Page 20 of Better Run
He bandages me up again. It hurts more than last time. When he’s done, he goes upstairs. He comes back down with a small pill.
“For the pain.”
I eye it, then him.
He shrugs. “I’m not going to make you take it. But keep in mind I don’t need to drug you to do what I want with you, little one.”
With that he picks me up, puts me on the couch, and pulls a blanket over me. He flips off all the lights but the bear lampshade on the end table. He then flips his knife out of his back pocket and gets to whittling again on the couch across from me.
Pain and exhaustion hit me at once. I debate not taking the pill just to prove a point. But pain wins out and I grab a water bottle on the coffee table and take it. I try to keep my eyes open but I soon fall hard asleep.
***
In the bathroom the next morning, I examine the ankle monitor on my left leg. It’s tight to my skin, but not uncomfortably so. I try to remember what I’ve seen about ankle monitors on TV. Aren’t they super hard to get off? This one looks like it’s just attached by a thin strip of rubber. But on TV, as soon as you messed with them, the cops got a notification.
Don’t they require some sort of service to work? I wonder if he would put it on me when it doesn’t work just to fuck with me.
Probably.
Jayden comes back sometime mid-morning. I sit around in my room, pretending to read. I’m still horny from the night before. I want to touch myself, but I’m paranoid that he’ll know somehow. But that thought also makes me horny.
Which makes me angry.
I need a distraction. Desperately.
I limp to the kitchen. It’s just Jayden relaxing in the living room. I look in the fridge and see some new groceries.
I clear my throat. Jayden doesn’t look up. I do it again, louder. He cocks an eyebrow at me.
I picture smacking him in his pretty face but keep my tone neutral. “Can I cook?”
He arches a dark eyebrow. “I don’t know, can you?”
I huff, “Yes. Ican. I’m asking permission.” Annoying asshole.
He stands and walks over. I look up at him and cross my arms. Pretend like he didn’t see my pussy last night. Like I didn’t like it.
“How bad do you want to, kitten?”
I close my eyes and swallow. “Badly.”
“Beg.”
I look up into his face. All traces of relaxation are gone and he’s hard and emotionless again.
I purse my lips. “Please.”
He looks bored. “Did you even try?”
I huff. Then, ever so slowly, get on my knees. I look up at him and put my hands on his thighs. He tenses at the touch. I lift my gaze to him. In a low voice and tone barely above a whisper, I ask, “Please…Sir.”
I can’t help but feel warm and tingly at my embarrassment and the proximity of my face to his crotch.
He grabs my chin in his hand and forces me to look at his face. “Yes. You may cook.” He drops his hold and stalks away, leaving me on my knees.
I scramble up. When I’m sure he’s facing away, I flip him off and then turn back to the fridge.
I spend the next hour scrounging together what I can with limited ingredients. I did find glass spice jars tucked on a top shelf. I made a hamburger curry with hamburger buns and frozen green beans. I had to sit down periodically as my foot was killing me. Whatever Cole gave me last night had worn off, but cooking felt good. For the first time since being taken I felt like myself. I didn’t realize how badly I missed feeling like me. And that made me sad.
