If I kissed you...
Author's note: Writing is my passion. If I don't write daily, I feel like my day is incomplete. I wrote this to... Show full author's note »
The Game (part two)His face hovered over mine, it looked like he was about to devour me, his sentence trailed off into words he couldn't speak. I withdrew my face slowly away and he looked at me with this dark disappointment, shadows filled his eyes.
“...Raiden,” I said, whisper-soft. “I need to be loose of this rope, if am going to do all those things for you I said I would...”
He looked away from me, a betrayed expression on his face.
“Raiden I need to be able to walk, I have to go to the bathroom, I have to shower, I have to eat, and not only do all these things, but do things I said I would for you too-I need to be set free.”
He looked at me, a more practical look shrouded his face.
He scanned my body with his eyes, and got up, slowly walking to the dresser. I gulped as he grabbed
a giant hunting knife. He stood there, looking at me, waiting. “You want to be free?” he grinned. “You're going to have to show some trust yourself.”
What else could I do? Stay there, rotting on the bed until he eventually decided to rape me?
Feeling like the self-elected idiot-of-the-world, I crawled over to him and slowly brought up my wrist.
He grabbed my hand roughly and slit the rope open.
I made a noise of breathless relief, as I slammed myself back into the wall away from him.
He studied me, his eyes were critical as he looked away stretching out his jaw.
“If you go anywhere near the shed I will kill him. If you try to run I will kill him. If you attempt to kill me I will kill him and make you watch.” he stated with solidarity. “You will hear his screams from miles away.” he murmured.
I cleared my throat as something in me felt this was only the beginning. The beginning of a dangerous game I had to play. Oh, I would play this game. I would survive and so would John. I would earn his trust, and when I did, I would take my first chance of killing him, or getting away.
“I understand.” I said, nodding.
“Very well. We need to clean out the trailer.”
He tossed the knife on the dresser, and I inched off the bed to really face him standing up, for the first time. I felt liberated, this was the beginning of a game I was going to win.
I walked with him out to a fancy hot-shot trailer, the sunlight blinding my eyes from the intense glare off of the swirly green-gray patterns covering it. The sand seemed to intensify it ten times as much. I glanced over at the other shack, it seemed so small and distant now that I was outside. Somewhere in there was John. He was waiting for me, suffering.
Raiden opened the trailer door and walked in. I stepped up the stairs and out of the glare of the sun to see that inside the trailer it was like a mini luxury home with dark leather sofas, and a fancy kitchenette-but then I saw them. There were toys.
“Raiden?” I addressed him by his name hoping he would listen to me with more of an open ear. “Why are there toys?” my voice cracked.
“There were kids.” he answered simply, tossing some stuffed animals in my direction.
My heart felt as though it had been stabbed, and I stumbled into the back of the passenger seat.
“Are you going to do what you said you would or do I need to end this right now?” he snarled. “-Get all of the toys, kid's clothing, and anything that isn't of use and burn it. Toss it in the fire. Get moving.”
I moved mechanically, hands trembling as I started gathering the children's clothing from drawers and suitcases, tossing it out the trailer like he did. I ventured into the bathroom, and found that there were children's stickers of Finding Nemo on the mirror. Hastily, I ripped them off. I looked through the drawers and whatever belonged to the children that we couldn't use I threw out the door. I soaked the adult's toothbrushes in hydrogen peroxide, and when I found children's mouthwash and shampoo-stuff that we could use, I started crying silently and stuck them in the bottom drawer so I wouldn't have to see them. I saw the dull shine of an old-fashioned razor and jerked to a stop from raising up. It seemed so out of place-he could be testing me. I heard him barely two feet away from me, looking through the drawers on the other side of the bathroom.
One mistake this early on...thinking of John, I couldn't stop myself as I snatched it and stuffed it into my back pocket. Then thinking more clearly after I heard him stop making noise, I started opening up drawers so he heard me moving and then he resumed his work. Sucking in a breath-I knew I did not want him to catch me with this on me, and even it he did-it really wasn't all that good of a weapon. It was extremely dull-barely sharp, and so flimsy-as though it could break just from one quick struggle with him. So I decided to hide it, my eyes stripped-searched the closet-small room. As I heard him moving a few steps further away I saw there was a slight space between the bottom of the sink and the floor. I wedged the razor in and though it was questionable whether I'd be able to get it out, it was better than to have it slide out if he were to drive the motor-home again. Resuming my work I figured he should see me moving throughout the house instead of focusing on one room, suspicion even more so than now, would brew otherwise.
When I was done with stripping the fancy bed and cleaning out the cupboards of children's cups, I realized that Raiden was no longer in the trailer. I tossed out the children's cups and bundled the bedding under my arm as I walked out the door into the blinding sunlight.
Raiden was gathering up the children's toys and clothing and stalking out of my view. He must be going to the burn pile. Where their bodies would be, I choked and ran back into the trailer. I couldn't do this, I bit my fist hard, to keep myself from crying. I looked around frantically, there must be something else I can do. I looked underneath the sink to find a bucket which I cleaned and filled with water, I added soap and took it out into the desert by the Winnebago and piles of clothing. I got to my knees soaking the sheets in it, scrubbing and ringing them out over and over as Raiden would gather items thrown out, in bunches and I would hear his footsteps pause, looking my direction, then start back to the pile.
When I heard him behind me the next time, he hesitated.
I felt a big hand on my shoulder. “They have a washer in the home.”
The hand on my shoulder felt not like he was comforting me, but trying to possess me-that I belonged to him, and it made me sick. “What, seriously?” I asked, muffling my emotions.
He snorted, and removed his hand just as soon as it had been placed there. “This is top of the line. We got lucky.” he said, gruffly.
I turned my face up at him, “Are they-” I stopped my word vomit. I wanted to ask if the children were dead too, but I knew it would make me look weak. I had to play this game right. Those innocent children were dead. I had to make sure I survived, and that it didn't happen again.
“They're dead.” he confirmed.
It was too late. He already knew what was on my mind. I cringed, looking at the wet bedsheets.
“Put those in the washer and treat yourself to a shower.” he murmured, waiting for me to get up. I grabbed the bucket and made my way into the home, past the fancy sofas and little kitchenette, and into the bathroom which was situated before the bedroom with the crammed-in, fancy, queen-sized bed. I spied the stacked washer-dryer set by a cupboard and opened it's door. Jumping back I felt a lightening bolt thrash through me. There was kids clothing in the washer.
“Take it to the burn pile.” a cold voice demanded.
I whipped around to see his towering silhouette with his face made of dark shadows, had been following my every move. I nodded, grabbing the clothing to my stomach and I squeezed past his testing gaze out the door.