I let myself have one minute, telling myself it was because I’d be useless at an escape attempt when I was already so breathless. In reality, I kind of just wanted a few seconds to bask in my success and wallow in my misery.
Because it wasn’t just the effects of the drugs I was feeling. My wound in my shoulder was on fire. There was dried blood all through my bandage and down my arm. My feet were hurting. My side was sore from hip to shoulder.
Clearly, I hadn’t been completely compliant. Or I’d been grossly mishandled.
I took a small amount of comfort in the fact that I was still dressed. Well, as dressed as I’d been when I’d gone to bed. Which was only in a silky short and tank set.
But it was still on.
So at least someone hadn’t taken advantage of my unconsciousness.
With one final sharp exhale, I folded up, then carefully got to my feet.
I took a second to wrap the bracelet around my wrist and secure it with a loose bow. In case of more imprisonment, sure, but also… the bracelet was hiding that piano string, so it was strong as fuck. Not only could it saw through plastic or rope, but you could wrap it around your hands and use it to strangle someone. Would it be easy, given how thin it was? No. But it was doable. And it was the only weapon I had.
Which was what my mind was on as I hobbled around the filthy floor, trying not to fret too much about the cuts on my feet that may or may not be open still. When I got out of this, Icould worry about infection. Until then, it was low on my list of worries.
The place was pretty cleaned out, but there was a trash can toward the back corner.
I didn’t revel in the act of digging through garbage, but if there was a bottle in there, or even an aluminum can, I could fashion a weapon. I could defend myself.
The can itself was plastic. Which, yeah, if I had a week to cut it down and sand it into a shiv. But I hoped I didn’t have that kind of time.
The more I moved around, the clearer my mind was getting, like it was helping my body metabolize the lingering effects of the drugs.
So I pumped my legs as I stood over the trash can, pulling each item out one by one. Lots of paper, old food wrappers, salt packets. But also… a single plastic fork. Not a premium weapon by any stretch of the imagination. But anything could do serious damage when stabbed into the unprotected globe of someone’s eyeball.
I slid that into my waistband, then went back to the trash.
“Ugh, gross,” I grumbled as my hand met something wet and slimy.
A pile of pickles.
Like they’d been picked off that burger from the wrapper I’d already come across.
The pickles were fresh, though.
So this garbage, it was new.
Did that mean this space was operational? Was there a chance that someone might happen upon me? Or had my kidnapper simply stopped for a burger after taking me?
Whoever he was, he hated pickles.
There was a twist in my stomach at that, but I couldn’t figure out why, what about that caused that immediate reaction. Hadthere been something about this guy I’d noted before the drugs consumed my memory?
I picked up the pickles with the wrapper, twisted it up, and dropped it on the ground so I could continue on.
There were several more papers. Newspapers. Oddly crisp.
I set those aside, then continued down the trash can, finding plastic bottles for sodas, a mostly used ring of masking tape, and a keychain charm that elicited another weird sensation in my stomach.
I set it with the papers to think on later.
But when I finally got to the bottom of the trash can, all I found were… small rocks? A shit ton of small rocks.
I glanced at the soda bottles, then the pennies, then dropped down and slowly dumped the rocks into a pile.
Then I carefully shoved all the rocks into the bottle, twisted the lid on, and felt the weight of it.
