Avenging the angel

5

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I’m so cold. It’s dark. I’m alone. Is this death? Did I die? No. I’m alive. I know it because I can feel something soft underneath me. It has a texture, a feel to it. I must be alive. My eyes are closed, and I don’t want to open them. Just because I’m alive doesn’t mean I’m safe. What happened in that field is too clear to be forgotten, even if I was unconscious for most of it. I knew what Max had in mind. Though now I’m starting to wonder if he didn’t change his mind at the last minute, pick me up, and decide to bring me someplace else, more secluded than an open field. For once, he might’ve exercised a little self-control, but that doesn’t make me the winner in the situation. Far from it. It might’ve been better if he had killed me.

Without opening my eyes, I try to get a sense of where I am. The smell of damp wood is the first thing I notice, and after that, the smell of animals. A cabin somewhere, maybe, out in the woods. He must’ve taken me far if that’s where we ended up. I ache all over, and it’s freezing cold. That’s when it hits me—I’m naked, completely, without so much as a stitch of underwear or anything else. Not even my socks. There’s a thin blanket over me, but it’s not helping much, and it smells musty and old. At least I’m not completely exposed, anyway. Though he could very easily rip the blanket off me anytime he wants. I have to work hard against a shudder of repulsion that threatens to run through me.

“Are you awake?” The question is almost a whisper. It’s not Max. That much is for sure. The voice is almost gentle. My stomach clenches when I realize he might’ve passed me off to one of his friends; maybe a buddy from prison. Otherwise, why would anybody else be with me? What can I do? There’s no chance of getting away when I’m naked. That much is obvious. That’s probably why they left me like this, so I can’t run. But what I also can’t do is lie here and pretend to be asleep for the rest of my life. Besides, curiosity will kill me. I’ve got to be smart about it, though. That’s why I open my eyes slowly, pretending to be more groggy than I feel.

The sight of the man in front of me makes me gasp, and I clutch the blanket tighter around me. So much for pretending to be groggy. He’s absolutely enormous from head to toe, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. His shoulders and biceps look like somebody stuffed bowling balls in them, and his abs look like a literal washboard. Instead of sparking my interest, it terrifies me. This guy could snap me in half like a twig. Instead of doing that, he crouches next to the bed.

“Are you hurting?”

There’s a joke. I must look like hell, bruised and bloodied. When I look at my hands, there’s no blood. I take a peek under the blanket, and there’s no blood there, either. Bruises, but it looks like any cuts or scrapes are cleaned up. How long have I been unconscious?

I realize he’s waiting for an answer, staring at me, hardly blinking. His dark hair is wild, too long, tangling around his shoulders. His beard is bushy, unkempt. Clear blue eyes stare straight through me. Even without putting a hand on me, the man freaks me out.

“Yes,” I manage to whisper. My throat hurts too much to do more than that.

“You see, I’ve cleaned you up. You were in bad shape when I found you.”

“You found me? Out in the field?”

He nods. “I thought you were dead.”

“So did I.” That son of a b***h left me to die—unless he thought he finished the job and left my body there. I run my tongue over my lips and wish he wouldn’t stare at me when I do it. He might as well lick his chops—no matter how nice he’s pretending to be—I can see what he has in mind. I’d have to be blind to miss it.

“Was there… Was there anyone else nearby?”

His nostrils flare, eyes narrowing. Instantly, I know I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked about him.

“No. He’s lucky he was nowhere to be found. But now I know it was a man who did it.”

I can’t help but feel a little bit of hope. “So, you’re not with him? He didn’t ask you to stash me here?”

God, I wish I could stop shaking. I don’t want him to know how scared I am.

“I don’t even know who he is. I only know he hurt you and that he is going to pay for that.”

He reaches out like he wants to brush the hair away from my face, but I pull away before he can touch me.

“No offense. I know you helped me. But that doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t worry. You won’t feel that way for long.” He frowns. “At least, I don’t think so.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m starting to get a very creepy vibe from this guy. He must sense it because he sighs.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t touch you like that while you were unconscious.”

Thank God for that. I hadn’t quite gotten to that point yet, but I would have eventually. Obviously, I’m lying here naked, and he cleaned the blood off me. He’s seen every inch of my body.

“You’re sure about that?” I can’t help but ask.

“Trust me. You would know if I had.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, is that supposed to make me feel better?

“I wanted to. Very much.”

“Should I thank you for not giving in?”

He chuckles. It’s a low rumble.

“Of course not. Once you’re healed, I will take you.”

