Chapter. 8
We set up camp at sunset, which involves him foraging for branches, starting a fire, removing my backpack and laying out his sleeping pouch, all while I just stand there with my arms tied.
He lets me drink from the water skin, then anchors the end of my rope to a tree.
He munches down on the same dried meat over the fire. Wiggling my hands confirms my suspicions from this morning. My bounds aren’t as tight, probably to allow my wounds to heal. I could stretch my arms under myself if the rope wasn’t also wrapped around my middle. If he takes it off for me to sleep, I may be able to slip away.
“Can you untie the rope from my waist? My tied wrists will still prevent me from escaping."
He moves in, standing uncomfortably close. I step back, but he pinches a lock of my hair, not rough enough to hurt, but enough to hold me in place. “Escape is on your mind?” he says, his hand just inches from my face.
My stomach curls up. “N-no,” I stutter, “I just- I just- You said last time-”
“Need I explain the punishment for trying to flee?”
My gaze falls to his feet. “I just want it off so I can sleep.”
"You didn't protest about it last night."
"I was afraid that you'd throw me to the wolves." It's half true. I was in such a state that I wasn't paying attention to my body’s discomfort.
He finally moves his hand away from my face, and I let out a sigh of relief. He unties the waist rope and returns to the fire.
I sit opposite him to avoid arousing suspicion. I lay down, facing away as to not give away anything with my expression. As soon as he’s asleep, I’ll make my move.
An hour passes, and my insides are bubbling. I turn to face him, careful not to make a sound.
The back of his head is only just visible from his pouch. Is he asleep yet? Should I whisper to check? No. Don’t chance it.
The fire dies down, and the cold night air creeps in. My stomach is doing backflips. He kills humans for sport. I don’t want to imagine what he’d do to a prisoner caught escaping.
The minutes tick by. I have to do something. If I keep wasting time, it'll be morning, and we'll continue traveling. If we reach a vampire city, he won't need me anymore. He'll kill me just like the others. Tomorrow night may be too late. I have to do this, and I have to do it now.
I curl up my knees to my chest and force my bound hands under my butt. My torso squeezes as small as possible as my hands push further and further. The rope is looser than before, and the bandages protect my cut wrists from the pressure.
Air is forced out of my lungs as my hands push over the last few inches. I suck in a deep breath the second they’re passed the threshold. I thread each leg under my arms and bring my hands up to my face. There's no going back now.
Maneuvering myself is trivial now that my arms are in front. I bite and pull at the rope binding my wrists, coating my tongue with the taste of dry grass. The adrenaline is making me shake.
Finally, the rope loosens, and I shake it off my bandaged wrists.
There's nothing hindering me now. I just need to sneak away. I take off my shoes and carry them. Going bare foot will be quieter. My bare feet will feel for twigs and dry leaves, making sure it’s safe to take a step.
I rise to my feet and scan the horizon. We're in an open field with a few scattered trees. He'll be able to see me a mile away. Was this a mistake? My eyes land back on the rope, then on his sleeping figure. It’s impossible to retie my own wrists. The only way is forward.
I take a step, toe first to check for any twigs in the long grass, then another, and another. Step after step. I don't look back.
My pace quickens as I get into the rhythm. Soon I'm far enough away to safely put on my shoes. I slip them on my feet and start running.
"Human!" There’s a blood-chilling screech behind me, and my face goes pale.
Run. I don't look back. My legs move as fast as they can carry me. The cold night air rushes over my skin like a gale-force wind.
My lungs are burning. My overworked legs struggle not to slip on the dirt. Footsteps are gaining on me.
I’m struck on the head and go tumbling to the ground. The dirt and grit scrape up my arms, and a searing pain radiates through my skull.
I push myself up onto all fours, but a hard boot kicks me in the side, sending me back down. I scream as the iron-toed boot hits my abdomen a second time. My body curls inwards to protect my vulnerable stomach, but it does little to stop his onslaught.
"You swine!" he shouts over me.
I cry out again as he kicks my middle. The burning pain makes me wail. My fingers claw at the dirt to try drag myself away. Stop! Stop! Stop! Another kick in the same spot, making the burning even worse. “Pea-” I try beg but my mouth can’t form words. It’s like a knife is twisting inside me. My muscles stress and kick and flail to make it stop. He kicks again, and fire runs from the impact to my core.
He finally relents, but the pain lingers. I can’t breathe.
"You expected to flee!?" His eyes burn with hate.
I shut my eyes and suck in a breath despite my burning diaphragm. My arms are yanked above my head, making my aching muscles scream. No more. Please no more.
My whole body is pulled upright by the arms. Every movement brings a new wave of agony. My vision is blurry from tears. Dirt covers my stinging arms, and my back fights to stay curled to minimize the burning in my middle.
I’m placed on his lap, and my body cries out from the movement. His arms snake around my bruising torso. His heavy breath pours over the back of my neck. Iron arms compress my middle, making me scream again. He relieves the pressure, and my screaming turns to sobbing.
My back is pressed against his stone chest. I try push away, but he grabs both my arms and holds them down.
No more. No more. He has to stop. I struggle against him, but he compresses my hands in his, and I cry out again. It’s like they’re being crushed between stones. My body curls into itself, and he releases the pressure after my tearful surrender.