Page 108 of Love is Angry

Yes, Rhue and I sought shelter here that night. We claimed this place and wouldn’t let Lindsey and Cameron come in. It’s how they ended up screwing their brains out on the rattan sofa, outside on the porch. Good grief. I’m back here? Why?

Carefully measuring my breaths, I take a look around. Yes, it’s definitely the cabin. There’s the loveseat, though it’s covered in newer looking blankets with a green and blue plaid pattern. Beer cans and pretzels in tin boxes have been taken out of the pantry and left on the coffee table, right next to a first-aid kit. A pair of army boots sit on the floor beside it. A charger is plugged into the wall socket by the kitchen door. There’s no phoneconnected to it, but this place feels warmer than the last time I was here.

There’s a wicker basket filled with firewood. Ashes and spent embers in the fireplace. Someone has been staying here consistently, long enough for the heat to permeate the walls and the hardwood flooring. The dust has been cleaned from most surfaces, I realize. There’s an electric kettle plugged in on one of the counters in the kitchen. A tin box with coffee—I can smell it all the way over here, as the lid was left off.

I break into a cold sweat as I try to take this in.

Someone was inside Rhue’s apartment when we were in bed. Neither of us heard them come in. But I was dosed with something. An injection. And now I’m here, tied up and gagged and stiff as a plywood board, every joint aching. I must’ve slept in this position. My back is killing me. The muscles feel swollen and raw. It’s just a sensation of aggravated discomfort. But nothing pains me more than the conclusion so far—I’ve been abducted. I’m a prisoner here. Hazing week is over and even if it weren’t, even if the seniors wanted to extend the hazing, something tells me they wouldn’t go about it like this.

I try to call out, hoping somebody might hear me. But my voice is hoarse, and no one answers. My throat burns. Sweat bursts through my pores, cold as it seeps through the fabric of my… oh shit, I’m wearing last night’s dress. Right, because I was naked when they… oh, god, they dressed me. Theytouchedme!

Before I can scream, the front door opens with an unexpected screech. I yelp, startled by the suddenness of it. A man stands in the doorway. He’s… we’ve met before. Jake. He’s got jeans and a black sweater on, but it’s him. I’d recognize those dead blue eyes anywhere.

“Sorry for leaving you like that,” he says, closing the door behind him. He’s holding a paper bag with one arm—looks likegroceries. I spot the end of a baguette in there. “You were taking forever to wake up, and I figured you might be hungry.”

“Wha…” I try to talk but the gag makes it impossible. Nothing intelligible comes out except my boiling anger. I’m terrified, too, but I don’t want him to see that. I imagine if he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be awake now.

“Oh, right. My bad. One moment,” Jake says and swiftly crosses the living room.

He leaves the grocery bag on a kitchen counter, then comes back and removes my gag. Fuck, my lips are dry. My tongue feels like a puff of cotton.

“You son of a—”

“Call me any name you’d like. Just don’t scream. No one can hear you, anyway, but I really don’t like loud noises,” Jake says, crouching in front of me with a childish smirk. “I figured you’d appreciate this place more. It’s where you and Rhue rekindled your romance, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck do you know about it?” I find it difficult to hide my contempt.

“Oh, almost everything. You’d be surprised what I can do with a phone and a laptop and a Tor browser, Madison,” Jake says. “But we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I need you to tell me how you like your coffee.” He gets up and walks back to the kitchen.

My neck hurts, yet I turn my head to keep an eye on him as often as I can. Everything he does can tell me a bit more about the kind of person that he is. I’m not a profiler, but I study the culture of humans. Our gestures and habits come from social constructs.

“I have sugar and a funky looking jar of honey here,” Jake adds as he starts taking the groceries out of the bag. “I think it’s infused with something.” He pauses to unscrew the lid and smell it. “Oh, lavender. Nice. And I bought two types of milk. I wasn’tsure if you were into actual dairy or soy, so I got both. Please, don’t tell me you wanted almond.”

I can’t help but scoff. “You’re a functioning psychopath, aren’t you?”

“Functioning is maybe too generous, but yeah. Good eye,” he chuckles. “Listen, I got full fat milk. I really don’t understand the 2% and 1% bullshit. That’s just white water, if you ask me. That’s not milk anymore. That’s a fucking scam. So, it’s either that or soy.”

“Is there water?” I ask.

Antagonizing Jake might get me in trouble. My best bet right now is to try and make friends with the fucker until I find a way to release myself. Perhaps I can get him to empathize. Gah, I wonder where Rhue is. Does he even realize that I’m missing? I’ve got my shoes on. I worry Jake made sure to leave the impression that I bailed. It makes my heart hurt. “I’m thirsty. How long have I been here?”

“Good grief, you are absolutely right!” Jake exclaims.

He sounds like a slightly embarrassed host at a 1960s house party. A tad dainty and overly proper, smiling and going about his business like there is absolutely nothing wrong with abduction and imprisonment.

A minute goes by, and Jake comes back with a tall glass of water. He’s been keeping a pitcher in the fridge.

“Thanks,” I grumble. It’s hard to keep any form of courtesy at this point, but I have to. He helps me drink half, then pauses.

“Take a breath,” Jake tells me. “You’re dehydrated.”

“How long have I been here?” I ask again.

“Just a few hours.”

“How many?”

He lets me finish the rest of the water, then heads back into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

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