“Take me where?”

It comes out before I can stop it and before what he just said registers in my brain. I’m still thinking too slowly, like my head is full of cotton or something. Max must have really hit me hard for my head to feel this way. Maybe I have a concussion. Hell, for all I know, none of this is real.

He chuckles again. “And you’ll want me to, I promise.”

It’s official. He is completely insane, and here I am with him. I have no idea where we are. I don’t know where my clothes are. I have no car or bike or anything. I’ve got to get away from him, but I have no idea how.

“You must be hungry.” I swear, it’s like my stomach heard him. There’s no reason for it to grumble the way it is—usually, when I’m scared shitless, the last thing I want to do is eat.

“How long have I been here?”

“I found you last night. It’s now around midday.”

No wonder I’m so hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday around this time. It was too busy at the diner to take an employee meal. I was going to eat some cereal or ramen when I got home.

“I’ll get you some soup.” He doesn’t bother to wait to hear whether or not I’m hungry. That’s okay. It’ll be nice not having him stare at me for a minute or two. He stands up and crosses the room, which I realize now makes up most of the cabin we’re in. I’m against the wall to the left of the front door. To the right, there’s an old stove and a sink with a pump. There’s a small, round table with two chairs in front of the stove. Along the wall opposite the front door is a fireplace, a big one, though there isn’t a fire burning right now. Between that and the draft coming in through these old windows, one of which is right above my head, no wonder I’m freezing half to death.

I have to think. I’m not a stupid person. I can come up with a way out of this if I try. I need to believe that, or else I’m going to start screaming, and I might not be able to stop once I do.

There’s already a pot on the stove, and when he lifts the lid, the scent of chicken and vegetables makes my stomach growl louder than ever while saliva floods my mouth. I hate being at his mercy, but I do need to eat. I’ll need to get my wits about me if I’m going to survive.

“Do you feel strong enough to sit up at the table?” He glances at me over his shoulder, and I try not to shiver when our eyes meet. What is it about this guy that gives me the creeps? Oh, right, the way he’s so sure I’m going to beg him to screw me. His question makes me check in with my body. I ache in a dozen places, at least. Max really did a number on me—one of my bruises, on my hip, is in the shape of a boot tread. He always did like to kick.

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s fine. I’ll bring it to you.”

And he does, in a chipped bowl, steaming hot. I manage to slowly roll over onto my side, and he puts the bowl in front of me on the bed. He then draws up one of the chairs from the table and takes a seat right in front of me.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Now I know what a zoo animal feels like. If I wasn’t half-starved, I would forget the soup and try to go back to sleep. At least if I’m sleeping, I can’t see him staring at me. Then again, I don’t trust him. What happens if he decides he doesn’t feel like waiting until I supposedly want him? Just because he didn’t r**e me when I was unconscious doesn’t mean the impulse isn’t there. I have to force myself to lift the spoon to my lips and sip the hot broth as he’s watching. At least it soothes my sore throat. I can imagine what it must look like, and I’m glad there’s nothing reflective anywhere around me. My face has to be covered in bruises. My nose is all stuffed up and throbbing, and it feels like Max tried to strangle me. Maybe that was how he tried to finish the job. The bastard never could follow through with anything once he started.

He’s still watching me. I can’t stand it. All I can hear is the sound of me sipping the soup, of the spoon hitting the bowl, and his breathing. I can’t even bring myself to look up at him. I’m afraid of what I’ll say. Eventually, the soup is gone, and I don’t have an excuse to avoid him.

“Thank you. That was good.”

“I wish I could take credit, but it was from a can. I manage to get to the store maybe twice a year.”

He goes to the sink with the bowl, giving me a chance to look around. What did I expect? For some magical escape hatch to reveal itself? All I see around me are wood plank walls that could use something to fill in some of the cracks, grimy windows, and a floor that hasn’t been washed since before I was born.

“Is this where you live?”

“It is.” So he’s some kind of hermit.

“At least the store must be close by if you can get supplies and whatever.”

“I manage.” Dammit, I was sort of hoping he would give me an idea of how far we are from civilization. I guess it won’t be that easy. Then, he adds, “I’m sure you’ll get used to living remotely. I did. I prefer it this way now.”

“Really? I kind of like being around people.”

“You’ll get over that.” My stomach lurches, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose my soup all over the bed. The only thing that stops me is knowing I would have to get up and drop the blanket if I did. How can he sound so confident? Like it’s some predestined thing. Like I have no say in the matter.