23. TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-THREE
My eyes snap open to another round of pain that starts from my legs and travels all the way up to my body. Rough hands are smearing some kind of cream all over my legs, although I can barely feel it. It takes a second for me to process it as bandage, wrapping around and around my mangled limbs.
“Still pretty,” Finn whispers to himself. He can’t possibly know I’m awake, yet he still leans in to plant a delicate kiss on my bruised skin. “I’m sorry…”
I guess I’m breathing too loudly or something since his gaze darts up to meet mine, and his face lights up when he realizes I’m conscious again. Finn shoots up, grabbing onto my sides to keep me sat upright.
“Are you okay? I think… too many painkillers. I gave you too many.” If I didn’t know what he was capable of I’d feel bad for him, with the sad little quiver in his voice and the disgustingly pitiful posture he has. “It’s okay. I knew you’d be okay. I was… bandaging up your legs, and stuff.”
Before I can even suck in a breath Finn is back to stroking my cheek, but something is off this time.
Not that things weren’t off the previous fifty times he did it.
Despite not being all that tall he’s really towering over me.
“Do you need anything else? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can take good care of you, Dunk. I can—”
“Thirsty.” My throat feels raw from all the screaming and crying. “Please… can I have some water?”
“Whatever you want,” he mumbles before turning away and heading to the stairs. He stops right at the landing, glancing back at me. “Please… don’t try anything. I don’t want to have to… um… restrain you, or whatever.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Finn shuffles up the stairs, and although I’m alone the lights are on now. Is it night? Day? I’ve been in and out of consciousness so much lately that tracking time in my head seems impossible.
The light shining down through the open basement door is a deep yellow, and in a way it feels as though the warmth is mocking me. How does Finn afford a whole house on a gas station cashier’s salary? Where even are we?
My stomach grumbles, although to be frank I really can’t see myself eating anything right now. Just the thought of it makes my throat feel tight. The bile is waiting to come up at this point.
Running isn’t an option anymore. What can I even do at this point? Do I just have to give in? Trying seems so impossible. Do I throw myself off the bed and try to crawl up? He’d probably kick me back down and cry the entire time.
Can I really accept this, though? Is this what my life is supposed to be? Twenty-three years of quiet misery and longing only to wither away in some freak’s basement? It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. So what am I gonna do about it?
“I’m back!” Finn chirps, racing down the dirty old staircase with a plastic water bottle in his hand. He holds it out to me, and everything becomes crystal clear. I don’t take it. I feel my arm twitch like I might take it, but it doesn’t move in the end. “What’s wrong? Dunk?”
That nickname sounds so wrong coming from his mouth.
Only Haley calls me that. Just thinking about her makes me groan.
Am I really never going to see her again?
We were supposed to try and work something out, and now she probably thinks I’m ignoring her or that I killed myself or something so horribly different from the truth.
What else could she think? I spend days grovelling about how down I feel only to vanish without so much as a goodbye. All I can do is hope that she knows how much I love her.
“I’m…” My voice shakes, and not even I know if it’s intentional or not. “I just… I-I’m scared.”
Finn frowns, but he doesn’t seem mad at me. His eyes are full of nothing but sympathy, which doesn’t make all that much sense to me. “That’s… That’s okay. I swear I didn’t do anything to it, though.”
The lid cracks as he twists it open, stepping closer once again. “See? P-Promise.”
My eyes flick between the bottle and his face. Hopefully he doesn’t see past my whole helpless puppy-eyed damsel in distress act. If he does, I seriously don’t know what other options I have left.
“I’ll… I can help you, if you need it.” There’s hesitance in his words, but he slowly brings the bottle to my mouth either way. Against my better judgment I bring my lips to the grooves of the bottle’s neck, and Finn slowly tilts it forward so I can drink.
So fucking thirsty. I didn’t even realize how much I needed it until the first drop hit my tongue. After throwing back half the bottle he pulls it away. Greedy gasps fill the air between us, and when I sneak a peek at his face I see a faint twinge of red dusting his cheeks. He’s so shameless.
“M-More?” His voice is barely audible at first. He clears his throat, blinking a few times at me. “Do you… want more?”
Nodding wordlessly, I know I’ve got him where I want him now.
This is the only upper hand I have, and I have to play my cards perfectly—or else.
If I fuck up here, who knows what will happen?
I want to believe that whatever Finn feels is enough for him to not straight up murder me, but after what happened to my legs I can’t take any risks.
After finishing the bottle, he carelessly tosses it aside and stares at me. Clearly he’s thinking of something with the way he’s tugging on his fingertips all timidly. I want to hope that it’s nothing, but it’s always something with him.
“Duncan…” He bites his chewed up lower lip, averting his gaze to anywhere but me. “Are you mad at me? Like—you… You don’t hate me, right?”
Why do I feel bad? After everything he’s done to me I should hate him, shouldn’t I? But having him ask me so abruptly has basically made my mind blank. Yes. The answer should be yes.
“...No,” I blink at my own admission. Is that the truth? Or a lie to save myself? “You aren’t… well, Finn. I-I can see that…” Am I trying to convince him or myself? “But… You know this isn’t right. You know that, don’t you?”
To my own surprise he nods, the shame on his face more than evidence. “I know.” Finn curls up in a ball on the bed next to me, forcing his head into my lap. “I know, Duncan. I-I fucked up so bad. I don’t know how to fix it… I can’t…”
My captor shudders when my fingers make contact with his head, trimmed nails combing through his greasy hair. As I expected it eases him, but he sure doesn’t seem all that peaceful with his sweat-stained white shirt and the same black sweatpants he was wearing before.
“I love you, Duncan…” He wails, hiding his face in the soft fat of my thigh. “Please love me… Please… Love me too, please…”
There’s something so heartbreakingly pathetic about having another grown man in a position like this. If I was a more capable person I’d push him off and tell him to go fuck himself, but I can’t.
It makes my stomach hurt with sorrow even though he doesn’t deserve any of it. He’s the last person who deserves even a lick of pity from me, yet I’m probably going to give it to him anyway.