Page 51 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“Give me your left hand again.”

She holds it out to me with a dull look.

I want to swear and bang my fists against the RV’s paneling. Goodness gracious, Lou! Scream at me again, cry, but do something! Please, do something! Clenching my teeth, I untie the cuff and snap it around her ankle. “So your wrists can heal a bit.” As soon as I’ve said it, I realize how horrible it sounded, like she’s doomed to live with chains forever. With a sigh, I click the free ring of the handcuffs onto the iron chain that still hangs in its peg on the wall.

I actually wanted to leave her alone today, but when I leave, I have to think about her words again. “You weren’t serious earlier, were you?” I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at her.

She doesn’t say anything, instead, she grips the fabric of the T-shirt and twists it into little sausages.

“That you wouldn’t care if I raped you and beat you half to death if I would just drop you off by the side of the road afterward.”

Maybe it’s the harshness of her own words that brings her out of her rigid state, but suddenly she looks like she’s present again.

I still don’t get a real reaction.

I shake my head in resignation. “I really must be a monster.”

She closes her eyes, avoiding my gaze. Her fingers clench the fabric of the shirt so tight her knuckles turn white.

“I merely want you with me. That’s all… I won’t touch you again…especially not in the way you think. Not as long as you don’t want me to.”

She doesn’t move, breathing shallowly as if my words were a perfidious lie and I might attack her. I don’t know what else to do to make her believe me. I recall the moment again where she was drugged and had wrapped her arms around me, and my dreams of her here in the Yukon. I still feel that dark deep burning in my chest, but it flickers less intensely.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I promise,” I hear myself say and I’ve never meant anything more seriously.

Maybe it’s the softness of my words that makes Lou look up.

“That’s never going to happen,” she says after a pause, her voice cracking. “Ever.”

This time, she doesn’t look away, yet it’s like she’s completely withdrawing from me as if I had never possessed her less than in this moment.

Maybe that’s why I take a step toward her, to show her that it’s impossible to escape me. Maybe I simply have a problem with her contempt.

I unfold my arms, which I had crossed, and hold my wrists in front of her, the torn skin and raw meat. “This time, you were lucky. I was able to chain myself up in time,” I reply angrily. “I might not make it next time. So think carefully about if you want to try to run off again.” I purposefully direct my gaze to the chain. “Assuming I ever give you a chance to try.”

With that, I turn and march away. Her words sink deep inside me like an anchor: That’s never going to happen. Ever.

Okay, Lou, we’ll see about that!

I can’t help it, I’m furious. I know how wrong it is and that I have no right to be angry. It is obvious that Lou hates me. But my feelings completely ignore that. I’d like to rage and scream and rip the steering wheel from the RV’s column and throw it into the forest like a Frisbee, but then I recall how desperately Lou cried in the bathroom.

It’s like there are worlds between the things I feel. I’ve never felt the difference so strongly—it’s like a crack dividing me in half. Good Bren, bad Bren.

I go outside, slam the door behind me, and light a cigarette, but the nicotine doesn’t soothe me. I walk a few yards into the woods and pound my fists on a lodgepole pine. The bark cracks, revealing the underlying layer of bast. My wrists explode in pain and start bleeding again.

I stop, my breathing ragged. I don’t know which I prefer, pity or anger. Anger is wrong, pity is right. But anger doesn’t go away just like that simply because my mind knows it’s wrong to feel that way.

When I return to the RV, I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to be like anymore.

Chapter

Fourteen

The further north we travel, the less there is left of Lou. As if she was gradually dissolving with the increasing distance. She only speaks to me when absolutely necessary. But what does speak even mean? Yes and no are the only words she has for me.

After three days, I reach the turn that leads to my land, a graveled, lumber-logging road that has long since served its purpose.

I hope Lou looks out the window from time to time so she sees a bit of nature. Now and again, the shady coniferous forest breaks open and reveals a view of the mirror-smooth mountain lakes. They shimmer glassy in the sunlight, the aspen trees on the banks soaring toward the sky like long limbs. Bright green valleys with wild rivers follow wide grasslands that are reclaimed by the dark forests. At some point, the trees move closer together and I can tell we’ll be there soon.

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