40. Melanie
CHAPTER 40
Melanie
With my wrists and ankles still bound, I dutifully ate some of the sandwich Roswell had made me. I wasn’t actually hungry, and it was hard to swallow around the lump of fear in my throat, but somehow, I pulled it off.
The worst part was the way he watched me, his dull gray eyes intent on my face and the trace of a smile on his lips. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which made me want to throw the sandwich at him.
But I stayed in character. The damsel was happy with what he’d brought her.
“Thank you,” I said, putting the rest of the sandwich back on the plate. “I’m finished.”
He slid the plate out of the way and gave me another drink of water.
Without meeting his gaze, I shifted on the mattress and fidgeted to make it clear that being tied up was uncomfortable.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that.”
Keeping my face lowered, I nodded. “What’s going to happen next? ”
He ran a finger down my arm and, as abhorrent as it was, I didn’t flinch away. “It’s hard to keep myself from you.”
Bile burned the back of my throat again. Stay in character. Stay in character. “I’m not ready yet.”
“Yet?”
“I need you to understand, I’ve been through a lot. These last few months have been so hard. I went from one bad relationship to another. I didn’t know how to get out.”
“But that’s the thing, my sweet Melanie. I got you out. I rescued you.”
Nodding again, I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. “You did.”
“We’re going to leave. I’m going to take you far, far away from here. Once we get there, we can start over. We’ll be together, and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again. You just have to be good for me, and I’ll take care of you.”
“I can be good.”
“I know you can.” He traced his finger along my arm again. “You’ll be my good girl forever.”
Like hell I would. I was nobody’s good girl, least of all his.
Drumming up some silent tears, I let them fall down my cheeks. When he didn’t seem to notice immediately, I sniffed.
“What’s wrong? Are you still hungry?”
I shook my head and kept crying.
“Then what is it?”
“I’m fine.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t seem fine. You’re crying.”
“I’m fine,” I said again, my tone more insistent, and I twisted my wrists, pulling at the duct tape.
“I don’t understand.”
Time for another outburst.
“This hurts,” I sobbed, thrusting my arms out toward him. “Why are you doing this to me? ”
“Melanie.” His tone was stern, but I didn’t miss the hint of doubt in the background. “I can’t let you free yet.”
Twisting away from him, I collapsed onto the mattress and went fetal again. “I thought you wanted to help me. You were supposed to save me, not hurt me like they did.”
“Like who did?”
“My exes. I thought you were supposed to be different, but you’re not.”
“No, Melanie, that’s not what’s happening.”
“Yes, it is.” I took my hysterics down to a whimper. “Why aren’t you different? Why aren’t you better than them?”
He was silent for a long moment. I stayed curled up in a ball, hoping I hadn’t pushed too hard. I didn’t want to make him angry, just confused and off-kilter.
I didn’t bother suppressing the shudder as he leaned close to my ear.
“You’re mine, Melanie,” he whispered. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Reaching over me, he grabbed my hands. I rolled onto my back so I could stretch my arms out. Oh my god, it was working. He had the pocketknife. He was going to cut the duct tape.
Something seemed to catch his attention. He paused, the knife still poised in one hand, and his gaze darted toward the stairs. I scarcely dared to breathe. Had he heard something?
Had someone found me?
Roswell’s eyes widened in alarm. He closed the knife and stuffed it back in his pocket, then grabbed the duct tape and tore a piece off.
“No,” I pleaded. “No, please—”
Before I could even think about how to resist, he’d taped my mouth shut again.
“Be quiet.” He wound more tape around my wrists and re-fastened me to the chain. “I’ll be right back.”
There was a faint noise upstairs that might have been knocking. It was hard to tell. Roswell ran up and shut the basement door behind him. I had no idea if he’d locked it, but it wasn’t like it mattered. I couldn’t get free.
Please be help. Please be help.
Another noise sounded like voices, but after a second, I realized he’d turned on a TV or music or something. Probably to drown me out if I decided to yell. With my mouth taped shut, any semblance of a scream would have been too muffled to hear anyway. I just had to hope it was law enforcement, and they searched the place.
I couldn’t be certain, but I might have heard Roswell talking to someone. The noise was dull, and everything seemed to mingle together. My heart beat wildly in my chest and it took every ounce of my self-control not to completely lose it.
