This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,2

to hurt.”

That’s the only warning I receive before he cracks me over the head with a blunt object—probably the butt of his knife. Darkness steals over me, and the last thing I catch a glimpse of is Brandon’s bloody, unmoving body. You’ll never see them again. I can’t handle the reality of that concept and the thought shoves me into oblivion.

MY HEAD THROBS.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Where am I?

What day is it?

I’m aching and disoriented and cold. But that isn’t what has me terrified. It isn’t that I haven’t eaten. Nor is it that I also haven’t slept. No. What’s terrifying is that I haven’t seen anything but complete black in what must be days.

Anger bubbles in my chest at having been stolen by my neighbor. I can’t prove it but I know his voice. He took me right from my bedroom. Dad never came. Brandon was badly hurt. And I haven’t a clue as to where I am.

I think I hear a thud above me and I try to still my racing heart. Why would Gabe take me to lock me away in some dungeon and let me die? It makes absolutely no sense.

Another thud. Several of them. My heart flares to life and I hope maybe the cops have come for me. That my dad is leading a pack of angry policemen dead set on rescuing me. Seventeen is too young to die. I had plans—plans that involved going to med school. Plans that I’d hoped involved marrying Brandon and having a bunch of babies. We’re in love. God, I hope he’s okay.

A sharp pain seizes my stomach and I whimper. I want to scream at him to feed me something—anything—but I’ve already tried that. The screams have fallen on deaf ears. Screaming doesn’t get me food—screaming gets me a hoarse, dry throat. My cracked lips are the most apparent signs of my dehydration. The throat though, is awful. No matter how many times I attempt to conjure up spit to wet my throat, the most I can come up with is a small, thick ball of phlegm which only serves to nauseate me when I swallow it.

“Help.” The croak belongs to me but it’s nothing more than a whisper.

I’ve been all over this space, feeling my way through the dark, but have found nothing to be down here. Not one single damn thing. I’ve deemed one corner my bathroom. My bodily excretions are what decorate that corner now, not that there’s much, since I’m slowly dying from a lack of nutrients.

“Please.” This time, my voice is louder but it will never penetrate these concrete walls. Reaching out, I once again finger the walls searching for a way out. How does a room not have windows or doors? How did he get me inside of this tomb?

Something skitters over my hand and I shriek. Must have been a spider. The normal girly-girl I was not long ago would have hidden in the pee corner to escape. This scared prisoner I’ve become though is hungry. I wonder if I could eat the spider. It would be disgusting but could provide protein.

Or poison.

Once again, I feel defeated. My luck, I’d gobble up that nasty spider only to die from the venom it carries. And then my dad would find my decomposed body hours too late or something.

He’d lose Mom and me both.

A scratchy sob pierces the air and I attempt to drum up tears. Nothing. I cry tearlessly for a minute and then swallow down the emotion. Mom was sick but she seemed hopeful. A liver could come at any time, she’d said. Dad, however, wasn’t convinced. He researched. He reached out. He facebooked the world. All in an effort to save the love of his life.

But time is running out.

For the both of us.

I should have told her how much I’d loved her before bed. Instead, I was too worried about hopefully taking that final leap with Brandon that would have sealed our relationship. Sex. I’d made him wait but I was ready. And now…

God, I am so stupid.

I’m not sure exactly how long I’ve been down here, but it’s taking a toll on my sanity. Screamed until I was hoarse and voiceless. Cried until my stomach muscles were sore and aching. Spent unthinkable amounts of time fingering every crack and crevice in the darkness in an effort to find an escape route. Imagined every scenario about Brandon’s fate, none of them good. At one point, I even tried to count