Chapter 4 #2
“Where are you taking me?” I muster up what little bravery I have and glance over at him. He doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the road. His features, once familiar, now look menacing beneath the dark shadows.
There are fewer streetlights wherever we are and next to nothing else. No houses, no shops, no signs of life. I can’t remember when I stopped recognizing the route, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s taking me somewhere secluded. Unease coils tight in my gut. This isn’t good.
“Did you plan this?” My voice cracks.
“Stop talking.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, casting him out of my sight, but just because I avoid looking doesn’t mean he’s not still there.
Whatever happened to adrenaline-induced super strength or something else useful, like photographic memory, so I can trace back where we came from? Nothing is working in my favor. There has to be something else I can do. This can’t be how it ends for me.
“Quit squirming,” he snaps.
My thighs clamp together as I force myself to sit still, the tension coiling tighter with each second. Then it strikes me—a fleeting idea, born of sheer desperation.
Shooting my shot, I shift further in my seat, leaning into the discomfort, even at the risk of angering him. “I’m trying, but I really need to use the bathroom.”
He doesn’t bother sparing a glance my way, but I notice his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel.
If he doesn’t want me to ruin the inside of his fancy car, he’s left with no choice but to stop somewhere. That’ll be my chance to bolt. I can’t outrun him, but it’s dark enough that I can try to hide. That's if he decides to stop. He’s showing no signs of slowing down.
Despair quickly follows when it dawns on me that I’ve seen his face, and what that means in terms of my escape. I’m a lost cause. There’s no way he’ll risk me getting away, not while I know what he looks like.
Emotion claws its way up my throat, but I shove it back down. Now isn’t the time to wallow.
Several long minutes later, he finally veers off into a dirt path, but doesn’t stop the car yet. My eyes strain against the dark, catching a glimpse of some forest trees along the side of my window. Panic consumes me.
He’s driving us deeper between the branches. I swallow with much difficulty as I envision what he intends to do to me down here. Why he’s had to drive all this way just for me.
Stabbing pains start to emanate from my kidneys, making my face contort. I really might wet myself in here, and for a moment, I consider the risks. What’s holding me back if I’m just going to die, anyway?
I’ve heard that you eventually lose control of your bladder shortly after your death. I don’t know why I know that. Either way, my bladder is close to giving out soon.
Then, just in time, and to my dismay, the car comes to a sudden halt. The locks pop open, startling me because I know exactly what’ll come next.
I look over to him through my damp lashes. This is it. Whatever happens next is going to happen right here, right now.
“Get out.”
His voice is less sharp than before, almost eerily calm, reminding me that this is just a routine for him. A sudden but disturbing thought.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say against the lump in my throat.
He massages his temples as if I’m nothing but a headache-fueling nuisance. Eager to get things going, he cuts off the engine, taking the keys with him, and steps out of the vehicle to come around to me.
No, I’m not ready.
Fog swarms my head again, but this time it’s accompanied by loud static in my ears. Is this what people’s last few moments alive feel like? Miserable and struck with fear, their bodies beginning to shut down before they’ve even dragged in their final breath?
The door yanks open, and he drags me out before I can rally quick enough to protest. I stumble out and trip over his foot, landing in a thin, mucky layer of snow.
Knees rooted into the frigid ground, heart racing, I brace myself for the worst.
Please God, let it be quick. I don’t want to feel it.
“Take off your shorts.”
“What? No,” I squeak. My head spins, the cold quickly sinking into my core.
He takes a step toward me, and I fall into full-fledged hysteria, crawling back on my elbows and shrieking out into the desolate woods.
He lifts me up with little effort but struggles to get my shorts off as I swing and kick my legs into the numbingly cold air.
“Please, please stop.” I cry even louder once he’s gotten hold of the waistband and manages to pull it down halfway to my knees.
“Quit moving,” he growls in my ear. "I'm sick of watching you squirm next to me clearly needing to piss, so hurry up already and fucking piss.”
My shorts are now balled up tight in his fist. I don’t meet his eyes out of shame as I cross my legs and hunch over, wanting to hide myself from both him and the elements.
My face feels tight from the excessive tears drying out against the sharp winds, an occasional hiccup escaping through chattered teeth.
Am I meant to go in front of him?
“Christ.” He turns to give me his back. “Just hurry the fuck up already.” A vein in his hand flexes over the crumpled silk.
Without angering him further, I hurry and do as he commands, lowering my cotton panties and relieving myself behind one of the trees nearby.
It feels degrading, the mortification sharp and consuming, but basic human function persists. I’m grateful for the sliver of privacy, even as the audible stream exposes just how little control I have left.
With clumsy hands, I pull my underwear back on, not quite sure what to make of this or what comes next. As if sensing I’m finished, he turns back around, his eyes catching on the few drops of urine still clinging to my inner thighs. Even in the cold, my face heats up.
He tosses my shorts over to me, but I miss catching them. “Back on,” he says, nodding toward the ground where they fell.
The flimsy silk is damp when I pick it up, but I hurry and put them on, thankful for whatever little coverage they can offer.
The winter breeze from this morning pales in comparison to now.
If I’m lucky, I’ll freeze to death before any real torture begins.
My body thrums from head to toe, violent shivers wracking through me as I fold my arms across my waist, my gaze refusing to meet his.
Abrupt ringing cuts through the silence from his jeans pocket. Exasperation crosses his face, but he answers with a heavy sigh.
Now would be my chance to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Only trees and cold envelop us. My legs are far too stiff to move, let alone break into a sprint. Besides, he’d catch me before I could even make it around the trees behind us. If I run, it has to be at the right moment.
After a beat of stillness, the car roars back to life the second the headlights dim. With his free hand, he guides me back inside, and I let him, desperate to escape the cold and with no other choice.
He grits his teeth as he slides back into his seat, his other hand holding up his phone to his ear before he finally speaks into it. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out,” he grumbles to the person on the other end, then hangs up.
The silence thickens once he starts driving again, his words echoing in my head.
I want to ask what he needs to figure out, but stop myself, unsure if I really want to find out.
Within a couple more minutes, I spot a small wooden cabin in the distance, and although I’m feeling weak, my muscles are still tense as he drives toward it.
Through my peripheral, I catch him shifting the gear into park as we reach a small cabin. He says something, but I can’t make it out over the buzzing in my ears. It doesn’t really matter, though, because just like before, he climbs out of his seat and comes around to drag me back out.