| |
Friday
Dusty hadn’t brought back the bucket, so Mia was forced to use the far corner of her room as the toilet. But he’d left the food bag and her clothes, so as soon as she could move again, she ripped off the negligee and dressed in her clothes, which were a bit cleaner now. It didn’t matter that her jeans and T-shirt were wet. Everything in the room was soaked.
She ate every scrap of food from the bag even though she had to lick the soggy messes off the papers they were wrapped in.
As her prison grew pitch black again, she worked feverishly at the table leg, and almost broke into a cheer when the thing finally snapped off.
“Yes!” She brandished it over her head and then took a few practice swings. One hit the wall with a satisfying thunk.
She felt her way to the door and got into striking position, the table leg over her shoulder like a baseball bat. The cold wetness of her clothing helped to keep her awake. She didn’t know how many hours passed while she crouched there, envisioning smashing Dusty’s head. When the door opened and the flashlight beamed in, she tensed her muscles and blinked as fast as she could to adjust her eyes. Dusty had only begun to say something when she smacked the table leg into his face.
He staggered backward through the open door, falling on his back. She leapt over him, tossing away the table leg as she ran, racing for the opening she could see at the far end of the cavernous barn.
Once through that doorway, she would find a road, other people, woods, anything. She kicked out, she pumped her arms. She was doing it.
She was escaping.
She was going to be free.
Mia was within a yard of the opening when she was hit from behind and slammed facedown in the dirt. She bit her tongue.
Dusty clamped his hands around one ankle. Mia kicked and screamed, but he dragged her by her leg, banging her head across the uneven ground, grinding dirt into her hair and skin, scooping it up under her shirt.
He dragged her back across the threshold of her prison. Instead of shocking her this time or even throwing her on the bed, he jerked her up from the ground and grabbed her around the throat, holding her against the wall.
“Why don’t you beg?” he snarled. Blood ran down his face from a gash over his eye, and his nose was pushed to the side. “You’re supposed to beg!”
She couldn’t breathe. She tried to knock his hands away like Toshi had taught her, but that required leverage, and Dusty was holding her off the ground.
She couldn’t breathe.
She kicked and flailed her arms, but she was a butterfly nailed to the wall. The hands tightened. Why had she thrown away the table leg? How stupid could she get? She deserved to die.
Black spots danced in her vision. The roar in her head grew louder. This was it. She was going to die, and the face of her rapist would be the last thing she’d ever see. She shut her eyes.
Sorry, Mom.
Sorry, Dad.
I’m so sorry I was the only one left.
