Page 26 of Fire Island
My mouth is so parched the Sahara is damp in comparison.
Every step I take, my limbs shake with fatigue and the weakness hunger brings. I stumble over a fallen branch, and my knees hit the muddy ground. Arms suspended above my head, his grip unwavering, I whimper at the burn around my reddened, tender wrists.
“Get up.” He stands close. Too close.
Soulless pale eyes glare down at me.
“Please, just let me go. We can forget this ever happened. We’ve both made mistakes. Consider the score even and we go our separate ways... Please, Timothy.” A sob spills out after my plea.
He leans down. The barrel of his pistol brushes my temple, dragging the sweat-drenched hair from my face. “No.”
“I—if I give you myself, will you let me go?” The words are acid on my tongue. Bile rises in the aftermath of the thought of giving myself over to this insane man.
His head tilts a fraction. “Also, no.”
The sickest, most rabid grin splits his face. He chuckles for a moment before reeling me to my feet. “Fucking slut. If I’d known how desperate you are for cock, I wouldn’t have spent six fucking years on you.” He steps into my space. “You are MINE!”
I cower at the last word. The rage lacing his tone sends shivers down my spine. I stand rigid with fear as he traces the tip of the gun over my lips. His hot, foul breath hits my face, and I swallow the sob that wants out. He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back. “I will have you as many times as I want. I didn’t wait six years for a taste, Butterfly. I will have it all. And you will never escape us.” He drags my glasses down my nose until they teeter over the tip and fall onto the muddy ground. “Much better. Now, move.”
His iron grip in my hair doesn’t budge. I scramble beside him through the trees as fire consumes my scalp. My throat closes, overwhelmed by the emotion of never being free of this hideous human being. My once-perfect vision, albeit a little smudged, has been replaced with blurs of green and brown, the occasional object coming into clearer view as I pass each tree in a near miss.
“Please... slow down,” I utter, pain twisting my face and contorting the words.
He doesn’t relent. The pace stays too fast, the grip in my hair too tight.
After twenty minutes of me staggering at his side to keep up and him marching through the trees like a man possessed, we reach the fishing hut.
Cal’s fishing hut.
My heart lurches at the sight.
The flood of beautiful, happy memories and one sad moment at the end catches me off guard.
“Oh Cal,” I whimper.
Timothy spins back on his heels. He’s in my face instantly. “Never, EVER, say that name in my presence again.” He is almost on top of me. His fist in my hair falls away, only to grip my neck, his fingers curling into my airway.
“O-okay,” I splutter.
“Ever!” His lip twitches. He’s shaking, like he’s as exhausted as I am.
If only.
Without another word, he pushes me through the warped front door to the hut. I stumble and sink to the floor, and his grip fails. With no time to scurry away or attack, he crouches over me and releases one wrist, securing it on the leg of the cast-iron stove to the left.
Fuck.
He stands, shoving the gun into the front of his pants. “Don’t try anything.”
He’s out the door, disappearing south before I can reply. I sit, straining to listen for his movements, only to hear him talking softly, then the sound of something clicking.
He comes back through the door, sliding a phone into his back pocket.Good luck getting service out here, buddy.His pocket lights up, the shine of the lit screen barely visible through his sweats.
He sits at the table and pulls out his phone again, running a hand through his greasy brown hair. Tapping the message, he nods and sends a reply back.
Dammit.
Just my luck,hegets service out here.
