by C. M. Wright
I should have been an actress.
He keeps driving and I watch out the windows at all the people going the opposite way, leaving the city. At first, I wish I were with them - leaving all this behind, leaving Jake behind. Then I stop torturing myself. What good's it going to do?
I try to ignore the other people not fortunate enough to be in the half-ass safety of a vehicle. Jake won't help them - and I can't. But when I see a teenaged girl running toward us, terrified and being stalked by half a dozen undead, I break my silence and beg Jake to help. He looks at me for a moment, then rolls his window down. The girl is almost to us, screaming and crying, when Jake sticks his gun out and shoots.
He shot the girl!
She slams to the ground when the bullet hits her leg. I scream and pull on Jake's arm with my tied hands. Then the zombies reach her. I drop my arms and turn away from the horrifying scene, doing my best to tune out the screams of the girl, the sounds of the zombies eating on her flesh, and the worst of it all - Jake's laughter.
He continues driving and has a great time reliving the entire scene over and over until I want to scream and tell him to shut the hell up, and also letting him know how frikken nuts, psychotic, and disgusting he really is. Finally, just before I turn stupid and do those things, he shuts up.
But the scene replays itself in my own mind without Jake's commentary. I hate him!
Chapter Twenty-One
We stay in silence and I duck my head the rest of the trip, unable to look at all the people who are begging for help. I've learned my lesson trying to get Jake to help. Never again.
When the truck rolls to a stop, I look up and see that we are back outside the armory. The gate is closed but the inside has plenty of undead. I'm confused about that until I remember I had crashed through the gate when Larry and I were desperately trying to escape.
Jake slams his fist on the dash and I flinch away. He growls at me and then gets out of the truck. I watch to see what he plans to do, but he slams the door and just leans against it. When an undead nears him, he lifts his gun and shoots it - almost as an after-thought. He's obviously deeply in thought, and I'm curious to see what he plans to do now - curious and scared.
Finally he gets back in, throws the truck in reverse - taking out a few zombies, or live ones for all I know since I couldn't see them - then gets us going straight again. He heads straight for the side gate and drives through. As he follows the drive, he slams into any undead in our way. Then he pulls up tight to the steps leading to the front door.
He reaches over me and into the back, grabbing the pack. Then he pushes me to the passenger side, opens the door and pushes me out. I grab hold of the door to help hold myself up and watch as he gets out. Then he throws me over his shoulder again and carries me up the steps. Once we're at the top, he sets me down, listens, and then throws the doors open. He informs me that it should be zombie-free since he's cleared it earlier, but we can't take any chances. Like I'm an idiot.
Again, he carries me inside and to the second floor into a large room. When he sets me down in a large leather chair with thick padding and rollers on the bottom, I look around and realize this was probably once the office of a high-ranking official. The room is so out of place with the rest of the cinder block building - with it's wood-paneled walls, pictures, couch, soft carpet and personal bathroom complete with shower and tub - that I sit with my mouth hanging open in shock.
Jake lets out a sharp bark of laughter so I turn my attention to him. "Surprised ya, didn't I? Nice place I got here, huh? Nothing but the best for my wife!"
His what?
Holy shit.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, Jake. It's really nice. I like it, thanks." And then I go back to "appreciating" the awesome place he's found for us, though really, it's appeal has dropped considerably now. Jake moves around the desk and opens a large bottom drawer. He throws in the pack and unloads all the guns in his own fatigues except one. When he has that one reloaded and more ammo stuffed in his pockets, he shuts the door and withdraws a key from the top drawer. After making sure the bottom drawer is locked tight, he drops the key into his top pocket and zips it closed.
He puts his gun inside a pocket on his pants and zips it closed too. Obviously so I can't get to it so easily. Apparently, he doesn't trust me not to shoot him when I promised him I wouldn't. Crazy he definitely is, but stupid - unfortunately - he is not.
