Page 87 of Submitting to Them
“You should.”He laughs again.“You should’ve seen the last chick—Avery.She lasted longer than most at three months.I’d say you’ve hit your expiration date with them, since you’re nearing that time, too, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” I say.“You don’t know anything.”
He scoffs.“I’ve watched the revolving door of my father’s penthouse much longer than you have.You’re only good enough to polish it, not much else.”
It shouldn’t hurt.I shouldn’t believe a word out of his poisonous mouth.But I haven’t slept.I haven’t eaten.And my brain latches onto the images he’s painting like maybe he isn’t entirely wrong.
Trying to shake away the thoughts, I say, “You should just let me go.”
“Nah.You’ll come around.”
“What about the border?”I ask carefully.I don’t want to scare him into hurting me, but if I frame this right, maybe I can convince him to set me free.“I’m not going to be much fun, and I don’t have a passport, anyway.So you’ll have a better chance of getting into Mexico without me.”
I can feel his attention on me, like he’s seeing me anew.
“Holy shit, you’re right,” he says.“A fucking passport.Of course someone without any money wouldn’t have a card or book for leaving the country.Where’s your purse?”
He finds it on the floor without me saying anything, then looks through my wallet.
“The fuck.Why didn’t you tell me you don’t have a passport?”
Right.Because I’m going to share all kinds of information with my kidnapper out of the goodness of my heart?
“I just thought of it,” I lie.“Anyway, you can still go to Mexico, but without me.We can just pull over here—or wherever.Just let me out.I’ll find my way home, and by the time I get there, you’ll be far, far away.”
He’s still staring at me.His blue eyes are cold.“You’re a problem, aren’t you?”
“An easy-to-fix problem.Just let me out, Joel.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, staring straight out the windshield at the road ahead.“Of course.”
He’s fucking lying.
I failed in how I framed this problem.Because in Joel’s mind, he only has two options: kidnap me and force me to go to Mexico, or kill me.
He can’t take me to Mexico.
He’s going to kill me.
Terror seizes my heart, squeezing it like a vise.
We’re approaching a town, one of those tiny places that exist along highways a few miles outside of the larger cities.I am not going to leave that town.If he gets me somewhere quiet and deserted, I am going to die.I know this with every instinct I possess.
“Joel,” I say.“Please.Please, just let me out of the car.I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about your plans.”
“Relax,” he says with a false smile.“Everything’s going to be fine.”
Lies.
“Turn around up there,” he says.“When we reach the gas station.”
“Turn around?Why?”
“Just fucking do it.”He pats his pockets again, looking anxious.
He wants more pills because he needs energy, courage.Because he’s going to kill me and leave me in the desert.
I grip the steering wheel, trying to remember how to breathe.Panic is clogging my lungs, robbing me of my thoughts.