Breathe in. Out. In and out.
After what felt like an eternity—what was he doing up there?—the basement door opened. I looked, desperately hoping to see people in uniform descending to get me out of this mess.
My heart sank right through the floorboards and into the ground below. It was Roswell.
“We have to go,” he said on his way down the stairs. “The fire is getting close.”
The scent of smoke followed him. He crouched in front of me and ripped the tape off my face.
“I’m sorry, Melanie. I didn’t want to have to do that. But I can’t let them take you away from me.”
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Firefighters. They’re evacuating the area.”
“But they don’t know I’m here, do they?” I tried to make it sound like I hoped they didn’t.
“No. They left, but we have to go.”
“Where are we going?”
He huffed out a frustrated breath as he cut me loose from the chain, leaving my wrists bound together. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to make the proper arrangements. We were supposed to stay here until you were ready.”
Now. I had to get him to untie me now.
I met his eyes and lifted my arms, holding my wrists out to him. “It’ll be easier for us to get away.”
He hesitated, his gaze moving from my face to my bound wrists.
The tears that filled my eyes weren’t an act. They were real—tears of desperation. I had no idea if another tantrum would get him to untie me or if he’d decide he was tired of my antics and just drug me again. But I had to risk it.
“Fine, just leave me here,” I sobbed. “You might as well let me die.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
I rolled away, curling into a ball. “I stayed quiet when you answered the door. I didn’t even try to make noise. And you don’t trust me enough to let me walk on my own. Just go.”
“We don’t have time for this. We have to get out.”
Making no move to reply, I kept crying. He let out a frustrated growl, and I was sure I’d feel the prick of a needle. I’d gone too far.
But I hadn’t. He moved around me, grabbed my arms, and sliced through the tape. Then he did the same to my ankles.
As much as I wanted to throttle him in every way possible, I didn’t. I was lying down with no leverage. I’d only get one shot. I had to time it just right.
So, I stayed in character. The damsel in distress didn’t get up. She wiped her eyes and smiled gratefully at her captor as if he’d just given her everything she’d ever wanted.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He grabbed my hands and helped me to my feet.
Hesitating, he held my eyes and shifted his weight slightly. I could read him like a book. He was waiting to see if I was going to kick him in the balls again .
As much as I wanted to, he was ready for it.
When I didn’t lash out at him, he smiled and grabbed my wrist. “Let’s go.”
I let him lead me up the stairs and through the door. It opened into a small kitchen with an olive-green refrigerator and range and only a scrap of counter space. A black wood stove, the kind with a cooktop, sat on the other side. The air was smokier upstairs, even indoors, and through the window there was nothing but white haze.
Without letting go of my wrist, he paused to grab a set of keys and stuffed them in his jeans pocket.
My eyes darted around, looking for something I could use to get away. Anything. The remnants of his sandwich making were still on the counter, but paper plates and a loaf of bread wouldn’t do me any good.
“Do you need to pack your things?” I asked, hoping he’d let go for even a minute.
“I already put what I need in the car. The rest can burn.”
Burn. The wood stove. Was there anything—
“Let’s go,” he said, tugging on my wrist.
I couldn’t let him put me in that car. I was dead if he did. Desperation and panic tightened my chest. Without really meaning to, I took a gasping breath, my control slipping. The breath turned into a cough, and Roswell’s eyes widened in alarm.
Running with it, I bent forward, pretending to have a coughing fit, as if the smoke was already too much. It wasn’t, but I put on a good show, and Roswell let go of my wrist.
Without hesitation, I lunged for the wood stove. There was a set of black tongs and a poker in a stand beside it. I grabbed the poker, spun around, and with as much strength as I could, I hit Roswell on the side of the head.
He crumpled to the ground, and on the edge of blind panic, I ran.
Still holding the fireplace poker, I flew out the door into the smoke-filled air. As I passed the car, I wished I’d had the chance to get his keys. But they were in his pocket, and there was no way I was going back. Maybe I could get to the firefighters. I didn’t know where they were, but at least one had been there.
I could hardly think. All the terror of the past day rose up, dark and overwhelming. I didn’t know where I was going or what to do next. I just had to get away.
So I ran.