Page 13 of Still Beating

“It’s not fun. You wereterribleto me.”

I spare him a poignant glance, taking in the way his eyes dance away from me. Dean scuffs his shoe again, forward and back, and the faint noise of sole against grit sounds so loud in this empty room. It’s jarring.

“I was an ass back then,” he finally responds, still looking off to the side. “I was a stupid teenager. But it’s not like that anymore. I mess with you because you give it back just as good, and it’s harmless, and it’sus.” Dean glances my way with his piercing blue eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy our pranks and our banter and all the dumb shit we do to each other.”

My reply is quick. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying, Dean. I don’t enjoy getting picked on. I don’t enjoy always having to be on high alert around you, wondering what ‘dumb shit’ you’re going to pull on me.” I pause for effect, simmering on my final words. “Or wondering how you’re going to sabotage my next relationship.”

His eyes flicker with something I can’t exactly pinpoint. It’s not guilt or remorse. It’s not enjoyment either. “Whatever.”

My eyebrows pull up, expecting more than a brush off. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for the role you played in ending my four-year relationship?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

I can feel the flames spreading up my chest like wildfire, lighting up my neck, my ears, my tongue. “You’re a fucking jerk.” I twist my body to the left, trying to get as far away from Dean Asher as I possibly can. I curl my body up towards the wall and retreat into the confinements of my own mental prison.

I hear him let out a sigh from behind me, and I’m not sure what it means. Then he mutters under his breath, “I’m the only jerk you’ve got.”

I was wrong.

I’d rather be alone.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but the sun looks like it’s setting in the sky as an ambient orange glow penetrates the dusty window above us. I envision myself breaking free of the handcuffs and climbing the wall, punching the window with a determined fist and squeezing out through the narrow opening. I’ll run free, not even caring where I end up.

Anywhere is better than here.

Dean and I have not spoken since our argument, which must have been a few hours ago. He fell asleep shortly after, his back to the pole and his head against his shoulder. He looks peaceful, and I catch myself staring at him every now and then. I’m jealous that he’s somewhere else right now. I haven’t been able to fall back to sleep—every time I close my eyes, I can smell my captor’s nasty breath against my cheek as he humiliates me.

I also really have to pee, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Are we supposed to just soil ourselves down here? Is getting chained up like animals, raped and tortured, not good enough for that sick bastard? I squeeze my thighs together, knowing I won’t have any choice but to let it out soon. The apples of my cheeks burn just thinking about it.

I thought I’d be hungrier by now, but the hollow hole in my stomach just makes me feel queasy instead.What I wouldn’t give to chug a glass of water, though…

I daydream about guzzling down ice cold water and it makes my bladder tickle. I suck in a deep, calming breath.

And then the basement door swings open and those dirty, steel-toed boots come stomping towards us. It’s enough to wake Dean from his slumber, as I hear his chains jangling behind me. I contort myself further into the corner, cowering from whatever horrors are about to unfold.

“Potty break,” Earl announces, hiking his khaki pants up over his swollen belly.

I sit up straight as a tingle of hope sweeps through me. My bladder starts doing a happy dance, which isn’t exactly a good thing, considering I’m about to burst. “You’re letting us use the bathroom?” I scoot my butt around the pole so I can make eye contact with Dean, who is already standing. His eyes flicker my way, then dart back to Earl.

“One at a time. No tricks or I’ll shove my pistol down your throat and watch you paint my walls red.” Earl pulls a gun out from behind his back and waves it around for emphasis. “Don’t want you doing your business all over my floor. Smells bad and takes me out of the moment, you know?”

The moment? Jesus. Our pain and terror is amomentfor him.

But I don’t show my disgust for fear he’ll change his mind. I nod my head and inch my way to my feet, my legs weak and shaky as they try to support my weight. “Thank you.”

Earl unleashes a roar of laughter as he advances on me, tucking the gun back into the hem of his trousers. “Don’t thank me, kitten. You’re still going to die.”

My gaze shoots to Dean. I’m certain my skin has turned ghostlike and my green eyes have dimmed to gray. He stares back at me, looking equally hopeless, equally distraught, as his eyelids flutter closed and a hard swallow bobs in his throat.

Earl clamors over me, unfastening my restraints with boorish grunts. I can’t help but contemplate an escape attempt. Maybe if I can get the upper hand somehow, grab his gun or steal a sharp object from the bathroom, I can overpower him. But as soon as the thought skips across my mind, the barrel of the gun is pointed at my temple when my cuffs fall loose. The cuffs are attached to chains, which are secured to metal rings in the wall, and they echo through the cellar when they hit the cement.

“Try anything dumb and you can say goodbye to that pretty little head of yours.”

Earl jabs the gun against the side of my face as I massage my chafed wrists. I tug my torn dress together to shield my breasts, hugging myself tight. “I won’t.”

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