When I wake up I yelp at the pain in my arm. I had rolled over in my sleep and put all of my weight on my broken bone. My eyes ache so I rub them with my thumb and forefinger. I yawn and tired tears seep out of my eyes as I look up.
I gasp and back up against the wall. Michael is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, staring at me and taking a slow drag off a cigarette. His eyebrow quirks as smoke shoots from his lips. I cover my cast with my good arm and stare right back at him.
How long has he been here?
Michael snorts and puts out the cigarette on the surface of the table. The only sound is the tiny hiss as the ash fizzles out and the sound of his nails as he scratches his chin. I bite down on my tongue as he stands up. He maintains eye contact while walking over to me.
It's hard to breathe steadily when Michael stands in front of me. He shoves his hands in his pockets and I move my eyes down to watch him rummage through them. When he finally removes his hands I hear the tinkle of his keys and stiffen.
I make no move to give him my ankle, and no move to pull away when he lifts it to unlock me. The shackle bounces on the mattress with a clack and Michael slides the keys back in his pocket.
Right as I open my mouth to say something, Michael has already turned his back to me and started walking back to his seat. I stretch my legs and wince at the stabbing pain in my thigh. My fingers brush over the tight bandage around my leg.
Michael clears his throat, causing my head to bolt back up. His eyes stare back at me before sliding over to the chair across from him and back to me.
I exhale carefully as I gingerly rise to my feet. The pain in my thigh gets worse and I swear that the gash is pulsing under the bandage. I have to limp over to the chair and whimper as I finally sit down.
My eyes stay glued to the table's surface. Those scorch marks from past cigarettes stare right back at me. We sit in pure silence for what feels like minutes. I peer up every once in awhile to see Michael not even stealing a glance at me.
I hear the flick of his lighter a good three times before the smell of smoke fills the air.
Why isn't he saying anything? Screaming? Yelling? Punishing me? Bending me over this table? Cutting me until I lose more blood than I can legally donate?
This much silence is impossible to sit through.
"How many of those have you had today?" My voice is no less croaky than it was last night. I force my eyes up to look at him, keeping all emotion from my face.
Michael takes a puff and sighs. "This is my fourth one today." He drags a hand through his hair. "It's almost noon." A snort escapes his lips. "You really stressed me out, September."
I flinch as he tosses a newspaper onto the table and taps an article with his finger. "I have a buddy. He thinks I collect tragic news articles. Thought you'd wanna see this." He slides the paper over to me. "Read it for me, willya," Michael says.
A picture of me from the high school yearbook smiles at nothing. The words above it make me suck in a breath. I begin to read: "Local Teen Assumed Dead. Authorities Call Off Search."
Michael grins. "Keep going. It gets better."
I gulp and read further. "September Walker, reported missing last month, has disappeared seemingly without a trace along with her father, Matthew Walker." Tears begin to well in my eyes and Michael nudges my leg with his foot. "Mason Lee, a friend of September, has made claims about multiple accounts of relentless physical abuse from the father to the daughter, and believes that she is still alive and out there somewhere."
I feel like my lungs will collapse if I read any further. Another nudge. "'I promised Sep that I'd be at her house to take her somewhere safe,' Lee says. 'She was ready to get away from her dad. I'm going to find my friend, with or without help from the police.'"
My voice cracks as I continue: "Police," I clear my throat, "Police, however, have come to the conclusion that they are no longer looking for a missing person. They are now looking for a-a body."
I shove the paper away and bury my face in my only good hand. My sobs are the only noise in the room until Michael speaks again.
"Look at me."
I cross my arms carefully, keeping my cast in mind, and lift my puffy eyes. The dark circles under his blue eyes immediately catch my attention. He's tired. There's nothing for me to be afraid of at the moment.
"You thought that you could just," he flicks some ash off the end of the cigarette, "drive on outta here, hmm?" Another puff. "Free as a fucking bird?" He blows the smoke towards me and chuckles when I fan it away in disgust. I give him a hard glare. His face turns harder after a few seconds of silence. "You could have died." He picks up the paper and shoves a finger against the article. "Then the police back home would've actually found what was left of you. Give your little fagot friend some peace of mind." His words are careful and dig into my gut.
"Don't call him that." Those words are instinct. I had to stand up for my friend a few times at school and in public.
Kinda wishing I did die... I know it'd kill Mason if they found my body. But what would it do to Michael, though? That's the real question.
"September, I don't think you-"
"I still have yet to see why you'd give a flying fuck about whether I live or die," I bite out. His only response is rubbing his eye under his glasses with a balled fist. "What's stopping you from just killing me?" His eyes fix on me with a glare. "Why don't you just do it?! You obviously want to!"
Michael stands up with such a force that his chair falls back and clatters to the floor. He strides right over to me and leans down so his face is inches from mine. His glare is hard and unyielding. I glare right back.
"What's stopping-"
Michael's fingers dig into my injured thigh. I let out a scream and try to push him away. The throbbing pulse in my leg returns. His fingers pull back and gently caress my tender bandage in a fake apology. "Why would I kill you when there's so many other more enjoyable activities we could be doing instead?" A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye and I bat his hand away. "Unfortunately, I can only kill you once. Besides, you're not done yet." He wipes the tear away and grins.
"Go to Hell," I whisper through gritted teeth.
"All in good time, Morning Bird," he winks and taps the elbow of my injured arm making me wince.
I glare up at him and that usual smirk is back on his face. His eyes move down my body and stop at my thigh. The smirk disappears. I follow his stare. Blood is staining the outside of my bandage.
Michael grips my waist and hoists me up to sit on the table.
"What-"
"Your bandage needs changed," he interrupts without hesitation.
