ROGUE REBORN - ONC 2023

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►►► (spicy warning)

I woke in a frenzy, panting, gasping for air. My eyes wouldn't open, but I was awake, awakening.

Did he kill me again? Did he stab me in the gut or shank my wrists off? Because my wrists hurt something fierce, and my head was in agony, and I—

I tore my eyelids apart, desperate for answers.

No, I wasn't dead. I hadn't died. I peered down to see I was sitting in the back-seat of what I expected was a fancy, upgraded cars. It was spacious, with lots of legroom. I was buckled in—I vaguely recalled seeing seatbelts on one of the television channels, and assumed one of those was keeping me seated and secured.

The same skintight pants covered my thighs, and I wore the same shirt. My silky hair slung over my shoulder, and I let out a small sigh of relief. No, I hadn't died again... but I was going to, any moment now.

I was still groggy, recalling that abhorrent scene in Cecil's kitchen. A dizziness had spread from my head to my toes, curling up in my gut and rendering it useless. I'd fainted, dozed off, poisoned by whatever bullshit tranquilizer Cecil had injected into my food. And apparently, he'd carried me out of his home and into his car, and we were going... where?

He didn't say. All he said was he wouldn't let me go.

We were moving fast, but it was a smooth ride. No bumping along, no squeakiness from the wheels. This vehicle had tires—more vocabulary picked up on that wonderful television—and they glided nicely over the pavement beneath us.

Wincing, my neck stiff, I turned to look out the tinted window. It was still daytime; I'd either only been knocked out for a few hours, or an entire day had passed. I'd likely never know. All I saw were fields, fields, fields for days. Yellow wheat and stretches of green, and a backdrop of forest straight ahead; the car was edging towards it.

My ears popped, and sound poured in. A melody with a banjo-like guitar played, and a man sang with a strange, southern twang; something about gettin' in his truck and goin' for a ride. Was that the country music stuff Cecil had mentioned the night before?

Cecil—was that him up front, steering this thing towards my doom?

As if telepathically answering my question, Cecil did a quick check of the backseat, smiling as his tenebrous eyes met mine. "Ah, she's awake," he said, refocusing on the road. In the mirror on the top middle of the window—the dashboard, if I remembered correctly?—I caught his smirk widening. "Have a nice nap?"

I seethed as I peeped at the leather seat, searching for a means to detach myself from this contraption that kept me buckled in. "Screw you," I growled, my fingers tingling with the urge to grab his neck and suffocate him; if I could free myself from the seatbelt. I found something on the left of me, slightly wedged between the seats. It looked like a button to press, one that would release me—

"Ah ah ah, I wouldn't," said Cecil, wagging a finger at me, his other hand firmly gripping the steering wheel. "I'm sure you want to slit my throat, but if you do that, I'll lose control of the car, and it'll crash into the trees. And then you'll die, too, and I'm guessing you don't want that, do you?"

I glowered at him as I slammed my arms into a folded position and huffed. "Again, screw you." A volatility I wasn't used to brewed inside, and I was desperate to let it out. I was rarely violent, but on the few occasions I had been... well, I was lucky I'd stopped myself in time before resulting to murder.

Murder is bad. He murdered you, but you can't murder him.

"I'm sorry, Josephine, truly," he said, feigning compassion, though he was still smirking. We rolled past a limit of trees, entering the woods. Daylight turned into night as the sky was covered by thick, green, spring leaves. Obscurity filtered into the car. "I had no choice."