#dark chris

Even with a paper map, it’s too dark to read the tiny lines and letters. You pull over to turn on the cabin light and pore over the unfamiliar roads and ways and points. It’s not any help when you lost yourself an hour ago. The signs out here don’t have the same reflective coating as the main highways and are often hidden behind overgrown leaves.

You sigh and squint closer, hoping that you miraculously find yourself in the print. You fold it up haphazardly and drop it in the passenger seat, next to the empty bottle of water and wrappers. It’s not like you want to get where you’re going. Family reunions aren’t always happy reconciliations.

All you can do is keep driving and hope for a beacon of life. You grip the wheel tight as you roll steady but cautiously down the dusty backroad. Your intent to avoid the chaos of busy highways has backfired. You were prepared for a few extra hours of driving but not for the intense void of the country night.

Ahead, you spot a dull glow. You can’t quite make it out until you’re nearly right beside it. You stop and blink at the lit sign of the bar. Only two of the bulbs on the moniker flicker and shadows flood the lot outside the grim windows.

You pull in. If there’s life inside, they have to at least know where you are. You run your hands over your head and exhale out your anxiety. You shut the engine off and grab the map. As you get out, you tuck your keys in your pocket. It’s only then, you notice the line of motorcycles propped up closer to the walls.

You sniff as your soles crunch over the gravel. As you near the door, it opens from the other side. A man stumbles out, barely missing you as you catch the door and sidestep him. He grumbles and struggles to catch a flame on his lighter as he clamps a cigarette between his lips.

You slide inside before he can notice you. Inside, the low drone of classic rock wafts in the air and the clack of pool balls bounce. Glasses clink and bottles thump onto the bar. You glance around at the leather vests and tattooed arms. Oh boy.

You clear your throat and unfold the map as you approach the bar, using the paper to calm yourself. You look at the bar tender on the other side, a grey handlebar drooping around his lips. You lay down the map.

“Hi, er…” you pause and resist the urge to glance around a second time. “I was hoping you could help me out with some direction… please.”

You try not to let your paranoia get the best of you. Besides, you’re not some Cali blond or college girl waltzing in. You’re a grown woman with time creased in her forehead and nestled above her jeans. Your faded denim and loose tea suggest soccer mom more than bombshell.

The bartender scowls and leans in. He curls his lip as he eyes the map. You shift uneasily.

“Goin’ north or south?”

“South,” you answer. “Just trying to find my way back to the highway.”

“Quite the detour,” he growls.

“Right. Well, I’d appreciate it if you could send me off in the right direction or even help me backtrack. I just need to know where I am.”

He lifts his head and his eyes flit side to side. His lips slant. “You’re in the wrong place, honey.”

A chill runs up your spine as you sense a presence behind you. You turn and face a man glaring you down. You swallow tightly. His head is shaved, he has a thick goatee, and deep blue eyes. He wears a faded leather vest over a sleeveless flannel with the top three buttons undone, exposing tattoos over his chest, neck, and arms.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He puts his hands on his hips. A rabble of men chuckle as they watch. “Looking for a hotel? I got somewhere you can sleep.”

You stiffen and feel along the hem of your shirt. Shit. You push two fingers into your pocket, feeling your keys. They’re sharp enough… you just need to move fast.

“Now, you don’t want to be reaching like that,” he warns as he steps closer.

“I’m just looking to go. I’m passing through. That’s it.” You say.

It’s then that you realise the stillness of the place. The music is gone and everyone sits, unmoving, intent on you and that man.

“If you want to leave, go ahead and see how far you get.” He crosses his arms, his shoulders bulging.

You stare at him. Your chest flutters and your fingers tingle coldly. Adrenaline flows through you as your heart hammers.

He smirks and leans in. “Trust me, I’m the nicest guy in the place so be happy it’s not these other bastards in your face.”

Your lip quivers. “Please… I just want to go.”

He snickers and steps closer. He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on your sides. You latch onto his wrists and squirm.

Breanna is beside you, with Mike. Again. They have this cycle and you get to hear about it every time it inevitably runs its course. You could draw a chart showing the stages of the toxic on-again, off-again disaster.

“Hey,” you poke her arm as Mike extends his arm over her shoulder and loom above her. “You wanna get some air?”

