This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,3
as high as I possibly could—I was well over six thousand when I got bored and gave up.
I’ve been here forever.
Hours or days or months—my mind is on a black, endless terrifying reel.
I’m in an eternal, dark hell.
With nobody to talk to.
With no food or water or bathroom.
With nothing but the blackness and insanity slowly seeping through the cracks of my soul to keep me company.
A sliver of blinding light slices across the dusty floor in front of me and I stare at it with squinty eyes in shock.
“Gabe. Please.” A tiny whispered plea.
I want to scream and cry and beg.
But I’m cold and tired. I’m disoriented and stressed. I just want to go home.
The slice of light becomes a distinct yellow square suspended about twelve feet above the ground. I blink several times in attempt to shield my sensitive eyes to the bright light. A silhouette—broad shoulders and wild hair—takes up most of the square, protecting me from the offensive light.
“How you doing down there, kiddo? Still alive and kickin’?” His deep voice is a gravelly rumble which used to excite me. Now, it scares the living crap out of me.
“I want to go home,” I tell him in a firm tone, despite the wobble in my voice.
He chuckles though it is a humorless sound. Dark, evil, hellish…yes. Out of humor, absolutely not. Who is this man who I’ve known for the past decade? I’ve watched him with other women, flirtatious and desirable. I’ve heard him whisper dirty, sexual promises to girlfriends over the years and would even grow jealous of the attention he showered them with. I mean, I’ve fantasized about his strong, capable hands roaming all over me as he kissed me for crying out loud. And all this time, beneath the jokes and friendly façade was a demon from hell waiting in the shadows for the perfect opportunity to take what wasn’t his.
“Baylee, baby, I told you already,” he says in a menacing tone dry of any wit, “you’re not going anywhere.”
This time, the tears do come. Small, hot tears streak down my cheeks and drip from my jaw. “Why?”
If he doesn’t plan on letting me escape, he at least owes me an explanation.
“Are you hungry?”
His blatant disregard for my question irritates me and I hobble over to the light that shines beneath him. My dirty, naked flesh is exposed but I want him to see me. I want him to see the little girl he was supposed to look after. The little girl he took for his own depraved reasons.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
I can’t make out his features but I can tell he’s annoyed with me. His tell—a frustrated hand running through his messy hair—rats him out. Hair that I know has a few streaks of grey at his temple. Hair that I used to dream about running my own fingers through.
“Sometimes, sweetheart, you have to make sacrifices. You, doll, are a sacrifice. Your part is small, but it is so significant.”
His riddles confuse me.
“I want to go home, Gabe. Please, I won’t tell anyone. I swear it,” I vow. And it’s the truth. If he were to let me go, I’d take the secret to my grave. If that meant regaining my freedom, I’d make that promise to him.
“Baylee, you’re not going to tell anyone because there won’t be anyone to tell. You’ve been initiated into a new world—a world you’re not prepared to handle. Not even close.”
I shiver and cross my arms over my chest. It should embarrass me that he sees me naked but I don’t care about being modest. I care about getting the heck out of here.
“What do you want from me?” I demand with a nasty bite to my voice. I’m tired of being weak and begging. I want to go home.
“Ahhh, there’s the feisty girl I know,” he says, almost as if he’s relieved. “If I let you out, promise not to run?”
No.
“Yes.”
He laughs again and I decide I hate his laugh. “I don’t believe you.”
I shrug my shoulders and glare at him. “I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me.” Unlike you, you bastard.
He nods finally. “Fine. I’m going to take your word. But what happens if you betray me?”
You’ve already betrayed me.
“I won’t,” I lie.
“You’re right,” he snaps. “You won’t. Because if you do, I’ll whip your ass with a stick from the yard for every step you manage to take away from me.”
The hairs on my arms rise in alarm