Page 10 of Bleeding Blackheart

I find the sandals in no time. They’re the only ones I keep in a box. I stand up and hand them to Montana, and she looks at me warily. “You’re married?”

I don’t wear a ring on my left hand, but maybe she thinks the one on my right means something. “No.”

She raises a brow, crossing her arms that make her dark nipples stand out through the thin shirt she wears. “So you have a girlfriend.”

I glance at Margaret’s shoes, and her lifeless face flashes in my mind. “No.”

She holds the sandals in her hands cautiously as if they’re treasures. “Sister? Mother?”

“Not anymore. These don’t belong to them.”

Her jaw tenses. “Who do they belong to? Your feet are too big for them.”

I push down any ounce of emotion that could rise to the surface. “They belong to me.” I nod my head to the bathroom on the opposite wall. “Potty. Put your shoes on, and then we’re heading out.”

She laughs at my choice of words which breaks me from my depressed spell and heads toward the open door. As soon as she steps in, she tries to close it behind her, but I hold my hand up, causing her to stumble.

Her nervous eyes meet mine. “I don’t even get to piss in private?”

I step in when she backs up toward the toilet. “Not until I can trust you.”

She sets the shoes down on the ground. “And when will that be?”

“Never.”

She stands there, eyeing me down, and I shut the door behind me even though it’s just us in here so she doesn’t try and run past me. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all this morning, Montana. Hurry up. We’ve got a lot to do today.” As soon as we get back from our little errand, I have some work to do on the ranch, and she’s going to help me whether she wants to or not.

Lifting her shirt up, she sits on the toilet, and we don’t break eye contact while she pees. When she grabs toilet paper, I look past her, trying to give her a little privacywhile keeping her in my line of sight. She handles her business quickly, and once her hands are clean, she slides into Margaret’s overpriced leather sandals and comes up to me. “Let’s get going.”

5

Montana

I’m going to kill him. I am going to murder this man.

I didn’t plan to when I first met him, but he’s only gotten crazier as the minutes have gone on, and I’m terrified to spend the night with him. But that might be my best shot. I’ll kill him while he sleeps, and then I’ll steal his truck and head to Arizona without looking back. I can do this. It can’t be that hard.

I sit in the back of his truck while he does something out back. Apparently he has ten horses, some sheep, and other animals. I’d love to see them, but I doubt he’ll let me. Even if he does, he probably won’t let me touch them. He’s far too grouchy for that.

Though he’s only ten years older than me, it feels like more. He’s so serious. I wonder if he’s ever had any fun in his life. I used to have fun, but having a hard life takes the fun out of you. Maybe that’s what happened to him too.

My body’s a little less sore now that the painkillers are starting to kick in. I asked what fluids were in my IV bag, and I was told I wasn’t drugged. I kinda wish he gave me some drugs because I’m not sure how long this ibuprofen will help me. But I’m way too proud to ask for anything more. And he’s so damn mean that he won’t give me anything else.

My hair is starting to dry out a bit in the sun, but I really wish I had some shampoo and conditioner. And a detangling brush. It’d also be nice to wear something other than a see-through shirt. At least I have a shirt. For a minute I thought he was just going to make me stay naked.

Eventually he returns from out back, and he has on a denim shirt over his black tank top, and his hat covers his eyes. He’s in desperate need of a shave and haircut. Okay, maybe not a haircut, but definitely a shave.

He gives me one last glance before hopping in his truck, and he opens the little window and calls out to me. “If you need anything . . . don’t.”

What a saint. “Thanks.”

I slip into the denim jacket next to me, and it goes well past my hips. It must be his. I see him through the rear view mirror when I slide it on, but he doesn’t yell at me or tell meto remove it, so I don’t.

I have no idea where we are, and we drive down an old dirt road. I can’t shake the fear that my father’s going to find us. And when he does, he’ll torture us both.

It’s the beginning of August, so it’s not unbearable, but it’s still hot out. I get one last glimpse of the mountains before we drive into more woods, and I tilt my head up to the sky with my eyes closed wishing I was anyone else but me.

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but the sound of a door slamming jolts me out of my slumber, and Mr. Blackheart stands over me. Or just Blackheart. Whatever the hell he said. I wish he would tell me his real fucking name. He already knows way more about me than I’m comfortable with.

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