He unties my hands and I sigh in relief. Not because I think I have a chance of getting away now - Remember the foot? - but because being tied just plain sucks! Then Jake tries to throw me over his shoulder again to take me to the couch, but I put my hand up on his chest and ask him if I could just hop over.
He doesn't look happy about the request and says, "But I liked carrying you. It made me feel like a caveman carrying my woman!"
I bet it did, moron.
I smile up at him. "I liked it too, Jake, but I'm still too bruised up so it hurts a little. Once I heal a little more, I would love for you to carry me again."
He buys it and helps me as I hop to the sofa. I watch him as he goes into another door on the opposite side of the room from the bathroom, one I hadn't noticed. He walks back out with his arms loaded with pillows with real pillowcases and thick blankets, definitely not military issued. So that must be a storage closet.
He sets the pile on the sofa beside me, then goes back inside the other room. I hear him moving around and hear water run, metal-sounding bangs, cabinets and drawers opening and shutting. Eventually he comes back out with two plates filled with food. Ok. So it's a kitchen.
I wonder if he will get pissed if I tell him I'm not hungry? After Larry's platter of food, I'm not sure I can eat another bite.
Jake sits next to me then hands me one of the plates. I open my mouth to insist I'm not hungry but when I see the eggs and bacon lying on the plate, my mouth only opens to insert the bacon. I don't even care about the eggs, but to say no to bacon? Who the hell does that?
When the last of the bacon is gone, I hand my plate back to Jake who's been watching me eat. Creepy, and it totally screwed up the whole enjoyment of bacon I had going on...a little. He raises a brow at the eggs and I explain that I'm full as I'd had a bit to eat earlier, leaving Larry out of it. He nods and takes the plates to the other room. When he comes back, he asks if I'd like to have a shower.
Thinking about the last time, I tell him, "No, I'm good."
He nods again, goes back into the kitchen and comes back with a change of fatigues and a towel. And now the other room is a linen and clothes closet. Good grief!
He tells me he's going to shower and will be right back, as he locks the door out of this room with another key that he also takes with him. Deadbolt. I'm not going anywhere.
Finally he goes into the bathroom, but leaves the door wide open. I do my best to avoid looking in that direction, but have I ever told you how freakin' amazing his body is? And do you think you could have resisted? Yes? Liar!
His tight butt, the rippling muscles, the perfectly tanned and flawless skin that feels incredible under your hands. And then his― Never mind!
So being the complete idiot that I am, he catches me checking out his body. When I realize he's watching me as I'm watching him, my face burns and I throw my back against the couch, sliding my butt down until I'm almost off the damn sofa. I find my cast to be extremely interesting until he gets in the shower, and again when the shower turns off and he emerges from behind the curtain.
When he comes out in just a damn pair of boxers, I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. Why can't he have a body to match his nasty mind? Why!
When the sofa sinks in next to me and I feel the heat from his body so close, I sit straight up and struggle to stand. He lets me do it on my own and I thank God for that. The last thing I need is his hands on me right now. Without looking at him, I inform him I need to use the bathroom and hop as fast as I can away from him.
As I slam the door shut, his loud laughter is only slightly muted. Jac
kass! Jerk! Idiot! Moron! And those are just the names I call myself.
I hop to the toilet and while sitting there, I mentally tell myself off. While washing my hands and face, I continue lecturing myself, informing myself what I will not be doing. Which is mostly that I will not be lusting after that freak show out there!
I stare into the mirror and remind myself of everything he's done; Will, my family, Sara, all the innocent people he helped the zombies attack outside, the teen girl, whatever he had watched be done to his own parents! By the time I finish, my hatred of him is back in place...and so is the fear.
I hop slowly to the door and even more slowly open it. When I open it enough to see into the other room, I almost fall over from surprise and horror!
The sofa is actually a sofa-bed, and Jake has it all pulled out and made up with the blankets. The pillows are at the top - one of them with Jake's head on it.
