Vivian

 

I try to struggle, but my ankle hurts too much and the men are too strong. They pull me through the air. I kick and scream and try to fight, but I know it’s useless.

 

As soon as we get back to the little black car, one of the men roughly holds my arms behind my back while the other secures me tightly with rope. The rope digs into my skin and I cry out in pain, but all that I receive for my efforts is a strong slap across the face.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” one of the men growls. I shiver when I realize it’s the same man who has tried to grab me twice before. He’s got a red birthmark across his face and foul breath, like all of his teeth have gone rotten in his head.

 

“Branden, she’s a feisty little cunt,” the other man says.

 

Branden throws his head back and laughs like this is some kind of funny joke.

 

“Yeah, I’ve had my eye on her for a while,” he says. “That’s why I needed your help, Alan.”

 

Branden and Alan, I think, trying to memorize the names. My mind is whirling a million miles per minute, and I know that I’m probably not capable of rational thought. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to run away from the hideout. I wonder if Lindsay knows that something’s wrong. Surely she must be wondering why I haven’t made it to her car yet.

 

“Help!” I scream again. Branden slaps me across the face. He stares at me with narrow, beady little eyes.

 

“You shut up, bitch,” Branden says. “I’ve already got a headache, and I don’t need you making anything worse for me.”

 

Tears come to my eyes but I don’t try to blink them away. My arms are already numb at the sockets from the rope behind me. My ankle feels so swollen that I’m worried I won’t be able to take my shoe off…at least, if I’m ever untied and given the opportunity to do that.

 

Branden and Alan wrestle me over to the trunk of the car. Branden pops it open and Alan shoves me inside. I take the opportunity to kick out with my legs, but Alan punches me in the thigh and I cry out in pain as my wounded ankle slams against the side of the car.

 

“Gimme some more rope,” Branden says. Alan obliges and Branden reaches into the trunk, holding my ankles together and wrapping them up.

 

“Please, please don’t do that,” I beg. “I hurt my ankle in the woods and it really hurts, please don’t tie it tightly!”

 

“Oh, she hurt her ankle,” Alan says sarcastically. “Stupid bitch. That’s what you get for trying to run from us.”

 

With as much effort as I can, I arch my neck and try to spit in his face. The glob of saliva lands on his chin and it’s almost worth it for the murderous look that Alan gives me. But seconds later, the blows to my face and upper body make me regret being feisty.

 

Alan and Branden slam me inside of the trunk. When I hear them get in the car and start the engine, a wave of despair washes over me.

 

This is it, I think. They’re going to hold me for ransom and then kill me because they’re deranged fucks and I wasn’t able to escape. Fuck, I’m so stupid! Why the hell did I have to try escaping like that, anyway?

 

When Landon’s face flashes into my mind, the tears come harder than ever. I’m crying so hard that I can barely breathe. Tears and snot are streaming down my face and despite trying to twist around so I can wipe my nose on my shirt, I can’t move very much in the tiny little trunk. Whoever is driving the car speeds up and we fly over a rough bump that smacks my head against the wall of the car.

 

That’s when the music starts. It’s classic rock—the kind of stuff that my dad listens to. Hearing one of his favorite songs makes me feel worse than ever. I’m going to die and it’s my fault. I should have just listened to him.

 

The car slows down and finally the engine cuts. I hear the doors slam shut, and then the crunch of footsteps in gravel. I hate the idea of meeting more men like Branden and Alan, but at least we’ve stopped somewhere and doesn’t seem like we’ve gone that far. My heart sinks when I hear the footsteps fade.

 

They’ve left me here, I realize, shivering with cold. They’ve left me here to die.

 

I don’t know how much time passes in that little trunk. Every moment is painful. My whole body hurts. I can feel that my face is bruised and swollen from the abuse lobbed at me by Branden and Alan, and my ankle is killing me. Each breath is painful, and I shudder at the thought of having to spend the whole night in some goddamned trunk.

 

The footsteps start again. Crunch crunch crunch over the gravel, closer to the car. When I hear the metallic twist of a key in the lock, I hold my breath and close my eyes.

 

Bright light spills into my face as the trunk opens. When I open my eyes, I can barely see anything except the black silhouette of a man leaning over my bound body.

 

“Welcome home, bitch,” Branden says. “Now it’s show time.”