Down The Train Tracks *Jason McCann*

Down The Train Tracks. ~Ch.15 ["I'm here for you."]

Bad thing: He did it.

Good thing: He did it to save me.

He was protecting me, I know, but I… I just don’t know. Everything’s so complicated, and I don’t know what to think.

I don’t even consider him kidnapping me a bad thing; it’s just the way he did it. He could have just came up to me and asked me to come with him, I’d see how gorgeous he was and say ‘alright’.

Okay, not literally, but let’s face it, I wanted something like that to happen.

I could have taken my phone, but I didn’t. I could fasten my seat belt in cars, but I don’t. I could look before I cross the road, but I don’t. If I was held at gunpoint, I honestly don’t think I would beg. I wouldn’t flinch. If anything, I’d shout at them telling them to pull the trigger. And for crying out loud, I was walking down alley ways. Day or night, you just don’t do that.

I walked around welcoming danger, already have accepted death, I was just waiting for it to happen. To tell the truth, I was waiting for Jason to kill me, but I now know that he’s willing to hurt me in the worst way possible to keep me alive.

I don’t know what to think anymore, and I don’t know what to do. I just, ugh!

I sunk down under the water once again, and screamed. Bubbles rose, popping once they reached air. I kept screaming, because it was the only thing to do.

That thought is what made my eyes fly open. Standing up, I stood down on the towel I lay out, and grabbed the other off the ground. Now dry, I got changed into a bra, one of Jason’s t-shirts, and a pair of his boxers. Somehow, I need to persuade Jason into getting me my own clothes, once we start talking again. Otherwise, what was the point in having a wardrobe?

Once dressed, I looked around. He had no shaving stuff here, which meant he wouldn’t have any loose blades lying around either. I frowned, what will I do now? I thought of the book on the cabinet in Jason’s room, which contained the knife, but I can’t get that. What if he’s in his room?

I scanned the tiny bathroom a few more times, until I finally realized I could break the mirror. I wrapped my left hand in the towel I had on my head, and put my hands on the toilet flusher.

3..

2..

Now!

All at the same time, I punched the middle of the mirror and flushed the toilet. Obviously, it didn’t drown out the sound completely, but it was better than nothing. Dropping the towel on the ground, my hand reached out and pulled a shard of cracked glass off, holding out my left arm.

I used my thumb and my middle finger to hold each side of the shard. I swiftly moved it up and down the length of my arm, still holding it in the air, looking for a patch with no scars. After a few seconds, I settled for a small part of my forearm, and held the object against my flesh.

Using my index finger, I pushed down on the shard, dragging it across my skin. I stopped once I had a lengthy cut, for a moment, for just a brief, too short for my liking moment, I felt relief. I felt like everything was okay. For a moment, all my inner pain was gone. I felt a much too familiar feeling of comfort, but then it was gone. Just like that, it was gone, and I needed to feel it again.

Just one more cut.

So I did it again. I cut myself, bleeding out all the pain inside. Relief. Relief. Gone.

Okay, maybe one more.

Again, relief, and then nothing.

That one wasn’t deep enough, so it doesn’t count. Do one more.