“Babe,” she doesn’t look away from Mike. “You go. I’ll find you later.” She chews the brim of her red cup as she eye fucks him and he feels up her side. Alright, you’re really not into voyeurism.

You quickly dash away and barely dodge out of the way of three guys you recognise from Rusty’s; the local bar where Breanna loves to drink and dance. Those seem to be her only hobbies. Everyone here is vaguely familiar. That’s just how small towns are.

You wait for the path to clear then head for the door. Shit. Breanna still has your keys. You look back and groan. No way you’re getting them right now and with Mike all over her, you’re not entirely sure when you will.

Whatever.

You turn back and a lukewarm splash soaks your front. You look down as the beer stains your flannel and you gasp. You look up at the culprit as he gapes at you through thick lenses. You know him. You sat next to him in calculus years ago.

“Jake!” You hiss.

He grins and wobbles. “Oops. Sorry.” He’s drunk. You’ll be hard up to find one person here who isn’t. “Want me… clean it up?”

He reaches and you barely avoid his reach as he nearly gets a handful of your chest. What the hell? You shove his arm away and growl.

“Get away.” You snarl and quickly scurry by him.

You escape through the door and into the night air. The breeze chills you as the beer cools on the flannel and the smell makes you nauseous. Goddammit. 

You hate this stupid town. What luck that you were born here. That alone is enough to guarantee you’ll die there.

You tramp up to the top step and sit. You look down and pull the fabric away from your chest. You’d love to go home and get a clean one. Better yet, stay there, but Breanna entrapped you. She’s a sneaky one and you need to start being less trusting. You should’ve learned that lesson well before this.

You grumble and shift, letting the shirt hang damply on your torso. At least it’s not a nice shirt. Do you really have any of those?

The screen door whines on it hinges. You don’t look back. That would just be an invitation for conversation. You keep your arms crossed over your knees and stare at the street.

Footsteps near and a shadow rolls over you. A figure stops on the top step and steps down one. They sit and nudge you with their elbow.

“‘Ere you go.” He holds out a folded tee shirt.

You know by the rings who it is. That man who greeted you on the porch and caught you as an accessory to Breanna’s crime. You sigh.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug.

“Saw what happened. You want me to drag that idiot out?” He offers as he lays the shirt on your folded arms. 

You growl. “Don’t care. It’s your place.”

He snorts. “I would. For you. Say the word.”

You sigh. You look at the shirt. The wet flannel chafes on your skin.

“I should go.” You stand up and turn. You put the shirt on his knee. “I gotta find Breanna.”

“Good luck, here and Mike just snuck out back.” He chuckles. “They’ll find somewhere to… reunite.”

You huff again and stare at the glowing windows. You really don’t want to go back inside. You sniff and scowl.

“You don’t wanna be here, so why don’t you leave?” He stands.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “She has my keys.”

He laughs again. “Ah, yep. She’s got her little tricks, doesn’t she? Last time she came to one of these things, she got more than the tequila.” He drapes the shirt on your shoulder. “You see her with a silver chain with a little piece of onyx on it, tell her I want it back.”

“I’m not her keeper.” You snip.

“Oh no. You keep to yourself. Don’t ya?” He drags his fingers down the shirt, tickling you through it.

You recoil and face him. He tilts his head.

“Look, the beer’s gonna make that scratchy as hell. And you smell like a brewery floor. It’s just a shirt.”

You stare at him.

“I’ll even escort you, all gentleman like to the bathroom. You can change in there… or out here. I’m open to either.” He clicks his tongue and the porch light catches his wink.

“Ugh. Whatever.” You snatch the shirt off your shoulder. “Thanks.”

You stomp across the porch and he follows. He opens the door before you can and waves you inside. He points you down the hall. He stays close, shoving away a few clumsy guests.

“In there.” He directs you to the closed door.

You knock but there’s no answer. You turn the handle and push inside. You’re greeted by the sight of a bare ass above denim, long legs splayed around the man’s hips. As he ruts, you get a glimpse of Breanna’s open mouth as she clings to his shoulders. Jesus!

You snap the door shut and back up, pressing against Chris as he stands right behind you. He cackles.

“Oops, guess they found somewhere…”

You pull away from him. You spin and glare. “Is there somewhere else I can change?”

