?" I ask, part hopeful. "You won't hurt me, will you? You love me, don't you?"
I don't get an answer.
"Help!"
He gets a knee between the door and the stall, pushing me backward, and I dip my head, digging my teeth into his arm.
He growls, trying to jerk away, but it doesn't do much through the thick material covering his arms.
When he gets his hand free, he grabs at my face. Fingers dig into my eye sockets, and without thinking, I let go of the door. As it swings open, I fall onto the toilet before hitting the floor.
"Help!" I scream again. "Dax! Help me!"
I try crawling into the next stall, but he pulls me back by my feet and drags me out into the washroom.
It's like déjà vu. Only this time, it's not a gun to the back of my head that sends me into nothingness. A knee digs into my stomach before his hand covers my mouth.
I try to scream, but as I gasp for air, it pulls me under.
I'm sinking. Again.
I stare ahead down a dark tunnel, a bright light ahead. Everything's blurry—but wait, that's not right. I squeeze my eyes closed, holding them there for a few minutes, willing my vision to clear. Slowly, I open them, but now there are two lights, and the world tilts onto its side.
That's not right either.
I blink again slowly, my lids still heavy, and it starts coming back to me. The washroom, the man—where is he?
I need to wake the fuck up. I need to get out of here.
My vision clears, and I realize I'm not in a dark tunnel. I'm in a small, dark room, staring at a dim electric lantern in the corner.
It looks just like the one in Elias's cabin. Is that where I am? Did he bring me here?
But no. The cabin was never this dark. Without a ceiling or window coverings, light from the night sky filtered through the room. As far as I can tell, there are no windows here. And the floor is ice cold, like concrete. Still, I roll onto my back to check for a ceiling—just in case.
There is one. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not. Also, I know now that both my wrists and ankles are bound.
That's not good.
There does, however, appear to be a door, but it's more a of door-shaped seam in the wall with no handle.
And it smells like urine, but I don't think it's me. I don't feel wet.
Movement comes from somewhere in the room, and I freeze.
"Elias?" I try to call out, but my mouth is too dry to make a sound.
Would he do this to me?
Yes. I don't even know why I still have to ask myself this. Almost everything bad that's ever happened to me has been because of Elias.
I remain still, listening, but there's nothing else. It's so quiet, it hurts.
Fuck this.
I turn over, pulling myself up onto my knees, and then carefully onto my bound feet. If I have to hobble my ass to that fucking door and crawl home, I'll do it.
After everything—everything—I'm not going to fucking die like this.
I jump forward, but something tightens around my stomach and immediately, I fall back onto my ass, knocking the wind out of me.
I gasp for air, trying to figure out who or what pulled me back.
A thick rope wraps around my waist and—after following it with my hands—I find that rope knotted around a large metal hoop on the wall.
I pull as hard as I can, attempting to dislodge the metal hoop—even bracing myself with my feet against the wall, hanging on it with all my body weight, using what little strength I have left.
But it isn't much, and it isn't good enough. I fall to the floor, sweating and gasping for air. And when I turn toward the door again, my eyes have adjusted enough to make out some more details in the room.
Or the box. Because that's what it is. Aside from the seam, we're inside a box.
Me…and the woman curled up under a blanket on a twin-sized mattress on the other side of the room.
Beside the mattress sits a bucket. That must be the source of the smell.
I swallow and clear my throat before attempting to speak again. "Hey…are you okay?"
I wait for a minute, and when I don't get a reply, I shuffle forward.
The rope doesn't allow me enough slack to grab the lantern, nor do I get close enough to reach the mattress, but I can make out the figure a little better.
Long, light-colored hair sticks out from the top of the blanket. "Isla?"
No answer. What if she's…
I lie on my stomach on the concrete floor, stretching my arms overhead, and barely—just barely—manage to close my fingertips around the edge of the blanket. As I pull it toward me, the person on the mattress pulls it back, her voice startling me.
"No!" she shouts. "This is my blanket. You don't get a blanket. Go back to your corner."
When I lift my head, she's sitting on the bed. Although it's still quite dark, I can tell it's her; I've seen her face on the news and social media all week.
And there's a dark red scab near the top right corner of her forehead—on her scalp.
"Isla, are you okay?"
Has she been here—in this room—since the end of last semester?
"I can't talk to you. Leave me alone."
"Why? Why can't you talk to me? Isla, how long have you been here? Who did this to you? How do we get out? Maybe you can untie—"
"No!" she says, covering her ears. "He said I can't talk to you. I'm getting out of here, and you're dead."
"What? I'm not dead."
At least not yet, anyway.
"You will be. And then, I'll finally get out. I've been punished long enough, and this is my chance to prove I can be good—he said so. He wouldn't lie to me…not like I lied to him."
"What did you do?"
"I tried to leave," she says. "I didn't realize how good I had it, but I do now. I just want to go home."
I hear banging from the other side of the door—something metallic and muffled. "Can you tell me where we are?"
"He's coming!" The panic in her voice sends my adrenaline through the fucking roof. "Please go back to your corner—please!"
Whoever's coming is on the other side of the door now. I shuffle backward until I hit the wall.
Until I'm back in my corner.
As the door opens outward, I hold my breath, my pulse racing.
Please be Elias, I think. Please be Elias…
It isn't.
"You're early!" Isla says, beaming up at him.
"Of course. I told you I would be. I wouldn't break a promise like that." He pushes her hair away from her face before turning to me. "Well, well, well… Good morning, sunshine."
I grit my teeth, staring up at Miles.
"Aw, look at you." He stops just inches in front of me, his crotch just centimeters from my face before grabbing me by my hair. "Not so tough now, are you?"
"Don't fucking touch me!"
"Get over yourself," he says, shoving me backward. "I'm not going to fuck you."
I fall hard on my shoulder and bite my tongue, refusing to cry out in pain.
But fuck, it hurts.
"You really think I would make my angel watch something like that? I would never do that to her…even though she did it to me. But I think she's learned her lesson, haven't you?"
Isla nods. "I don't deserve you."
"I know, honey," Miles tells her. "But you have the rest of your life to make it up to me. And once they're gone, I'll finally be able to forgive you."