My hands hurt.
My head hurts.
Everything fucking hurts.
The only thing I can do is rest my eyes and hope this ends soon. It’s as if this motherfucker is hitting every bump on purpose. And with each bump, my head throbs more and more until I can’t take it. Somehow, I manage to doze off, but I’m jerked awake when the car door slams.
Holding my breath, I wait to see if he’s going to open the trunk or not. After a few seconds pass, I release the air from my lungs and sigh.
The darkness surrounds me, with the occasional whistle of wind. My legs cramp from being in the same position for so long, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. It also doesn’t help that I’m exhausted. I spent yesterday walking around endlessly so I didn’t run into Chase, only to go to The Whiskey, so I’ve had little to no sleep, and I have no clue how I’m even functioning at this point.
Voices come from outside the car, and I take that as a chance to start yelling, hoping someone will hear me.
“Help! Someone help me!” I bang my fists, hitting the roof, but no one comes. A few minutes later, all I hear is laughter, followed by the car starting up again.
“No, no, no, no!” I slam my hand against the roof again, only adding to my injury more.
How long can someone be in the trunk of a car before dying? I’m not sure if I’m running out of air or if the fact I’m breathing like I was buried alive is making it worse.
The trunk pops open after more time passes, and Emris stands there, leaning down with both hands on the door.
“Ready to come out?” he asks, a smirk on his face. This would be a lot easier if he was ugly.
“Yes! I’ve been fucking ready!”
Pushing up from the trunk, I swing my legs out, fully intending to bolt the second my feet hit the ground, but of course, that doesn’t happen. Mr. Kidnapper grips my bicep before I can get all the way out.
“You try to take off, and I’ll throw your ass back in there. Understand?” I look up at him and can tell he means it. I nod, not trusting my words. I just need to see where we are, and maybe I’ll still have a chance to escape.
The second I’m out, I stretch my legs, groaning at how sore they are. Add in my throbbing hands and headache to the mix, and I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to stand.
When I lift my gaze, my eyes land on my apartment. What the fuck? Did he really bring me home? I look from the building to him. He doesn’t say a word but keeps his gaze locked on me.
“Thank you, I guess? I’d say our time together was nice, but that would be a lie,” I snap, slowly stepping around him and toward the apartment complex. When I’m far enough, I turn and pick up my pace until the sound of crunching gravel sounds behind me, and I see that he’s right behind me.
“W-what’re you doing?” I ask, trying to understand what the fuck is going on.
“I’m going to help you with anything that might be too heavy.”
Help me? Too heavy? What the fuck is this psycho going on about?I open my mouth to ask him to elaborate, but the words catch in my throat. At the apartment door, I stop. My stuff is everywhere. Shoes thrown across the steps, all my clothes littered in piles. Everything I own is ruined.
“Is this all yours?” he asks, sounding just as confused as me.
I guess Chase followed through with his promise. He threatened me at the bar, but I assumed he was being an ass and only trying to scare me.
“Fucking asshole!” I shout, my voice coming out weaker than I wanted it to sound in front of Emris. Though, I can’t find it in me to care right now. Not when my eyes land on a photo of me and my mom—it was the last one I took with her a few weeks before she passed.
Dropping to my knees where the photo is, I pick it up and watch the water leak off the bottom. It’s soaking wet from the rain. Dread builds in my chest, and I have no idea what I’m going to do now. I can’t afford a place by myself. Gripping the ruined photo in my hand, I storm up the steps of the apartment.
“Open the door, you piece of shit!” I scream, my fists banging on the solid door. I can’t even feel the pain coming from the cuts with how pissed off I am. “Chase!” I continue pounding on the door, but no one answers. He’s either not home or doesn’t care enough to open the door. Seconds later, the front door swings open, revealing Morgan.
“What the fuck do you want, Brielle? Did your shit being thrown all over the ground out here not show you that you aren’t welcome here?” Morgan asks as she places her hands on her hips and scoffs.
All I see is red.
I bring my fist up and punch her square in the face. The crunch of her nose breaking under my fist, and I see blood leaking through the fabric. I need to get them cleaned and bandaged properly soon.
It doesn’t take long before Chase is coming to see what all the commotion is about. He walks out to find Morgan on the ground, sobbing as she holds her nose, blood running down her face. Chase steps around her, anger on his face as he clears the distance between us, not even bothering with her.