“Sure, baby girl.” He points with his thumb. “I’ll take you to the luxury suite.”

You furrow your nose. He smirks. He leads you to the stairs and points you upward. He waits for you to go first. You have a bad feeling as you ascend. He could easily corner you up there, away from everyone. No one would hear it, either.

You stop sharply at the top and he collides with you. He grabs your hips to steady himself and exhales over you. His voice rumbles in his throat and chest.

“Straight ahead, baby girl.”

“Stop calling me that,” you tear away from him.

He laughs again. Loudly. You stomp ahead and push through the door at the end of the hall. You slam the door before he can catch up. He’s still laughing.

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

“Sure,” you say, picking at the loose button on the front of your flannel shirt. It’s about to fall off, leaving a patch of your tummy slightly exposed.

“Don’t be a sour puss. Gah, you need to get out.” She elbows you as you walk up the cracked pavement.

“Who’s place are we even going to?” You squint down the street, yellow streetlights speckling to a cluster.

“Oh, just this guy I know.” She says.

“Uh huh. You know too many people.”

“Nuh uh! You’re lucky to know me,” she taunts. “Now loosen up. First thing’s first.” She turns down a walk and grabs onto your arm. “We’re getting you a drink. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a thanks out of you.

“Thanks? For what?” You scoff.

“How about including you? Of bringing you to the hottest party in town? To doing you a favour by getting you out of that apartment.”

“My apartment has books and warm blankets. It sounds a lot better than…” you let your voice trail off as you stare up at the house ahead of you. Music throbs through the walls and the windows glow as figures paint the curtains. “Whatever’s going on here.”

She guffaws. “Ha, you’re so adorable, you know that?”

You shake your head. She always teases you. You like Breanna, she balances you out, but sometimes she just doesn’t listen. You told her you weren’t interested. You even tried to shut the door on her. She burst in and grabbed your keys and ran off with them until you chased her. You still haven’t got them back.

You grumble but don’t feed into her energy. She yanks you up the steps and hammers on the screen door. The smell of weed churns your guts. You grimace as bugs swarm around the porch light.

“Bre,” a rocky voice startles you. You only notice the shadow sitting on the bench then.

He’s off against the far railing, smoke wafting away from him. You shift and try to hide behind Breanna. She turns and gives a bounce.

“Hey, Chrissy,” she sings. “We’re late.”

“No such thing.” He leans forward and turns the joint between his fingers. “We’re? You brought a friend?”

You squirm, uncomfortably. Great, another place no one wants you around. This is why you keep to yourself. You wouldn’t be such a bummer if you were wanted. Or if you even wanted to be there.

“Didn’t I mention? Thought you wouldn’t mind. She’s a real doll,” she giggles. “Promise, she won’t get in the way.”

“Ain’t worried about her,” he sits up and takes a long drag. He rolls it out over his tongue. “I know you, Bre. Stay out of the tequila.”

“If I find it, it’s fair game,” she chirps back. She latches onto you again as she pulls open the door, “see you inside, big boy.”

You let her take you inside away from the skunky stench. You’re no prude. People can drink and smoke but you really hate the smell.

There’s no escape through the front door. The raucous uproar competing with the bassy music makes you dizzy. You barely dodge away from another body as Breanna keeps hold of you. She pulls you through the groups of people yammering on and to the cooler at the far side of the room.

She lets you go and flips the cooler open. “Damn, all he ever has is beer,” she drops the lid back down. She stands up and huffs. “It’s alright. I know where he hides the good stuff.”

“Um… should we have brought something?” You ask. It’s not your fault you didn’t. You weren’t planning on all this.

“Whatever, come on,” she snatches your hand again and hauls you across the room.

“Bre Bre,” someone calls and she stops. 

She releases you and wiggles in excitement as she greets Layna. Great. She’s not your favourite person in the world.

“Lay!” Breanna pulls her into a hug. “I thought you were out of town.”

“Nah, plans fell through…” she winks.

“That’s too bad,” Breanna sticks her tongue out. “Oh, what are you drinking?”

“Ah!” Layna holds her bright pink can away from Breanna. “You’re not sharing. You don’t share. You always take too much.”

