Page 4 of Beg Me Angel

Curling my toes into the cold floor, I shuffled my feet towards my shoes and slipped them on. Everything hurt as I moved; each stride, each bend and twist was excruciating, stabbing me over and over under the skin.

But I wasn't going to let it stop me from getting out. Forcing the pain away, I stood up straight and tried to concentrate on the next move.

All I have to do is move my feet. . .

But how the hell do I get out?

Looking for an escape, I pressed my back against the hard wood wall and absorbed the room around me.

There were no windows, no closets to hide in, no place to stow myself until I could get a better grip of what I was dealing with. A single door, that was it, that was my only exit.

Tip-toeing to the door, I pressed my ear against the barrier, trying to listen for any movement or voices, but all I got was silence.

Whatever stood on the other side was as much a mystery as what the hell landed me there to begin with. And to top it all off, the uncertainty and fear of what the fuck had happened, left me wondering if that mystery was the reason I looked and felt the way I did.

Fuck! What the hell do I do?

Do I open the door and just bolt?

Do I try to sneak away quietly?

Loose strands of hair fell into my face as I leaned into the wood. The heavy musk of fire and smoke wafted up, sparking a tiny thought. Lifting a lock to my nose, I took in a long deep breath and tried desperately to force the fog away and let the memory shine through.

A set of deep brown eyes and a thin lipped smile sprung to life inside my head, her laugh followed suit, with the resonant aroma of a joint.

Sara. . . I was with Sara.

Were we at a bonfire?

I could remember the start to my evening and my friend Sara picking me up at home. I remembered driving for a long time as she puffed away on her funny cigarette and I watched the cityscape dissolve around us, trading tall buildings for massive trees.

The pavement had turned to dirt and my muscles recaptured the shadowed feeling of rocking on an uneven, hole-riddled path. There was laughing and giggling as we sang the lyrics to a song we both used to love when we were kids while she waved her hand out the window playfully.

What was it?

Montel Jordan. . . No.

Usher?

Shit I can't remember!

Everything was just blank, a blackness that I couldn't unravel yet.

Do I even want to know?

Maybe my brain was blocking it out, refusing to let me know the horror we went through. Maybe not recalling what had happened was better than knowing the truth.

I can't stay here wondering. . . I have to go home.

Perching my ear, I listened again for any movement outside the door. It sounded quiet enough, barren and empty. Gently gripping the handle, I twisted it as quietly as I could. I wasn't sure what was behind it, but I didn't want any surprises.

Maybe Sara's here, maybe she's out there waiting for me.

Tugging the door open, it creaked softly as I peeked my head out and looked around. Another room, baring the same log walls and more horns, was being lit up by a large crackling fire. An oval shaped, rope rug hid the wood floor in front of a plush, navy blue couch.

Taking a small step out, I held the door in my hand, bracing it like a lifeline back to safety; even though it was more of a coffin than a route to freedom.

If I retracted back into the safety of a solid box, where the hell would that get me?

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