Page 57 of Running Feral

It’s the only thing that might get me home. I want to go fucking home.

So, I force myself to cry even more, knowing how much he enjoys it, and I let him fucking push me. Enjoy it while you can, asshole. If this is what it takes to lull you into trusting me again, fine. It’s not like I have any dignity left to protect.

I just want to leave in one piece. I can take a little more punishment. If I have to.

I thought it would be enough. As soon as he fell asleep, I could go. But no, he doesn’t trust me that much, apparently. No matter how much I pretend and debase myself in the process.

He locks the door at night with an extra padlock and keeps the key around his neck. We don’t leave during the day. I don’tknow where the Banna think he is, or if they finally want him dead as well. I don’t know what his endgame is, except I think he probably doesn’t have one. He’s getting fucked up enough to stay mean, but not enough to get stupid and vulnerable.

I’m hanging in the balance, and nothing seems to shift one way or the other.

The only plus is that he hasn’t literally chained me to the radiator yet, but I can feel it coming.

On the third day, we run out of beer and food.

“Go,” he says, pointing at the front door with the muzzle of his gun while I stand there, slack-jawed. “Go to the store. You can walk.”

I squint. Either he’s getting paranoid or he’s genuinely in danger now, if he’s not even willing to leave the room anymore. But that still doesn’t make sense that he would let me leave. He doesn’t really believe I’m coming back.

Slowly, not making any sudden movements or appearing too excited, I pull on my shoes. I stand up, trying not to wince as my body protests any kind of movement after the punishment it’s been taking. My jaw trembles at the sudden pain, but I think I hide it well enough.

Eamon doesn’t like signs of weakness unless they’re specifically for his entertainment, and I don’t want to risk pissing him off before I get the chance to leave. I head to the door, maintaining the same slow and careful pace.

I can almost feel the sunshine on my face. He tosses me the key to the extra lock, and I manage to catch it with shaking hands. When it clicks and releases the latch, every cell in my body seems to sigh in relief.

My hand is on the door handle when he finally speaks again, and the sound of his voice makes me freeze.

“If you’re not back in thirty minutes, your boyfriend dies.” Ah. That’s it. There’s the catch. “I don’t mean I’ll go get him and killhim. I mean there’s someone waiting, and all it will take is one phone call. The second that minute flips over, and he’s fucking dead. Do you hear me? Same thing goes if you think you can rat to the cops. Or if anything happens to me. If you step out of line one teeny tiny bit… He dies. Think about that while you’re walking.”

My stomach sinks. He must be bluffing. Or is he? Is that too much to risk?

He’s not some evil mastermind with a space laser pointed at Gunnar’s head. He doesn’t have any allies left. He assumes I’m too weak and scared to question it. He’s bluffing.

Right?

Either way, I slip out of the room without looking back. My stomach clenches, acid sloshing inside me with each step I take. The farther I get from the room, the faster I move, until I’m practically jogging.

I’m still headed toward the store. Is that my subconscious telling me I should believe Eamon and not risk Gunnar’s life? It’s one thing to cost my own life with this stupidity, but I can’t let him pay the price for any of it.

I can’t run fast enough to make it to Gunnar within half an hour. I don’t even really know where we are, although I’m sure I could figure it out after a while.

Both options are a gamble. Either I obey Eamon and nothing changes, except I get one more sunset closer to the end. Or I run, and Gunnar could be dead by the time I get to him.

If I had good judgment, I wouldn’t be in this fucking situation in the first place. Overthinking is the only form of thinking I have, and rationality doesn’t play a big role in that.

Fuck.

He must be bluffing.

He has to be.

Unless he’s not.

Chapter Twenty

There’s a loudclinkas Kasia slaps a glass of water down in front of me, jerking me out of my malaise.

Or maybe it wasn’t really a malaise, because I wasn’t thinking about anything. Just staring into space. My overwhelming affect for the past three days has been the ‘embodiment of human misery’ according to her, and she seems to be getting sick of it. I think I’m justified, considering no one’s any closer to finding Tobias and the chances of him coming home alive shrink every minute. She insists it’s not helping anyone for me to wallow until he’s actually dead or we know what’s happening.

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