Breanna just laughs. “Whatever. We’re going to raid the place anyway.”

Layna cackles and Breanna latches on for a third time. You want to shake her off but the alternative is not much more appealing. You don’t want to be stranded among these people alone.

She takes you down the hall and into a mudroom. You peer back through the door. She lets you go and you cross your arms.

“You sure we should be in here, Bre? We can go grab something at the corner store–”

“Shhh!” She waves you off as she crosses the room. “I got it.”

He goes to a shelf and slides a rusty old tool box off. She puts it on the wooden table beneath and flips the lid. She furrows her brow at the insides.

“What the hell?” She picks up a wrench. She puts it back and lifts up the tray and looks beneath. “Shit!”

“Fool me once.” A gritty voice startles you. You turn as the man from the front porch steps through the door. “Bre, if you’re looking to let off some steam, I got some good bud.”

“I don’t feel like smoking. I want tequila. Oh, or gin.”

He snorts. “You should’ve brought some.”

“Chrissy, don’t be so mean.” She traipses over to him.

“Mean? Now, Bre, I got no problem being generous but you also got no problem biting the hand that feeds.” He squares his shoulders. “So go on and have a beer if you’re thirsty.”

She curls her lip. “Boooo.”

She drops her arms straight and hunches, stomping out like a spoiled child. You hesitate then try to sneak out after her. He stretches his arm in front of you. Blocking you from your exit.

“Hey, didn’t get a name.” He offers his hand. “Chris.”

You stare at his open collar. His sleeveless flannel exposes his tattoos. His fingers are decked out in rings and there’s a skull emblem on the chain around his neck. It’s not really your aesthetic.

“I know I wasn’t invited.” You say brusquely. “You don’t gotta do all that.”

When at last you're still, you're not soothed. The rumble of the engine quiets but remains on your bones. Your teeth feel like they're chattering even as they're dulled by the rag nearly gagging you.

A door creaks, the swing of it shifting the entire truck. Soles crunch on the ground and another pair land heavily. A large sigh accompanies the third.

"The fuck, Captain. This is what you got?" One grits at the other. You think it's him. The one from the store.

"I told ya, it wasn't much." Another man responds.

The odd jingle of metal underlined their conversation and scuffling. You squirm. What is that? It's sniffing? The small puffs of breath are eerie as you struggle to discern one sound from another.

"Yeah, but I thought you were under playing it," the other scoffs.

"We'll make due," the third intoned with a note of agitation. "Enough."

"Snow, come on," the first man scoffs.

"Destroyer," the other derides. Are those their names? They can't be real... Better you not know their real ones

"The door lock?" Destroyer asks. Their tones are easier to pick apart as the conversation goes on.

"Yeah, here, I'll show ya." The one they call Captain has a drawl that makes him easiest to recognise.

There's a squeak and a click. Mocking laughter tears out. The third man sighs.

"A grade schooler could break that shit," Destroyer snorts.

"But we'll be here." The Captain argues.

"Mostly," Snow sniffs. "Even with a stronger lock..."

"Keep her tied up..."

"Sure, but not forever," Destroyer clucks.

Silence. Finally a throat clears. The Captain speaks. "There is another idea..."

"Can't be much worse than this." Destroyer chortles.

There footfalls hammer on unseen steps. At least, that's what you imagine. It's quite jarring to build a scene from sound alone.

You jerk against the straps. They're too tight, too thick. You whine and something taps on the bumper. There's scratching at on the metal.

"Aika!" A booming voice starts you.

Claws drag off the bumper and kick through the stones. It must be a dog. Shoot. That's not good.

The truck bed door opens. The air rushes in and you savour it. Only for a moment as you're pinned by your shoulders and the straps are unhooked. Another pair of hands latches onto your ankles and you're angled out of the truck bed. The two men carry you without mind to your wriggling. They're much too strong.

Panic surges and the blindfold dampens with your tears. You garble around the gag and shiver against the heat of their bodies. You can smell their sweat.

"Fucking shit," one mutters so low you can't make out which.

You're carried up three steps and the ground shifts under the weight of the three of you. Metal whines as a cold nose brushes your elbow. The dog is big.

A whistle and the canine retreats. You're lowered and one man tucks your head down. You try to kick and hit metal. You press your feet on the barrier. Bars!

