Page 22 of Chill

So I run.

I make it about six steps down the hallway before he grabs my arm, surprising a shriek out of me. The man’s grip is like iron, and he drags me to the nearest door, kicks it open, and quite literally throws me inside the room.

Unluckily for me, the floor is covered with the remains of the desk and whatever else was in here. My hands scrape along splintered wood and nails, and I can feel hot blood beading on my palms as I scramble to my feet in the room.

He slams the remains of the door, his chest heaving and eyes wide. “I don’t want to hurt you. I swear, I just want to get out of here.” The man holds up his hands, as if to placate me, but there’s no way I’m going to fall for that. I stagger back from him until my shoulders hit the wall by the window.

“I can’t help you,” I breathe. “Literally, Ican’t. I don’t have the key or anything. And I don’t have a weapon.” Maybe that shouldn’t have come out of my mouth, but I’m trying to make myself seem like I’m not part of the problem.

God, I really wish I had a fucking weapon right about now. I could’ve just grabbed the knife Val left in his backpack. Theone he dubbed as backup, since he tends to misplace the one he actually brought with him downstairs.

But all I have is my phone.

My hand itches to grab it, but I realize that’s something I should not draw attention to. Even here, I probably have a bar of service, and that’s more than enough for this man to call the cops.

Unfortunately, he notices the shape of it in my pocket. I see it in his eyes as he steps closer, along with the grim set of desperation in his features. “Give me your phone,” the man insists calmly, reaching out a hand to me.

“Give me your phone, please. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll tell the police they caught you here, too. That they were going to kill both of us.” He sounds so reasonable, so fucking friendly, that I almost believe him.

“No,” I finally whisper. “I can’t. I really,reallycan’t.”

“And you think I’ll just, what, let you go? Accept that answer and go on my way?” The man barks out a laugh as he steps closer. “Don’t make me hurt you. Please.”

Terror goes through me, but I shake my head again. Ican’t. My hands are so cold, so clammy from the blood oozing from the scrapes, but I press them to my leggings, one of them over my phone protectively.

“I’m not making you do anything,” I say finally, my voice shaking. “It’s not my fault you’re here. You did this to yourself.”

That’s maybe the absolute wrong thing to say. The man’s gaze hardens with frustration and determination, and a second later, he lunges for me. I try to slip around him, attempting to bolt toward the door that won’t lock so I can run down the stairs and look for Kieran and Val. If I can just find them, or if I can get back to the room with their things?—

He catches me by the arm, pulling a cry from my throat, and uses the momentum to slam me into the wall as hard as hecan. My face cracks against the peeling plaster, but I still work to shake him off, managing to stumble back a few steps and try again for the door.

I don’t expect it when he punches me. His fist hits my cheek hard enough to throw my head back, and I can’t keep my balance when I’m thrown back from the impact. My knees buckle, sending me to the floor with the pieces of wood and rubble. I can feel blood on my face amidst the pain, and when I try to get up, the man is right there, shoving me back down.

“Just give me your phone!” he demands, grabbing my hair to drag me to my knees. “You think I want to do this?” He punches me again, and when I hit the floor on my back, my head spins. I swear the ceiling does too, but maybe that’s just the nausea from the pain in my face and head.

Distantly, in a strange and detached part of my brain, I wonder if he’ll kill me.

“No,” I pant, grasping around me for anything I can find. When he steps closer and pulls me back to my knees, I take a piece of splintered off wood I’ve found and jam it into his leg, right above his knee.

He yells, sounding a bit like a very pissed off bull, and drags me to my feet to slam me into the wall as hard as he can.

And then he does it again, before dropping me back to the floor and gripping the piece of wood now sticking out of his leg. With a snarl, he rips it free, but all I can do is watch as I try to focus on him and staying conscious.

“I don’t want to do this,” he snarls, panting and still holding the piece of wood. “You think I want to hurt you?Fuck, you stupid girl. Why can’t you just give me your goddamn phone?! If you’re afraid of them?—”

“I’m not afraid of them,” I interrupt, my voice barely audible and sounding a little choked off from the blood in my mouth and nose. I’d hate to see what I look like right now, but luckily forme, the mirrors in the room are long gone. “And from where I’m sitting, they aren’t the monsters here.”

“That’s only because it isn’t you they’re trying to kill.” He takes a breath to steady himself, gulping air as he clutches the wood in his hand. “You’re really making me do this, aren’t you?” he asks, a rueful laugh in his words. When he steps forward, it’s almost reluctant, and it hits me that he’s going toreallyhurt me.

Or worse. Especially with the already bloody and sharp piece of wood in his hand that I pretty much gave him.

I should’ve stayed in the room.

But it’s too late for regrets now.

Slowly, I struggle to my feet, having to use the wall behind me for support. If he’s going to stab me, I want to be standing for it. I don’t want to stay on my knees for this man, even though my head would really like us to just call it and tap out.

“Then maybe you should’ve made better choices,” I snarl, spitting blood in his face from the plethora of it in my mouth. He flinches, his face contorting, and I see the muscles in his body tense as he mentally prepares himself for what I suspect is going to hurt way more than anything else so far has.

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