He pulls the blankets on the empty side back and grins at me. My eyes widen and my mouth drops. Oh this can't be good! I shake my head hard and fast, and my working leg forgets how to work, as it starts shaking like crazy too. I grab hold of the door frame to keep from falling over. Jake's grin fades a little and he sits up.
"Either get over here and get in bed, or I'll come get you. Make your choice." The threat of him coming to get me doesn't sound as scary as he should have made it. Because when I refuse to move - actually I'm frozen in fear, so I can't really make any real choice - he makes me wish I had run to the bed, cast and all.
He's up, out of the bed, and rushing toward me so fast, I barely have time to take a breath. The momentum of his fist in my face throws me back inside the bathroom and close to the toilet on the opposite side. He roars with anger and comes in after me. I'm trying to raise my upper body off the floor, but my hands are sliding in the blood that his fist and the bottom base of the toilet meeting my face produced. And my arms are just too weak. When I feel his hand sink into my hair, I throw my hands on his wrists and grab hold as he lifts me entirely by my hair. I scream as he throws me in the direction of the tub. My body flies over the porcelain's side, but my cast slams into it just before my body crumbles to the bottom.
All I'm capable of doing now is moan and try to keep from passing out. I hear his feet slap on the floor as he comes closer and then his body blocks the light once he stands over me.
"Please...please. No more. I'm sorry. Please," I beg, barely able to get any of the words out. When I feel his hands on my arms, I expect more pain and start crying in fear. But instead, he helps me out of the tub and carries me to the bed. I just lay there, unable to do anything from the pain in my body and the terror inside me, as he strips my clothes off.
Jake examines all the damage done and tells me I was lucky it wasn't any worse. Unbelievable!
Then he disappears into the kitchen - or whatever the hell is in there - and comes back with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. I haven't moved, not even to cover myself with a blanket, and I'm so grateful when he does it for me after he sits me up in the bed. He pours a shot of whiskey and hands it to me. I stare at it for a minute until a sharp wave of pain sweeps through me. Without any more hesitation, I gulp it down and hold out the glass for more. After a few more shots, the pain becomes a dull ache. My head, however, turns into a mushy mess.
As Jake and I get drunker and drunker we talk, joke, laugh. The burn of the white lightening makes me forget Jake's other side. Makes me forget everything he's done. Makes me forget all the pain, both physical and emotional. So when he climbs into bed behind me as I lay on my side and wraps his arms around me, I forget to be disgusted. I forget to resist. I forget to stay guarded.
When his body is on mine, I forget all the reasons it shouldn't be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Slowly I wake and feel a strong arm around my naked waist. When I try to bend my head to look at the arm, the pain that shoots through my head makes me throw my hands up to keep it from exploding or falling off...or something. And the movement of throwing my hands up produces a pain that has fireworks bursting in my eyes.
What the hell?
And then my eyes land on the empty whiskey bottle on the floor and the shot glasses lying on their sides beside it. I vaguely remember saying screw the glass and drinking straight from the bottle. Little things come back to me from the night before. But the biggest thing I remember has me turning on my side and throwing up all the booze, bacon and god only knows what else on the floor. I feel movement behind me as Jake sits up and puts his hand on my hip. When he asks if I'm ok, I give a quick shake of my head before throwing up some more.
I feel him get out of bed and a little later, a cool rag is pressed against my forehead. I lay back when the vomiting finally stops and use the rag to wipe my face. I'm aware of Jake cleaning the mess, but I avoid looking at him. When he's done, he tells me he's run a tub of water for me and he helps me get to the bathroom where he seals my cast and helps me into the water. I lay back and stare at the ceiling, tears running down my face. I call myself every bad name I can think of, tell myself how incredibly stupid, worthless, ignorant I am.
I'm glad my family thinks - or will think - I'm dead. I don't want them to see me. I don't want them to know. I don't want them to hate me as much as I hate myself. All I have to worry about now is me, and I don't even care that much about me anymore.