You're shoved one last time as you're crammed into the right space. You pushed back with your shoulders but there's no give. You jerk your body against the walls.

"Hey, you don't do that," Destroyer warns right behind your ear. "You get yourself calm and we'll take that tape off."

You sneer around the fabric. Fuck you. It's nothing but gibberish.

You wallow in darkness, only able to listen as your wrists and ankles chafe. That question, why you, doesn't matter anymore. You're here and you're stuck with whoever these psychos are.

"Kinda grim, don't you think." Destroyer comments.

"We'll figure something else out." Snow insists. "My neck is so damn stiff."

"She won't be in there long, will she?" Captain asks.

"It was your damn idea," Destroyer accuses.

"Yeah, but looking at her like that..."

"You said you had a house. This is a goddamn trailer. The walls are paper. So, she stays in there until you, yeah you, fix this." Destroyer snarls. "Big fucking lump like you acting like some scared bunny. Start fucking thinking, bud."

The other sighs. Silence pervades the already humid space. Someone sits, another paces, and the third taps his fingers.

A rippling growl rolls through. Another sigh responds.

"Sorry, y'all. I'm hungry. Haven't eaten... Been too anxious," Captain mutters.

You kick the cage and thrash. He's hungry?! He's anxious?!

One chuckles. His voice confirms his identity. "Think she's hungry too." Destroyer snorts.

"Probably." Snow contends evenly. "Captain, you got supplies at least."

"Everything on the list." The other man affirms.

"Well, hell, you finally did something right," Destroyer hisses.

You still and growl around the gag. There's movement. Some shuffling, something dragging

Several beeps sound before the familiar hum of a microwave fills the air. When it times out, the door pops open. A savoury smell tickles your nose and floods your empty stomach.

Footsteps near and you sense someone closer, right on the other side of the bars. They set down something light.

"I'm gonna take the gag out. You're not going to bite or spit." Snow warns. "Just eat."

You don't respond. Not one move. He exhales.

"Closer," he taps the bars.

Stiffly, you slump over. Your stomach clenches violently. The sun and adrenaline forms a pit in your gut. He punched the end of the cloth poking out between your lips. He tugs until it's free. Your mouth is coarse and dry.

"Chicken Alfredo." He declares. "Face right. Open your mouth."

You hesitate but do as he bids. He blows before he gently places the fork against your lower lip. He slides it into your mouth and you suck the bland sauce and overcooked chicken off. The noodles are slightly crunchy.

You continue on like that. You've eaten worse and you're too starving to care. There's another set of steps behind you.

"I like the way she does that," Destroyer purrs over you.

You bite down and chew with lips sealed. Your insides boil. No longer desperate, you're angry.

You spit the food blindly back at Snow and once more raise your feet, slamming them into the bars.

"Creeps!" You holler. "Let me out of this thing!"

"Now, sweetheart, you wanna stop all that," Destroyer warns.

Snow snarls. "You couldn't just let her eat."

"How's it my fault? She's the one spat in your face."

"Y'all, we don't gotta fight," Captain says. "Please."

"Oh shut the fuck up," Destroyer barks. "You brought us out to this shit hole on false pretenses--"

"Get me out!" You slam your feet again and chant, "out! Out! Out!"

"Last warning, sweetheart," Destroyer warns.

You don't stop. Your voice tears from your lungs and you keep your feet kicking.

"Snow," Destroyer utters.

You don't hear a response but you feel it. Cold water crashes down on you. Soaking you through. You cry out as a puddle forms in the tray beneath you.

"What the shit?" You exclaim, teeth chattering.

"The next will be boiling," Snow says flatly, as if it isn't a threat at all.

You gasp and still. You wriggle in the bonds and only cause the bars to dig more into your back. You groan and go limp.

"You guys suck."

"Be good, sweetheart, and it won't be that bad," Destroyer taunts.

🔒

"Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?" Destroyer growls.

"The couch pulls out.... Table folds down..." Captain answers meekly.

"No fucking bed?"

"In the room but--“

"Dibs." Destroyer chimes. His weight groans in the floor.

"Guess I'll take the couch," Captain drawls.

The other man grunts. You just sit there, bent up in the cage, helpless. What can you do or say?

