Cut and Run(2)

Looking satisfied, he turned and opened the tiny refrigerator and began placing perishables inside. First the milk.

She drew in a breath and gripped the pipe even tighter, picturing it striking the back of his head.

As he rummaged in the refrigerator to make room for the eggs and cheese, she took a step forward. He chatted about her needing to eat more, and she raised the pipe over her head, not making a sound as she lunged, focused solely on connecting metal to bone. She had one chance and couldn’t bear to think what would happen if she failed.

Right before the pipe slammed down, he glanced up, and his smile vanished. Quick as a cat, he twisted to the right and raised his arm, and the pipe connected with his forearm.

He grunted in pain and snarled. “Bitch!”

Driven by pure panic now, she tried to raise the pipe again, but before she could, his left fist connected with her jaw, sending shock waves of pain through her head. She staggered, dropped to her knees. Her grip slackened upon the pipe, and it fell to the floor with a loud clang. It slowly rolled out of reach as her vision blurred.

His breathing was hot and quick as he picked up the pipe and, grabbing her by the hair, hauled her up to her feet. She could feel her hair tearing away from her skull as the pain in her jaw throbbed. She tasted blood, and her tongue skimmed over a broken tooth. She instinctively guarded her abdomen.

He raised the pipe, ready to strike. “I always thought you were just too kind and sweet. But you weren’t nice at all. You were angling to get me to drop my guard. But I’ve been around this particular block before. I know how women like you lie.”

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” she screamed.

He pulled her bloodied face next to his. “If it were up to me, I’d beat the living piss out of you. I’d punch every tooth down your throat.” He shoved her onto the metal cot like a rag doll. He raised the pipe, reminding her how well he could inflict pain while safeguarding the baby.

“I won’t do it again. I won’t!” she pleaded, her trembling hands blocking her face.

“If you try that again, I will break your hands and feet. Do you understand me, girl?”

Tears streamed down her face as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Do you hear me!”

“Yes,” she choked. “I won’t move.”

He hauled her off the cot and made her stand in the corner as he dumped the mattress on the floor, lifted the cot, and shoved it out the door. It landed in the hallway, forever out of her reach.

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. She didn’t hear the lock or the rattle of keys. She sat a little straighter, listening to the thud of his footsteps, and wondered if she should dare make another escape attempt.

But just as quickly as the idea came, she abandoned it. The door opened, and he reappeared, gripping a chain with a manacle. “I should have done this on the first day. But I was trying to be nice. I don’t like being mean. You have only yourself to blame.”

He bolted one end to a hook wedged deep in the wall and reached for her ankle. Driven by reflex and fear, she kicked his hand away. But he gripped her leg so tight his fingernails bit into her flesh. He clamped the manacle around her ankle and locked it.

The metal compressed inflexibly against her skin and immediately began to chafe. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll be good.”

“You had your chance to be good.” He drew back from her, breathless and rubbing his forearm as if it still pained him. As scared as she was, she was glad she’d hurt him. It was worth the broken tooth and the pain still rattling around in her head to see him suffer.

“I want to get out of here!” she shouted.

He backed up toward the door, scooping up the metal pipe. “Oh, you will, darlin’. I’ll let you go as soon as you give me a healthy baby.”

The kid kicked her hard in the ribs, matching the beat of the heart hammering in her chest. “Why do you want my baby?”

“It’s spoken for. A decent couple who can give it all it deserves.” As he fished his keys from his pocket, a pen fell out and tumbled to the floor, rolling out of sight under the refrigerator. But he was too angry to notice as he rubbed his forearm and then slammed the door behind him. This time the dead bolt clicked into place.

She wrapped her fingers around the manacle and pulled at it, wincing as it scraped her skin. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to give in to the pure fear that threatened to swallow her.

She stood and walked toward the door, only to find out that her tether stopped several feet short of it. She had just enough slack to reach the toilet, the dresser, and the refrigerator. The microwave was inches out of reach.

She dropped to her knees and slid her fingers into the small space under the refrigerator. Her fingertips touched the pen, which for several tense seconds rolled just out of her reach. She pressed her bruised cheek to the refrigerator door, stretched her arm, and prayed for the pen, which miraculously came into reach. She coaxed it out from under the appliance and gripped it in her hands. It was a simple ballpoint pen. She pulled the blue plastic top off and tried to wedge it into the lock on the manacle. Unflinching metal quickly ate up the plastic, leaving her with a choice to now use the pen tip on the lock or save it for something else.

She sat for nearly a half hour before she made her decision and shuffled to the dresser, the chain clinking and rubbing as she moved. She pushed the cheap piece of furniture away from the wall, knowing exactly what she wanted.