I barely open my mouth before he's already to the cell door. My fingers gently run over my throbbing thigh and I start to carefully peel the bandage away. The pressure on my wound lightens and I sigh at the feeling. Not a good feeling, but it's different.
Michael's hands appear by mine and help me undress my cut because three hands work better than one. I pull my hands away at the icy feeling of his fingers. The burning pain in my leg spreads out and I lean back on my good palm with a grunt. I decide against looking down, but can see the bright red blood out of the corner of my eye.
"I gave you a tetanus shot after I brought you back," Michael says with a glance up at my face. "It still hasn't scabbed over. Must need stitches. It's pretty deep."
I suck in a sharp breath and squeeze my eyes shut. His cold fingers press against my arm and guide me down so I'm laying on my side. Little goosebumps rise up on my skin as he positions my leg and slides a rough towel underneath, then a pillow beneath that.
"Don't move." I wince and bite down on my lip as he dabs the cut firmly with a smelly liquid. The burning sensation gets even worse and a couple tears squeeze out of my eyes and I let out a whimper. "I'm not gon' pretend this ain't gon' hurt, Morning Bird," he says, gripping my knee. It's not long before I feel a sharp prick in my flesh. I bite down on my knuckle and concentrate on staying completely still.
After Michael tugs the first stitch tight and ties it off, he clears his throat and taps my good arm. "Hey, you doin' okay?" When I refuse to answer he adds, "Conversation might help this process move quicker, if you wan' insult me s'more." His fingers brush down my calf and I nudge them away with my good toes.
I roll my eyes and stare at the wall. It's only when the suture pierces my skin again that I take Michael up on his offer. "So, uh... what's Nancy's deal?"
He looks over at me behind his glasses and raises an eyebrow. His jaw tightens at the question, but he works his mouth as he works his careful fingers. "Nancy used to live in this house. After I killed her husband, she signed the place over to me and set up somewhere else." He sighs. "I don't think she was ever all right in the head. She might have a personality disorder, probably bipolar. I dunno." The second stitch is in.
"The fact that she pulled a knife on me doesn't faze you," I ask, sucking in a breath as he starts on the third stitch.
"Apparently the little stunt with the car was a test." Michael sighs. "I don't know why she didn't let me know about it beforehand, but there you are." I push a strand of hair behind my ears and avoid his eyes. "Not gon' lie. I was shocked. Especially when you took her up on the offer and ran off. After what happened between us..." his voice trails off.
He's silent as the stitch is pulled tight.
I want so badly to tell him I didn't feel anything between us and that I had been manipulating him that whole night. To let him know that his tricks of seduction weren't working on my mind. That my escape attempt with the car was my goal. It was all I wanted.
Not him. Not his sick hobby. Not even the piece of flesh dangling between his legs.
But that wouldn't be the best way to approach a psychopath who's already broken my arm and is currently stitching up a cut on my leg.
Before I can say anything, along those lines or otherwise, he starts talking again. "If she wasn't skilled in the medical field, I woulda killed her last night for that."
Killed her?
"She's obviously obsessed with you," I mumble.
Michael snorts. "Can you blame her?" I glance over at him. He's smirking while concentrating on my stitches. "I don't know if you know this, but," his eyebrow quirks, "I'm a catch."
"If you say so," I exhale through my nose. His smirk has turned into a grin and his eyes flick up to me for a split second before getting back to work. "Michael?" His eyebrows raise in response. "How old are you?"
His hands freeze in place and he doesn't look up at me. "How old do you think I am?" His brow quirks again.
My eyes float down to my leg. "Get back to my stitches and I'll tell'ya." Michael keeps eye contact as he pushes the suture through my skin, causing another sharp wince from me. "Thirty..." I drag out the first word as much as possible. Michael snorts. "Two?"
"Thanks," he scoffs, flicking some of my own hot blood in my face causing my head to jolt back on reflex. "I'm actually twenty-nine," he confesses.
"And you see nothing wrong with abducting a girl thirteen years younger than you?" I focus on the blood drops on the wall.
"Adult women are too independent these days, and it takes a great deal longer for anyone to notice a teenager missing, especially in the middle of summer. Even less likely if they don't have a job."
Mason had wanted me to intern at the zoo with him over the summer. He thought it'd be fun. God, why didn't I say just yes? Maybe Michael would've chosen somebody else. Granted, I'd probably be scooping elephant poop right now, but at least I'd be free.
"Would you rather I left you with your father?" The stitch is pulled tight and I grunt. "I know for a fact that if someone killed my mother and put a roof over my head and food in my belly," he points the suture at me, "I wouldn't be questioning their means or their ends." I chew on the inside of my cheek. "I would damn well be thanking them." His thumb and forefinger pinch my chin firmly.
"I was gonna get out," I snap, pushing his hand away. It's a lousy attempt to change his views on the situation.
Michael chuckles. "Of course you were." His finger drags along the edge of my cut. "One more and then we're done," he mumbles threading the suture again. I actually manage to force myself to watch my flesh being pulled together.
We say nothing more as he finishes off the stitches, applies ointment and carefully wraps up my thigh. He wipes his hands off on the towel.
I sit up and meet his eyes. Still no words are said. Michael's face is unreadable as he leans down and presses a kiss to my thigh. His lips linger for a moment. When he comes up a strong sigh comes out of his nose. He slides his thumb along the bandage and looks back up at my face, studying every feature. I move my gaze down to my lap.
"I know this is gon' be hard for you," Michael says softly, "but please," he angles my face up to look at him. Those eyes stare into mine, "don't try to run away again." His lips barely brush against mine before I flinch away from his touch. He sighs again and lays a hand on the nape of my neck squeezing lightly. "It occurs to me," his tongue flicks over his lips, "that I still haven't punished you for what happened by the spring."