As the men settle in and the crickets begins their nightly chorus, you grow despondent. The world faded behind the blindfold. You could laugh or cry. How many years did you say to yourself, things can't get worse. A mother who doesn't love you, a ratty old house, no money...

You did the impossible. You stumbled headfirst into worse. You won't ever ask the question again. You can think exactly of how this can get worse.

You don't sleep. You're tired but you have no hope of rest. Your fear keeps you awake. Even if you can't see, you can't let yourself close your eyes.

There's snoring, maybe one or all of the men. It's incessant. You're further agitated by it.

A cough breaks the rhythm. You tense. You hear one of them moving. He clears his throat and heaves a deep breath.

As he rises, the floor seems to move. He must be the big one. What does it matter?

You feel him as he nears. You focus on staying still. Maybe he'll think your sleeping. He groans as you feel his grip on the cage as he lowers himself.

"I can't sleep." He whispers. "I'm real sorry, sugar. 'Bout the cage." He sniffs. "I know you ain't no dog. I don't even put Aika in it. I just...." He tuts. "I feel real awful, is all."

You snort.

"Sugar?" He whispers.

"If you feel bad, why don't you let me out?" You sneer.

"You gotta be quiet. You'll wake the others. They won't want me talking to ya. Not yet," he coaxes.

"Then I don't wanna talk to you either," you hiss. "Piss off."

"Now, you don't gotta be mean."

"Mean?!" Your voice piques. "I'm in a cage!"

He hushes you but it's too late. The snoring is gone.

"What're you doing?" Snow's voice is gravelly. "Leave her alone."

"I was just checking on her," the man grunts. "I sweat. She seemed lonely."

"There are rules." Snow says. "No talking. Not right now."

"It ain't fair, her being in the cage-"

"Go back to sleep," Snow orders. "Too tired for your nonsense."

The Captain sighs. He drags himself back to bed and a series of cracks makes you wonder if he won't break whatever's under him. You hear the dog tags and quiet sniffling. Not your problem. Nope, you're more concerned about the cage around you.

Another lull dips. It's not long before the snoring rises again. Good for them. They are sleeping so nice and happily while they got you locked up like an animal.

Well, you'll do something about that. As you open your mouth, you choke on your screech. Your voice fizzles as something tickles your wrist. A hand squeezes your fingers and shushes you.

"Don't be making any noise," the whisper scrapes through the silence. "Or I'll break em."

You wince and obey. His grip is enough to convince you. You don't move at all.

Something comes up behind you and toys with your hair between the bars. As he hums, you're assured of your visitor. It's him. Destroyer. The man who started it all in that corner store.

"You're real pretty. Can treat you right if you do the same in return," he rasps.

You don't respond. Your pulse is racing.

"Say please and I'll bring you out for the night. You can sleep with me, sweetheart." He purrs.

You swallow and bite down. You let your head fall forward. He's quiet, petting your fingers with his thumb.

"Wouldn't do nothing yet... Be our secret." He says.

You snort and rip your hand away. You kick the cage and spit on his direction. You tilt your head back and roar.

"Let me the fuck OUT!" You kick and kick again. You continue to holler until the cage is rattling loudly.

"You too," Snow snarls. "Christ."

The door behind you falls away. You don't expect it. It doesn't matter. A knee pins your shoulder and a hand on the other.

"Give me a rag." Snow barks.

He shoves another wad into your mouth. You bite down and feel his finger pinch. He snarls and flicks your ear. You moan.

“What?”

The old one? I’ll hang it out for you.” He insists.

“Oh, uh,” you turn back. You don’t know how you forgot.

You grab it from where you slung it from the bed post. He fills the doorway as you face him again. He crosses his arms, muscles bulging as he pushes his fists into his biceps. You cross to him.

“You can probably toss it.” You say. “It’s old.”

“Uh huh.” He reaches to take it from you. “That mean you wanna keep mine?”

“Um. No. I’ll send it back with Breanna.” You shrug.

He lets the wet shirt hang from his hands. He looks it up and down. His cheek dimples. His eyes flick up to you.

“You look good in it.” He slithers.

You shift and look around. You can’t get by him. “Can I… get out?”

“You don’t wanna hang around? Quiet up here.” He steps closer.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Nah? We could chill. Shoot the shit.”

