Page 5 of Better Run
“Come.”
He turns and walks out of the room.
I jump off the bed and follow. My joints ache in protest and my bladder twinges against the movement.
The man waits in the hallway. Behind him, the space opens into what appears to be a dining room on the right and a kitchen further on. The wood paneling continues. Almost like we’re in a cabin.
He jerks his head towards a door on my right.
“Bathroom.”
Hope sparks in me, and I go into the small bathroom with another small window. There is just a toilet and a sink with a mirror above it. I move to shut the door, and he jams his foot in.
“Are you kidding?” I can’t help the anger that laces my tone.
He just cocks an eyebrow.
I cross my arms. “I need to pee. Get out of the way.”
“No.”
I growl, “Yes. I won’t try to escape, I just need to pee. I can’t pee if someone is watching.”
He crosses his arms and stands there.
Fuck. I’m trying to be meek, but my bladder painfully locks up at the thought of him watching. I cross my legs and jiggle a little. I go back and forth with myself briefly. My cheeks burn as I consider peeing in front of this dangerous man who is staring at me intently. My bladder hurts. Finally, I pull my pants down as little as possible and try to angle my body away from him. I glare at where the floor meets the wall.
I wait.
After what feels like an eternity, he shifts. “What are you doing?”
Not peeing. I internally roll my eyes but keep my voice low. “I told you I can’t pee if someone is watching.”
“There’s always the bucket.”
“No. Let me just...” I reach over to the sink and turn the water on. I glance at him, and he’s staring at me. I try again. Finally, the pain in my bladder wins out, and I pee. My face flames.
I wash my hands and splash a little in my mouth. My breath is horrible, and I stink.
He steps out of the doorway and walks towards the kitchen.
“Come.”
I glare at his back. I’m not his damn dog. But I follow.
A dining room is on my right, along with what appears to be the front door. On my immediate left is a spiral staircase. The living room has high ceilings. Big windows open up to the wintery yard with trees beyond. There is comfortable furniture and a fireplace. The place is covered with red and black moose and bear decor.
The man is in the kitchen, pulling out bread and peanut butter.
“Windows and doors are secured so don’t try.”
I stand at the kitchen island. There is virtually nothing on the counters. The knife he’s using to spread the peanut butter is plastic.
“Do you want money?”
He remains quiet.
“Did you find me online?” Stalk me? Beat his meat to me thinking he could have me? My stomach sinks.
