Page 76 of Pose for Me
I read and reread the letter, hoping it doesn’t sound formal. When I’m satisfied, I fold the paper neatly, then pull out the tie. Carefully, I tuck the letter into the interlining, hoping the note stays put.
Once the letter is tucked away, I pull the expensive crocheted throw blanket from behind the couch and being to unravel it. Since I’ll be venturing into the woods, probably not walking in a straight line, I want to make sure I don’t get lost and end up roaming around for hours.
There’s a large pile of thread at my feet when I’m done about thirty minutes later and I gather it up and cart it with me to the kitchen.
I rustle through the drawers, trying to find a pair of scissors. When I don’t find what I’m looking for, I grab a sharp knife from the block and sit on the floor and start to saw through the ankle monitor. Since it’s not just plastic or rubber, I struggle to get through.
As soon as I hit some kind of fiber optic cable inside, I know it’s only a matter of time before Ryell is alerted. He might still be in surgery, but I want to find somewhere to leave this note and be back before he can worry about me running off.
So I saw faster, cutting through the strap.
I slice my ankle as I finally get through the band, hissing at the pain and the blood running down to my foot. Fuck it, I can’t pay attention to that right now.
Gathering up the yarn and the tie, I hurry out of the house through the back door. Ryell has stopped bolting the doors since I like to eat outside and sit in the sun when he’s at work.
I jog across the lawn toward the woods. From what I could see from the window, I think there’s a road somewhere way in the distance straight ahead but off to the left, so I head in that direction.
Once at the tree line, I tie the end of the thread to the trunk of a tree and, with the thick bundle in hand, I march into the woods.
My feet hurt as I step on sharp rocks and roots and branches. I curse myself for not grabbing a pair of shoes, but Ryell didn’t give me my loafers back, just the clothes. I’ll have to explain why my feet are all fucked up, but I’m sure I’m in enough trouble from cutting off my ankle monitor that that’ll be a drop in the bucket.
As I get deeper and deeper into the woods, I start to think of how bad an idea this was. I have no clue where I’m going and no idea if it’ll work. I’ll probably end up going back into the cell until Ryell can trust me, even though I’m only doing this so we’ll be free.
I stop where I am and look left and right. I’m close to running out of yarn, so I have to pick a direction and head that way and not deviate from my path, save to move around trees.
Staring to my right, I think I can just make out something on the other side of the tree line. Is that a road? I listen closely and don’t hear any cars, but I think I can make out some asphalt.
Smiling, I drop the remaining yarn and hurry to the break in the trees. With the tie in hand, I push branches from my face and fight my way through brambles.
Just as I see the road more clearly and even hear the sound of cars in the distance, a hand clamps over my mouth and around my waist, and I’m hauled against a hard body.
Fear seizing my heart, I look up and see Ryell, fire blazing in his gaze. Fuck, he’s pissed.
My stomach drops to my feet as he drags me away from the road.
When we’re covered by woods, he turns me around and slams me against a tree hard enough for my head to knock back against the trunk. Before I can hiss in pain, he puts his hand around my throat, squeezing tightly. My eyes bug out as I plead with him to let me go.
In a voice I barely recognize, he hisses, “Where thefuckwere you going?”
Twenty-Seven
Ryell
My heart fuckingclenches with betrayal as I look into Lane’s wide, fearful eyes. After what he said, after what hepromised, he was running as soon as I was starting to put my full trust in him.
It’s only luck that I was close by when my phone got the alert that the ankle monitor was being tampered with. The surgery that was on my books was canceled because the patient had the flu and couldn’t be put under anesthesia. I only stayed at my practice long enough to finish up the notes from yesterday, then I planned to come home and lie around with Lane all day.
Instead, my happiness at being with my boy morphed to anger when I saw the ankle monitor was first tampered with, then removed.
He fucking cut it off and fucking ran into the woods.
What did he think was going to happen? Did he think I was going to let him go or wouldn’t fucking hunt him down and bring him back?
“Answer me, dammit!” I roar in his face, applying more pressure to his throat.
Lane slaps at my hand, his face turning red, then purple as he tries to breathe. Then he holds something up in my field of vision.
His tie. The same tie he had on when I met him in the bar.
