11
Chapter Eleven
SIN
I knew this was a badidea. Shit. I'm dragging this guy out while getting blows to face and chest. Trying my hardest to focus through this relentless dizziness I've been experiencing, I swing the guy into the last set of bars, forcing his head against the metal. Adrenaline finally kicks in and I shove him over and over again. I kick him in the gut, forcing him to the ground. With my boot pressed against his neck, I wait for the struggle to stop. Screw this guy and his timely death; I'm killing the bastard now.
Reese's whispering voice echoes through the hall and I wish she would keep quiet for the moment. I don't want to stir up more of the prisoners. While most of the cell doors are locked shut, there are a few of us who have learned methods of escape. Clearly, this dickwad was one of them. But so was I.
The guy hasn't moved in over sixty seconds and I lean down to feel for a pulse. Nothing. I give him one more kick just for the shit he said to Reese on the way in. "Hey, help me out of here, man!" A voice booms from one of the nearby cells.
"Yeah, me too. How the hell did you get out?" another one shouts.
Both of the men lean up against their respective bars, both of them I recognize since we were in Applebrook together.
Kelter, the asshole in the nearest cell, murdered his wife with a butcher knife because she wouldn't stop singing some stupid song. I guess she was up early one morning making him breakfast or something while singing that song. Evidently, something snapped in Kelter’s head. He grabbed the knife and stabbed her forty-eight times. He told me he can't recall wanting to kill her, and he doesn't even remember stabbing her, but the evidence was there. He pleaded insanity and now he's here with us. Bottom line, I ain't helping this guy out.
I walk back toward the cell I threw Reese into, noticing she's quieted down. Maybe she heard the scuffle. Little miss tough girl probably isn't feeling so tough right now I take it. Both guys continue to yell for me to help them as I find Reese's cell. I swing the door open and walk in, feeling around for where she is. I can't see past four feet from the entrance because we're not gifted with the grace of light in here. It's supposed to be a form of torture, and it is. "Reese?"
I hear her move around until I feel her hand around my arm. She doesn't say anything, and that's a good thing. We need to get the hell out of here without stirring up any more trouble. As we're halfway down the hall, another wave of nausea overwhelms me. Dammit, this has to stop. I suck in a slow, deep breath, willing away the urge to vomit. It passes quickly this time and I finally reach the main door. I kick it open and drag the still quiet Reese outdoors into the overwhelmingly bright sunlight.
Pulling her away from the building and down the slight decline to a flatter area, I turn her to face me. "You okay?" Her doe-like stare oozes with fear. With everything we've been through so far, it hasn't once made her quit yapping. Something's stirring in her eyes this time though. "Reese, say something." She's still clutching the medical supplies in her hand, but her eyes don't blink when I urge her to talk. Shit. "Reese, baby."Baby?What the hell has this chick done to me? I'm screwed.
"I don't like the dark," she whispers. "I just need light."
"We're outside now. You have light, and it's bright as hell out."
"I don't like the dark," she says again.
I kneel down before her, pulling her down with me. "I need you to snap out of it now. You're not being locked back up. We're outside and it's light out. You're okay."We're definitely not okay."Look at me, Reese." She's doing her best to avoid eye contact, keeping her gaze locked on the dirt below us.
"I can't do this," she says softly. "I can't. I'm not strong enough."
"Screw that. You're strong as hell. You've saved my ass and you nearly killed the biggest asshole on this compound. Don't you for one second think you aren't strong enough to survive this hell." This weakness I'm seeing in her right now is killing me a little. I knew what she had been hiding. She's damn good at putting on a front. She makes it easy to forget she had been locked up in a dark shed for three years, but I know it screwed with her head, and it isn't something anyone could just come back from in a couple of days. I’m well aware I've been insensitive as hell with her, but she needs to be tough to survive this, or we're both going down.
"Where is that strong, feisty girl I've come to know? What do I have to do to bring her back? That girl, she's a goddamn survivor." She finally glances back up at me and her focus is directly on my eyes this time, rather than staring right through me.
"I'm scared, and I want to go home. I don't know who I am—whether that's strong or weak. I just want this nightmare to end."
"So do I, and we're going to make that happen, but I need you to focus." Another surge of weakness takes me down again. It's like waves of heaviness washing through me, making my head feel like it's a lead balloon. I fall back and bring my knees into my chest so I can rest my head for a minute.
"Sin?" she says. "I need to fix your head now."
"Not here," I tell her. "We need to get back to the tree line so we're not out in the open." She offers me her hand as if she's strong enough to lift me up. Giving into her sentiment, I take her hand and stand up alongside her. "This way." Sweat is dripping down the back of my neck and the pain in my head is growing by the second. "Do you have those painkillers I gave you?"
She fumbles through the stuff in her hands and hands me a small, white packet. I rip it open and toss the contents into my mouth, struggling to swallow it with how dry my throat is.
As we approach the tree line, I lead her through a dozen rows of trees before I drop down against one. The sun is starting to set and there's a thick haze creeping in. "Turn around," she says.
"Have you used a needle and thread before?" I ask her. Not that I even care at this point. I just need the bleeding to stop.
"My mother's a nurse, remember? She's stitched me up a few times. I'll be careful." She rips apart an alcohol swab and cleans her hands with it. Then opens another package and cleans the wound on my head. I grit my teeth, holding in the obscenities fighting their way out.
Goddamn.
What I wouldn't give for a beer right now. I've forgotten what it even tastes like. It's been four years since I illegally enjoyed the cool, amber liquid. I sat inside of that rotting cell during my twenty-first birthday, and now at twenty-two, it looks like I may never get to enjoy a legal drink. That should be the last thing I'm worried about right now, but if I think of anything else, I'm going to feel the damn needle piercing through my flesh. What else can I focus on? Ugh, this sucks. Her hands—they're cool and soft and I want to feel them on other parts of me. I shouldn't be thinking this either, but the hell with it. "Almost done," she says. My heart is pounding in my head and the pain is incredible, even worse now than before she started. "You're a good patient. She takes the alcohol swab and cleans up the base of my neck, where I assume blood has pooled. "You're all set. Good as new."
I let out the breath I've been holding in and spin around to face her, watching as she cleans up the mess. Her hair is falling loosely over her face and her skin is a dark pink from the sun. Freckles have covered her skin over the past day, and now she kind of looks like a deserted island girl. "You're beautiful," I tell her.
