He leaves the room, and I get a second to catch my breath and wipe my lips on the back of my hand before an overweight, greasy man enters in his wake. His eyes turn hooded as they narrow in on me. I drop my eyes instantly, not wanting any more pain tonight, but I know that’s not going to happen. He sets his beer bottle to the side before walking to the window, turning his key, and opening it. I almost relish in the cool breeze that wafts over my exposed skin.Almost.
He turns and steps in front of me, pulling his pants down. His belly hangs over his tiny dick that’s now inches from my face. This thing must be two inches at the most.
At least this one shouldn’t hurt.
“As much as I’d love to taste your cunt, I don’t think I can wait,” he drawls, licking his lips.
His meaty paws pull my flimsy dress down and onto the floor, and my skin pebbles in the cool air. I resist the urge to cover myself, that will only end in pain. He grabs my arms and hoists me up. The smell of him threatens to empty my stomach. He turns me around, and his hairy, sweaty chest sticks to my back before he pushes me down on the bed, my stomach flat against the broken spring. My body turns to stone as he enters me.
I begin counting the wood panels on the wall, even though I know already how many there are. Eighty-six. What would my life be like if I weren’t here? What if I could just start again? I chide myself for my wishful thinking. There’s only one wish on my mind these days.
I need to fucking die.
I’ve been carefully watching Owen when he prepares my syringes. I know how much he gives me if he wants to knock me out, and how much he gives me if he wants me lucid. I just needto adjust the dose, and then I’m free. Free forever. I picture the syringe in my hand. I picture sinking the needle into my neck and pushing the plunger before the cold liquid burns my veins. And then peace. Forever peace.
My body surges forward as he picks up the pace. A bead of sweat drips from his forehead onto my back. I gag, but he doesn’t notice, just continues his pathetic humping. The ceiling spins slowly above me, and I focus on a crack running through the plaster. It looks like a lightning bolt. Maybe the roof will collapse one day and kill me before the syringes can.
Here’s hoping.
I don’t know how long I lie there. It could be five minutes or five hours, I don’t know. I jolt when the sound of gunshots ring out somewhere in the clubhouse. One shot. Then another. Then the sound of footsteps and shouting outside the door.
“Fuck,” the man hisses as he pulls out of me and grabs his pants.
I take the opportunity to sit up and pull on my dress. He takes a long swig of his beer and belches.
“I’ll be back, darlin’,” the man says, pulling his gun out of his holster. “Stay ready for me.”
He lumbers out the door.
I’m alone. For a moment, I don’t move, I don’t breathe.
I glance at the window and the silhouette of trees outside. My heart thumps in my chest, and my hands begin to shake. I have to do it. It might be my only shot.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and force my body to move. I step gently at first, testing to see how much noise I can make without anyone noticing, but quickly decide that speed is my only option here. I make it to the window in afew strides. Moonlight shines through the glass, and I press my cheek against it. The pounding of my heartbeat is louder than the footsteps outside.
This is your chance, Kat.
My fingers slip on the glass, slick with condensation as I fumble with the handle. I press harder, my wrists trembling and my legs shaking. The old floorboards creak under my weight, and I hold my breath. I wait for someone, anyone, to notice.
Seconds stretch into minutes before I try again. Finally, the window slides up far enough that I can push myself through. My bare feet hit the damp grass, and I stumble forward, inhaling the forest air. The wet earth and pine scent burns my lungs, but I can’t stop. My legs find their rhythm, and I’m running towards the desolate darkness outside.
I don’t think. I just run.
The clubhouse is in a secluded area of the forest. There’s nothing around for miles. The area would usually be heavily patrolled, but everyone is inside dealing with the shootout. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t care if I get caught. Hopefully, they’ll kill me on the spot.
My breathing is heavy as I make it to the trees. My feet burn with the cold, pine needles biting into my skin, but I keep going. Keep running towards the life I want. The life I need.
Branches claw at me, tearing my dress until there’s almost nothing left. Pain bites, but I barely notice. I don’t stop. Every muscle is on fire, and every instinct screams at me to keep moving. My foot catches a root and twists. I fall hard, smacking my shoulder against the forest floor. Cold soaks through what little clothing I have left. I can’t feel my feet. I taste dirt and blood. I spit and scramble forward. I can’t stop.
I dart through the trees, weaving between trunks as branches snag my hair and tear at my arms. My ears strain against my heavy breathing for a sound—any sound—of pursuit. But there’s nothing. Maybe they’re all dead. Maybe they’ve all shot each other. Maybe not. I don’t give myself a chance to contemplate. I need to focus on what’s in front of me.
My lungs scream for air, and my legs push me uphill through the underbrush, over rocks, through mud. My bare feet are shredded and bleeding, but I ignore them, add them to the list of body parts that are broken. I’ve studied the maps for long enough to know that if I keep heading north, I’ll hit a road eventually.
I glance up at the sky. The moonlight cuts silver streaks through the treetops, but in the middle of it all, the north star is a beacon of hope as I keep running.
Gunfire echoes in the distance. I swear it should sound further away than that. I push down the thought and force myself forward, slipping low through the branches. Twigs snap, branches claw at my face, and mud slaps against my legs. I hear shouting now. Far away, but the fact that I can hear it sends my adrenaline spiking even higher.
I finally emerge from the forest and onto a gravel path. I collapse onto my hands and knees, my stomach threatening to empty. Blood, mud, and sweat swirl under my palms as my chest heaves. My body is screaming, begging me to stop, but I can’t afford to listen to it. My mind occupies only a single thought.
