31. THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-ONE
Ten minutes. That’s how long the TV holds my attention before my eyes begin to wander. Windows are locked. Can’t reach the door. But there, hanging off of a wooden chair, is my holy grail. My jacket. My fucking jacket.
Yes, Finn has been snooping through my phone and there’s a high chance it’s not even there, but what if it is? What if by some fucking miracle it is? One call and I’m out of here, hopefully to a hospital so my legs aren’t lost forever.
That thought is terrifying. The severity hadn’t been lost on me, but I guess I never stopped to really think about it either. If my legs don’t heal properly, what will happen to them?
Maybe I thought I could pass the time by being an idiot.
Playing pretend, playing house—playing whatever you want to call it.
I can’t fathom how I let him put his dick anywhere near me.
It makes me sick to my stomach, partially because I hate myself for it and partially because I hate how much I liked it.
Can’t think about that, though. Gotta focus on what’s important, and what’s important is getting out of here. Playing pretend was nice and all, but this might be my last chance.
It’s gonna hurt. With little to no grace I throw my front half off the couch, landing on my elbows with a huff. They dig into the carpet and burn, but I push forward until my entire body is on the ground.
When my legs slam against the floor it hurts so damn bad. An agonizing ripple of pain shoots out throughout every nerve I have, and for a beat I have to just lay there and brace myself.
But it’s not important. It isn’t. One arm and then the other, moving forward until I cross the shiny gold strip where carpet meets wood, and then down the hall to the little chair in the dining area.
Tugging at the bottom of my jacket doesn’t yield much.
I can’t risk tearing it, because if it’s moved or dead or anything else he’ll know.
I can’t have him knowing. He might literally never trust me again if he finds out.
Stretching the smooth fabric to its limit, I get it down just enough to reach the bottom of the pocket.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Rolling over on my back, my tired eyes wander over to the clock on the wall. How the hell has it been almost half an hour already? I didn’t do anything. Did it seriously take me that long to crawl down the hall? When did I get so damn pathetic?
My arms are sore and I think my legs are shaking, but I can’t exactly lay here and wait for him to come pick me up. He’ll know something was off, which leaves me with one choice: crawl back up on the couch.
Thinking about it makes me want to give up. Every part of it hurts, and then I have to sit there and pretend everything is fine. But it’s not. Nothing is fine. Things haven’t been fine for at least a week.
Can my life ever go back to normal? Have people noticed I’m gone, now? Surely someone knows that I’m missing, right? I need that to be the case. I need someone—other than Finn—to care.
Each push forward makes me whimper like some broken animal. It’s so dehumanizing. All of this is horrible. The nickname. The legs. The fact he tried to make me wear a collar.
What am I to him?
Hoisting myself upright, I find myself in this half-sitting half-laying position against the cushions of the couch. I know that I’m close, but god, I’m so tired. I’m so tired.
When I make it back up on the couch everything feels okay, even if only temporarily. I’m back on the brown cushions watching TV as if nothing ever happened in the first place. Of course that would’ve been too simple. Too easy. Nothing is allowed to be easy.
I wonder if Finn planned all this. He seems so sweet and unassuming, but the entire situation… Surely there was some level of planning involved, since he had a fucking metal chain down there.
All things considered I should feel lucky, though. Lucky that my captor is so easily swayed, and that I get to be on a couch watching TV instead of being locked up in a dark basement with only a thin blanket to keep me warm.
Things could always be worse.
Snuggling into the cushions, I try to ignore all the thoughts swirling around my head. I’m not getting out of here, am I? No matter how many times I try to think up a new solution, they all end the same—with me being stuck here. Should I give up now? Should I accept that this is my new life?
I don’t fall asleep, not really. But when my eyes finally open again it’s dark outside. The snow rages on, and as if on cue the door slams open. Finn seems determined, setting down the groceries on the counter without so much as a “hello.”
Quietly, I peer over the catch and watch as he puts everything away. How does he go from being obsessed with me to not even sparing me a glance? Fear washes over me. Is this the part where he gets bored? Did he realize that this isn’t worth it? Is he going to kill me now?
“Finn?” My voice is small. Clearing my throat, I put on my best sweet voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He laughs weakly in response, sighing before finally looking at me. “Duncan. D-Did you really think there were no cameras here?”
Everything after is like static. The room is closing in and I can’t breathe anymore. “N-No, I… What…?”
“If you think you’re so d-damn independent, you can make your own food, and carry yourself to bed.”
Before I get a chance to argue he storms off into his room, slamming the door behind him. I’m fucked. I’m absolutely fucked. I’m hungry and scared and he knows that I can’t do any of that.
I am so, so fucked.