Page 12 of Forgotten Sacrifice
I stumble my way to the sink, washing my hands and face before patting dry with a fancy hand towel. Taking off my dress that reeks of stale beer and cigarettes, I put on clean underwear, a hoodie, and a skirt, slipping my bare feet into sneakers. Worried my time’s almost up, I grab my toothbrushand give my teeth and tongue a quick brush; the minty taste in my mouth nearly causes me to vomit, but I hold it down by sheer willpower.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I cringe. I look like death warmed over with my sunken eyes and greenish tint to my face, but there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it now.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I glance at Kevin to make sure Vince didn’t kill him. “Lover boy’s fine,” Vince says, reading my mind. “Let’s go.”
I follow him down the stairs and out the back door, hissing as I throw my forearm over my eyes to block the glaring sun.
Vince silently holds open the passenger door for me, but I ignore him, opening the back door. He slams it closed. “What the hell, Vince? I want to take a nap in the backseat; wake me up when we get there.”
“I am not concerned with what you want,” he says in a bored tone. “Get in.”
Feeling too shitty to argue, I climb into the passenger seat, and he slams the door, the sound reverberating in my throbbing head as I buckle up.
Vince slides behind the wheel, peeling out of the driveway. I groan, keeping my eyes open to ward off the head spinning, but now I’m watching us take hairpin curves on two wheels. “Slow down,” I beg.
He doesn’t respond, stepping on the accelerator. I focus on my breathing, trying everything in my power not to puke.
We approach a gas station, my dry tongue practically stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Stop. I need a water.”
Vince ignores me.
We reach the Expressway, and I comfort myself with knowing it’s a straight stretch of road, but he passes the entrance ramp.
“You missed the turn.”
“I didn’t miss anything. We’re taking the backroads.”
“Why? We’re late. The Expressway would be faster,” I point out.
He answers by reaching behind him in the backseat, shoving a trash bag at me.
We barrel down a windy two-lane road as I clutch the armrest, and it dawns on me he’s doing this on purpose. I take shallow breaths, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making me puke.
“You want to get into a battle of wills with me, Luna? Fine, but you should know the odds are always stacked in my favor,” Vince promises.
He takes a curb hard as tires squeal, and my willpower is no match for my riotous stomach. I grab the bag just in time as green bile sprays out of my nose and mouth.
“There it is. How’s that night of partying working out for you now?” he taunts.
“I hate you,” I tell him between bouts of violent wrenching.
Chapter
Seven
Luna
I startle, bringing my arm to my head, but something restricts my movement. Snapping my eyes open, I panic when I find myself in an unfamiliar bed, hooked up to an IV.
“Hey there, Luna. It’s alright. I’m Nicky, nurse practitioner for the family.” A beautiful woman dressed in scrubs appears beside me.
“Where am I?” I ask, trying to sit up.
She adjusts pillows behind my back, propping me up. “Vince’s house. You gave him a bit of a scare when you passed out.”
“Passed out?” The last thing I remember was Vince being a dickhead and me puking. And puking. And puking some more. And then some more.
Nicky nods. “You had a pretty severe case of dehydration; I gave you an IV of fluids. How are you feeling?”