I look down at my body and am shocked to see the large mass of bruises that cover me. Then I remember what happened to start the drinking in the first place. I sit up, cup some water in my hands, and splash my face. When I look down at the water after a few more splashes, the water is tinted dark with the dried blood I'd had on my face all night.
Apparently that didn't bother Jake at all. Hell, it probably turned him on more than anything.
I wash the rest of my body, wanting badly to scrub my skin, but the pain is too much. Clean, but still feeling dirty, I give up and lay back again. Then I finally give in and look over at Jake, who's been sitting on the toilet watching me this whole time. He grins at me.
I turn my head back and close my eyes before I start puking again. He never says a word and neither do I, but eventually the water turns cold and I have to get out when my teeth start to clack together and my body tightens and clenches with each shiver. Jake grabs a towel and helps me up and out of the tub. Then he dries me while I just stand there. He removes the bag around my cast and then wraps a thick blanket around me. With one hand I hold the blanket together as Jake grabs my arm to help me back to the other room.
He helps me back into bed and covers me up, then asks if I need anything. Should I give him the list?
"Just something to drink, please. Um, no alcohol tho."
Jake laughs as he walks into the kitchen and a few minutes later, comes back with a glass of water. I sip it while he goes over to get dressed. No need to ask me, I don't even want to look this time.
When he's fully clothed he comes and kneels beside the bed. His hand reaches out for my face and I flinch away from it. I see his eyes widen and then harden, and I rush to prevent another beating.
I laugh lightly and say, "I'm sorry, honey, but my head is pounding. I believe I drank just a little too much last night." I continue smiling at him and eventually I see the spark of anger dissipate.
He grins at me. "A little? You damn sure out-drank me!" He laughs loudly and my head pounds right along with him.
I had to drink so much because of the frikken' pain you caused me, asshole. Just shut the hell up.
Then he tells me he'll be back in a little while, he has some things he needs to do.
Don't hurry back. Oh, while you're gone, could you feed the zombies? Your body perhaps?
"Ok. I'll be here." I reply, not giving one shit where he's going or what he's going to do - I just want him gone.
He leans over and kisses me, tongue and all. I feel the bile rising but his lips leave mine before I have to risk pissing him off again. I swallow over and over to keep from getting sick. The l
ast thing I need is for him to postpone his little outing. I force myself to smile up at him and tell him to be careful, then as soon as the door closes behind him, my smile drops and I allow my body to relax in defeat. The click of the lock being engaged echoes throughout the room. I don't even let it get to me. Why bother?
I lay in bed and try not to think about everything that has happened. I've decided that since this is my life now, I'd better just get used to it. Either I'll be with him til one of us dies - which I realize now why he thinks I will die before he does. Most likely he's going to be the one to kill me - or I actually get the opportunity to escape. Which I believe is only wishful thinking - not something that could actually happen.
I finally struggle out of the bed and wrap the blanket tighter around me, then hop into the other room. The kitchen/closet is bigger than I imagined and it's not just one room either. There is a kitchen, but the clothes closet and linen closet are in two fairly large separate rooms of their own. Inside the room with the stacks of different sizes, colors, and types of clothes is a washer and dryer. Another door leads to the hall, but of course it's locked. I search the piles of clothes and find a black military t-shirt that's extra long and extra big. After pulling it on, I hop back to the kitchen. Opening drawer after drawer, I find that if this kitchen had any knives before - and I'm sure it did - Jake has removed and hidden them now.
So I give up and instead pour me a glass of ice water. Then I hop around the main room, pausing once to look out the windows. My view is now of the undead, so I turn away. I hop around a few more times, bored out of my mind! I'm pissed off at myself that I didn't ask Jake to get the book out of the backpack. I see a familiar object sitting on the desk and it takes me a few minutes to comprehend that it's a laptop.
Oh hell yeah!
I hop over and ease my aching body - the hopping wasn't helping with the pain any, by the way - into the chair. Flipping the lid up, the laptop lights up, already on. I open the browser and then freeze with my fingers held over the keys.