angry.
I didn’t
talk to him much the rest of the day. I watched as he cleaned the house, but if
he looked my way, I averted my eyes. Eye contact provoked conversation and I
wasn’t in the mood for that.
While he
cleaned, I pulled on my hand, trying desperately to free myself of the metal
handcuff. I tried to bend my thumb over far enough into my palm to make it
smaller. It didn’t work. I even spit on my wrist and rubbed it around under the
cuff trying to create enough lubricant to allow my hand to slip through. It
didn’t work either.
In fact,
the only thing I succeeded in doing was rubbing my wrist raw and making the
bones in my hand hurt.
There would
come a day, though, when the cuff would be just loose enough for my wrist to
slide out. Then I would be free. And Ron would be dead.
Chapter
18
A couple
of days later, I was cuffed to the table while Ron was in the basement. He’d
been down there for a while. I didn’t know what he was doing and I didn’t care.
When he’d first gone down, I’d heard Melinda’s screams, but they’d fallen
silent some time ago.
Now, I
just sat and waited.
Eventually,
Ron came stomping up the stairs in a huff. I could tell he was angry by the
sounds of his footsteps. They were heavy, quick, and purposeful. I didn’t turn
around. I didn’t want to face him, afraid I would be the center of his anger.
Turns out,
I didn’t have to turn around to be the center of his anger. And if I had put
half as much thought into it as I thought I had, I would’ve seen this coming.
I heard
his footsteps approach me from behind. They stopped directly behind me. I caved
and started to turn around to face him, but before I could, he had his right
arm across my right shoulder, and with his hand, he held my jaw tightly. His
left hand came up on my left side. Before I could register that he had
something in his hand, he was forcing it into my mouth.
I tried to
pull away from him, but I had nowhere to go. My right hand was bound to the
underside of the table. He was behind me, and I was trapped in his arms.
To my
surprise and his, I managed to keep my teeth tightly together for a full
minute. But no more than that. He stuffed his dirty,
meaty fingers into my mouth and pried open my jaw. With his left hand, he
managed to cram in a handful of the stuff he held, which I now knew to be the
rotten dog food I’d so cleverly hidden from him.
He’d found
it. He must’ve been down there cleaning and lifted the mattress. So as it turns
out, I wasn’t quite the genius I thought I was.
I was more
afraid than I had been so far. Even more afraid than I’d been as I’d watched
him hack Stephanie into pieces. I knew that he was angry. Not just angry, but
directly angry at me, with me, for lying to him. I didn’t even want to imagine
the kind of punishment he had for something like this.
“Eat it,
you stupid bitch,” he said as he continued cramming wads of rotten dog food in
my mouth. Some pieces were still hard and crumbled as they scraped across my
teeth. But other pieces had gone soft in their decay and fell softly into my
mouth, threatening to slide down my throat. It was a battle to keep any from going
down.
I only had
one free hand and I used it to alternately beat him in the face and pull at his
arms. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe with my mouth and
throat full of the foul kibble. I was trying to keep it all in my mouth so when
he let go, I could spit it all in his face.
“You think
you can lie to me and get away with it?” he screamed in my ear. “Eat it!”
I began to
cough and choke. He stopped shoving more food in, but refused to allow any out.
He cupped his left hand, which was still covered in dog food crumbs, over my
mouth and bloated cheeks. With his right hand, he lifted up on my jaw, tilting
my head back against his chest where I could feel his furiously pounding heart
beating against his ribs, adding to the pounding I already had in my head.
“Eat
I didn’t
talk to him much the rest of the day. I watched as he cleaned the house, but if
he looked my way, I averted my eyes. Eye contact provoked conversation and I
wasn’t in the mood for that.
While he
cleaned, I pulled on my hand, trying desperately to free myself of the metal
handcuff. I tried to bend my thumb over far enough into my palm to make it
smaller. It didn’t work. I even spit on my wrist and rubbed it around under the
cuff trying to create enough lubricant to allow my hand to slip through. It
didn’t work either.
In fact,
the only thing I succeeded in doing was rubbing my wrist raw and making the
bones in my hand hurt.
There would
come a day, though, when the cuff would be just loose enough for my wrist to
slide out. Then I would be free. And Ron would be dead.
Chapter
18
A couple
of days later, I was cuffed to the table while Ron was in the basement. He’d
been down there for a while. I didn’t know what he was doing and I didn’t care.
When he’d first gone down, I’d heard Melinda’s screams, but they’d fallen
silent some time ago.
Now, I
just sat and waited.
Eventually,
Ron came stomping up the stairs in a huff. I could tell he was angry by the
sounds of his footsteps. They were heavy, quick, and purposeful. I didn’t turn
around. I didn’t want to face him, afraid I would be the center of his anger.
Turns out,
I didn’t have to turn around to be the center of his anger. And if I had put
half as much thought into it as I thought I had, I would’ve seen this coming.
I heard
his footsteps approach me from behind. They stopped directly behind me. I caved
and started to turn around to face him, but before I could, he had his right
arm across my right shoulder, and with his hand, he held my jaw tightly. His
left hand came up on my left side. Before I could register that he had
something in his hand, he was forcing it into my mouth.
I tried to
pull away from him, but I had nowhere to go. My right hand was bound to the
underside of the table. He was behind me, and I was trapped in his arms.
To my
surprise and his, I managed to keep my teeth tightly together for a full
minute. But no more than that. He stuffed his dirty,
meaty fingers into my mouth and pried open my jaw. With his left hand, he
managed to cram in a handful of the stuff he held, which I now knew to be the
rotten dog food I’d so cleverly hidden from him.
He’d found
it. He must’ve been down there cleaning and lifted the mattress. So as it turns
out, I wasn’t quite the genius I thought I was.
I was more
afraid than I had been so far. Even more afraid than I’d been as I’d watched
him hack Stephanie into pieces. I knew that he was angry. Not just angry, but
directly angry at me, with me, for lying to him. I didn’t even want to imagine
the kind of punishment he had for something like this.
“Eat it,
you stupid bitch,” he said as he continued cramming wads of rotten dog food in
my mouth. Some pieces were still hard and crumbled as they scraped across my
teeth. But other pieces had gone soft in their decay and fell softly into my
mouth, threatening to slide down my throat. It was a battle to keep any from going
down.
I only had
one free hand and I used it to alternately beat him in the face and pull at his
arms. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe with my mouth and
throat full of the foul kibble. I was trying to keep it all in my mouth so when
he let go, I could spit it all in his face.
“You think
you can lie to me and get away with it?” he screamed in my ear. “Eat it!”
I began to
cough and choke. He stopped shoving more food in, but refused to allow any out.
He cupped his left hand, which was still covered in dog food crumbs, over my
mouth and bloated cheeks. With his right hand, he lifted up on my jaw, tilting
my head back against his chest where I could feel his furiously pounding heart
beating against his ribs, adding to the pounding I already had in my head.
“Eat
Similar Books
