Running Scared

Chapter 8:

I woke up back in the dreaded bedroom. My left eye was swollen shut and from what I could see, James was packing in a fury. He and a couple other people were throwing clothes in boxes and suitcases. I sat up and winced at the pain in my muscles. I massaged my legs and arms where they hurt as the memories flooded back to me.

The gun. Loraine. David. Blood, blood everywhere. The porch running red red RED. James picking me up. Loraine joined her husband in death. And it was all my fault.

James noticed I was awake and shot me a glare. If looks could kill, I would be dead ten times over. He walked over and slapped me across the face. My hand flew to my cheek and I glared back at him.

“You bitch!” He yelled. “What the hell gives you the right to run away? I was worried sick and angrier than I was worried. You have explaining to do! But get one thing straight: when you're here, you do what I say. No running away. You're mine now.”

He made me feel like a child being chastised by the parents. I shook off these feelings and sat up straighter. “No, I'm not. I am not your property, which is how you treat me. You are a sick bastard. And I get the right to run away if you freaking KIDNAP me! You have no right to be worried about me, the police should have been there earlier and I could be gone and you could be in JAIL. I swear–”

“You swear what?” His face was turning red.

“– if I ever get out of here, I am making sure your ass gets thrown into jail.”

“You don't scare me. And your threats are pointless.” He waved his hand like he would swat a fly. “You won't get away. And the police won't find you either. Thanks to your little adventure they are too close for comfort to find you. We are going somewhere else far away. If anything, you just hurt your chances of going home, if you thought you had some. You're in my world now baby.”

He turned back around and started packing clothes. James threw my black high-waisted shorts and a red polka dotted shirt at me. I glared at him but threw the clothes on anyway. I shoved my pajamas in the box he took them from and took my red vans from the empty closet.

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I hurt my chances of being found. If the police had been a little earlier I bet they could have helped me. Damn. I hated him so much.

I walked to the bathroom and pulled my hair up in a ponytail. My hair looked so... ragged. Even in a ponytail it nearly reached to my mid-back and I had split ends everywhere. I was in desperate need of a haircut. My eye was black and blue and my lip was busted. No way of fixing that. With a lopsided glare, I took one last glance in the mirror before heading back out.

When I walked into the bedroom it was all packed. They moved fast. James popped his head in the door. “Come. It's time to go.”

Knowing I didn't have much time before he forced me, I took one last glance at the empty room. The pale floors looked paler and the blue walls looked sadder. I shrugged and headed to the garage. James was waiting in his black Ford Explorer. I hesitated before climbing in the passenger seat.

“Oh no you don't.” He said as I started to climb in.

“What?”

“You think that I am just going to let you sit up here and see where we are going?”

I stared at him.

“Hint: the answer is no. Mark!”

A toned man with a buzz cut walked up and tilted his head forward in acknowledgment. “Yes?”

“Give her the serum.”

He pull a syringe out of his pocket and grabbed my left arm. I didn't have time to protest or the strength to break his hold. He shoved the needle into the crook of my arm and swept me up in his arms. The last thing I remembered was the cool feel of the leather seats as I drifted away.