Page 3 of Wanted Beta

My wrists start to itch, and I can’t help but rub at the sore, rope-burned patches of skin.

It hurts, and the tingly feeling that makes me want to scratch doesn’t even go away.

Ugh. It’s just a phantom sensation left over from being tied up for a day.

Knowing that doesn’t make me feel any better.

The rope burns on my wrists are barely noticeable, but if I stay still for too long, or I guess if I’m feeling anxious, it still feels like they’re there, pinning me in place, and that’s creepy enough to make me shudder.

Thankfully my jeans protected my ankles from the same fate, but my jaw still aches from the handkerchief gag he used on my mouth, too. I probably spent too long trying to bite through the material, or at least move it so I could get the knot at the back of my head around to the front where maybe, just maybe, I could undo it with my teeth.

Pain pills help, but they can’t take away the memory of what happened.

I can’t sleep, I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m not going to sleep tonight.

Knowing that, I pull back the covers and force myself out of bed.

I make my way to the bathroom, and I take a long, hot shower.

Once I’m all fresh and clean, I go through the closet and find plain, lounging around clothes.

Stonewashed jeans and a loose fit cropped T-shirt.

I get dressed and decide to find out if my sister was lying about the food in the kitchen.

Catherine was a bit of a health freak when she lived at home.

Calling it food was a stretch for the stuff she used to eat.

I check the fridge and cupboards.

Ugh. Fat-free milk. Low-fat yogurt.

Oatmeal. Muesli. Raisins.

Salad is probably all there is for lunch, too.

Clearly, last night’s Chinese take-out and tonight’s pizza are the only edible meals I’m going to get around here unless I go shopping and bring back my own supplies.

She told me not to leave the apartment, and I know she didn’t leave me a key.

That was probably on purpose. I’m not exactly known for following directions.

I doubt she’d forget that after half a dozen incidents when I was kid, and she was a teenager.

I went missing so many times that I know if I ever actually got kidnapped no one would have thought anything of it. A bit like the boy who cried wolf, I guess.

I was the girl who wandered off.

Lucky for me when I actually got kidnapped, a friend’s mom came to my rescue.

Otherwise, who the hell knows how long I would have been trapped in that closet?

If that had gone on for much longer, I don’t think I’d be okay now.

Thinking about it makes me itch to get out of the apartment.

I fleetingly think about leaving the building via the fire escape.

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