Loving Life

Chapter 38: Mattie

         
My face already bloodied, my stomach screaming in pain, and it doesn't take very much for Kyle to render me unconscious. Knowing him, I fake it to avoid as much physical contact as much as possible.

            While he thinks I am paralyzed, he drags me by the collar into the cornfield, sharp leaves slicing away at my skin. It is a good thing he focuses more on finding his way...to wherever he has in mind rather than the luggage he tows now.

            Am I really just something Kyle likes to pull around? Truth is, right now for example. And he hardly lets me go off by myself.  Why did I ever leave Ervin? Why was I so stupid? So blind? If I never see him again, I deserve it. He probably wouldn't want to see me anyhow after what I did to him.

            I think we spend the night in the cornfield. All night, I hear the soft swishing of the wind pushing the leaves against each other. In a way, it's calming. But not calming knowing who I'm with. I watch as the sky turns from midnight blue to orchid purple, bubble gum pink, fire red, peach orange, and finally the warm yellow of the sun. I survived another day.

            Is this a good or bad thing? I wish Kyle would hit me so hard that he killed me. I'd rather be dead than receive this treatment.

            Have Ervin and I really watched the same sun rise? I feel as if I'm on another planet, in a different solar system, with a new sun.

            Shortly after, at least in my mind, Kyle drags me by my feet. My arms scrape against the gravel. My head bumps on larger rocks. But I don't sense anything; I'm still knocked out cold, and the rocks aren't helping. I feel myself be tossed into his messy car—not the same white horse he brought me to prom and his party in. Doors slam and we're off.

            I'm so hungry and thirsty. I didn't eat anything for dinner and I have a pretty good feeling I won't get anything for a while.

The next time I wake, the sun is already setting in the west. Yet we still speed westward.

            "Where are we?" I croak, shaking as I push myself up.

            My progress is halted. Kyle pushes me back down. "Nowhere you need to worry about."

            It's dark by the time we stop in a wooded area. We get out, and Kyle instantly pats me down. I ask why. He doesn't answer. I think I can tell what's he's looking for. Only, I don't have a gun, and my phone is in my shoe. I would much rather endure the mental and physical pain of stepping on my phone than having no communication with the world. I pray real hard he doesn't ask to remove my shoes.

            Which he probably wouldn't do. He would rip them off my feet.

            He goes down my right leg where my phone is. I made sure to charge it before I left—it was getting down there.

            Kyle hesitates around my ankle. My breath hitches, but I remember to keep breathing normally.

            I think he heard it. He looks up at me, his beady eyes squinting, trying to find my secrets. But he won't because I'm a brick wall.

            But he will because the mason did a crappy job. There are air bubbles in the brick and concrete.

            I need Ervin the Mason to fix it. He'd plausibly be busy fixing other girls' foundations.

            With a shrug, Kyle moves on. I exhale softly.

            "Well then," he says, dusting his hands off. "Now I have you all to myself."

             I force a smile. "You always had me to yourself."

            He suddenly grips my neck. "Liar! What about that Ervin boy? Didn't think I saw you makin' out in my room? Didn't think I saw you kissin' his eyes out on the back porch? Didn't think I saw you makin' eyes at him? You must be real naïve if you thought that."

            "What are you talking about? I don't even know him," I risk. "He was just some kid who had a crush on me. He's still at the district I came from."

            Kyle is still wary of me. After he finishes, he puts a ton of things in my arms: bags of food, tarps, rope, and blankets. In the darkness, I see the metal glint of a gun at his hip. He notices my glance and shifts his stance and shirt.

            Once he has his arms full, he leads the way—which means tramping through ice-cold streams. My teeth chatter. I drop a few things and let them go, not realizing how important they will be in the coming days. Kyle pushes onward, leaving me dragging behind.

            It is nearly morning by the time w stop. I fall face forward I'm so exhausted. But Kyle kicks me up to help set up the tarps. Snow starts to gently fall. I quietly reach into one of the food bags. Kyle sees, throws a relatively heavy rock, and it hits me in the numb forearm.

            The rest of the day, Kyle and I sleep. I attempt, but I'm so cold. I think about sleeping by Kyle but decide against it.

            When I do wake at one point, guess who's beside me?

            You got it.

            Another day of life is gone. How much more? I hope not too many.

Day two: Kyle begins a sick game that morning. He asks questions I have no clue as to how to answer. If I answer wrong, he punishes me as you are about to find out.

"Let's play something to get to know each other. I'll start: who did I rape first?"

The question sickens me. I shiver but bite my tongue and desperately wish I could crack my knuckles--you crack them x-amount of times until you can't pop them anymore. Since I have no idea, I come up with a random name. "Sohpie Rios."

"Err. Lindsay Ross." It begins to dawn on me that those pictures he showed me of 'skinny' girls were of the girls he raped. He smiles wickedly and brings a glass bottle down on my head. "Next question: how long did she last before I let her run away and she committed suicide?"

"One day." If only you could let me go and I could find something sharp. Maybe when he's not looking, scour his pack...

"Err. An hour and a half." He throws rocks and sticks at me. "Who was my next victim?"

And so the game continues until I am crouched, pulled into a tight ball. Even so, he continues the onslaught until he feels tired again. He sleeps for his six minutes, wakes, sleeps, wakes, sleeps, wakes, sleeps, wakes, sleeps, then comes for me.

A thirty-two-minute break at least.

Before he unleashes his terror again and again.