“I don’t even know you.” You argue.

“You could get to know me. Fine, you wanna go outside? We can light up and work on this whole… stranger thing.”

“I don’t smoke.”

He scoffs. “Maybe you should try.” He puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “You needa relax, baby girl. It’s a party.”

You stare at him. Heat creeps up your neck and cheeks. You push his hand off you. He snorts and lets his fingers flutter.

“Fine, let’s go hang this.”

He turns and struts away. You should call it a loss. The shirt, your keys, whatever. You’ll go sleep in the lobby of your building until the landlord gets in.

He gets to the stairs before you move. You close the bedroom door and traipse after him. He goes outside and drapes your shirt across the porch railing. You don’t stop. You keep going, stomping down the steps and down the walk.

“Woah, where y’off too, baby girl?”

You hate that. You're not a baby or a girl. You're done with him and all this.

“Home.”

“What about your keys?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you shrug.

He follows you. You keep walking. He catches up to you and you go faster.

“Shouldn’t be out here alone. ‘Specially when you got nowhere to go.”

“Why do you care?” You shake your head.

“Why don’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “Shouldn’t you go back to your party?”

“It’s kinda boring. But you’re not.”

You snort. He chuckles.

“I mean it.”

“Sure,” you say dully.

“You don’t like parties. Don’t drink, don’t smoke.” He drawls. “How the hell are you friends with Bre?”

You’re starting to ask yourself the same thing. You’re not like these people. You don’t think they’re fun or interesting. Who wants to live their life chasing their next buzz?

“She stole from you. How are you her friend?”

“She came to a party. That don’t mean shit.” He counters.

“No, it doesn’t,” you stop at the corner and face him.

He snickers. “You’re cute.”

You frown. “You’re not.”

He laughs louder. You sigh.

“I think I can make it from here. Thanks.” You wave him off. “Have fun cleaning up after those idiots.”

“It’s all worth it.” He says. “I got to meet the most interesting person in this shithole.”

You grumble and turn away. You take cautious steps, ready to turn back and tell him off again. He doesn’t follow.

You keep going till you get to the next corner. He’s still there, under the street light, watching you. You quickly hurry out of his sight and don’t stop until the chill leaves your spine.

Once you get your keys back from Breanna, you’re putting her on time out. She’s not going to treat you like one of her toys. You’re not Mike. You’re not going to keep going back to be tossed out as soon as she finds someone more interesting.

🖤

Your landlord charges thirty bucks for the new key. You pay it just to be done with it all. You don’t have time to sit and boil in your agitation. You have stuff to do.

Laundry. Well, unfortunately, your laundry fob is on your keyring. That means you need to go get your shit back.

You text Breanna. No answer. You huff and go to her building. She doesn’t answer the buzzer. You sneak in after an old lady with her yappy terrier.

You hammer on Breanna’s door and call her name. You stop when a neighbour comes out and tells you to shut the fuck up. Another pokes their head out to inform you that she never came home. Great, she’s probably at Mike’s.

You leave. How much is that asshole grifter going to charge you to replace the laundry room fob? You’ll just get some change and drag your stuff to the laundromat.

You go home and fill a duffel with clothes and pocket a handful of change. You spend the morning watching the rumbling machines toss your laundry. Your head is pounding with the lack of sleep.

You get home and dump your clothes on the couch without folding them. You slink to bed and fall asleep face down. You don’t wake until shadows dim the walls. You  rub your eyes and sit up. You check your phone. Still no answer from Breanna.

You make coffee and drink it at the table. You know better but you’re so damn foggy. Your whole sleep pattern is off now and you’ll be a horrid bitch at work tomorrow.

You fold your laundry and put it away. Still no reply. You try calling Bre. It goes straight to voicemail. Either her battery is dead or she’s ignoring you on purpose.

Whatever, if she wants to be mad at you because you didn’t stick around to wait for her, that’s on her. She ditched you and seemed all too happy to do so. If she wants to fuck around with Mike, then she can be his problem, not hers.

You send her a text. ‘Bring my keys off, then you can ignore me.’

You plug in your phone and grab your book. You’re just going to forget all about it. As far as you’re concerned, you never stopped reading. You slip right back into the narrative.