8. Emily - Going to the store II

I bend down, put the crow next to my feet, and open the cuff around my ankle. I shouldn’t make anything of this since I’ll be returning here once I help the man, but not being chained anymore feels so good. I don’t mind living in the basement, but I hate not being able to move around freely. Speaking would be nice too, along with normal food. No more smoothies. If I have to drink one more, I’ll probably have a mental breakdown.

The skin around my ankle is itchy and puffy, with dried blood all over it, it’s forever ruined. I’ll never be able to wear high heels again or short shirts and dresses.

“Let’s go,” he urges me.

I pick up the crow and start walking. My ankle hurts pretty badly, causing me to limp.

“I said the bird stays,” he sneers, but I pretend not to hear him.

When I reach the stairs, I finally realize I will be going outside for the first time since last year. The man mentioned something about a store.

My mouth turns dry, and my heart starts beating fast.

What if I run into Stefan there? Or any of his blood-brothers? It will be the end of me.

I step back and bump into the man, who snarls something at me before he quickly moves to the side. My ears are ringing, and I can’t hear anything except the rapid beating of my heart.

The crow lets out a caw, which snaps me out of my panic, and I go up the stairs that take me to the kitchen.

“Stop!” the man says when I’m next to the table. A backpack is on it.

I do as told.

Pointing to a hoodie, a pair of shorts, and a disposable face mask that are on a chair, he adds, “Put them on.”

The clothes are clean, but they can’t hide my strong smell. I point at myself, then flick my hand left and right in front of my nose while I make a face of disgust.

He understands what I want to say because, while he’s not happy, he still says, “You have five minutes. There’s a bathroom on the right as you exit the kitchen. Again, don’t try anything funny. I won’t hesitate to hurt you.”

I lift up my thumb, put the crow on the table, and grab the clothes before going to the bathroom. A five-minute shower isn’t enough to remove all the caked filth on my body, but it’s better than nothing.

Once inside the bathroom, I take off the shirt I’ve been wearing for the past month and throw it on the floor before quickly jumping into the shower.

First, I turn on the cold water because I’m so thirsty, I don’t care if I drink from the shower. My lips aren’t sewn tightly shut, so I can slightly part my lips. It’s enough to get water in. A straw would be amazing, but there’s no way I’ll return to the kitchen to ask for one.

When I’m no longer thirsty, I switch to hot water.

When the first jet of warm water hits my skin, I moan. It feels so fucking good. Like heaven.

There’s a shampoo bottle in one of the corners of the shower. I pick it up and squeeze a generous amount on my hair. I even use the shampoo to clean my body. I take extra care with my injured ankle.

It takes several rounds of washing to remove most of the filth.

When I get out, I quickly dry my body with a towel before brushing my hair with a brush I find on the sink. I’d brush my teeth, too, but I can’t remove the stitches without angering 514. Maybe he will come to his senses and remove them himself.

I avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror because I have no desire to see what years of abuse have done to me.

After I get dressed—the clothes are so big, I have to roll in the shorts’ waistband to prevent them from falling, while the hoodie looks like a sack without shape on me, but at least they smell nice and keep me warm—and put on the mask, that is big enough to cover the tattoo on my left cheek, I return to the kitchen. The man is sitting at the table, typing on his phone. He only notices me when I try to stop the crow from falling to the floor. I put the bird on a chair and pet it, hoping it would stay there. To my surprise, the crow seems to understand, as it stays still.

Without taking his eyes off his phone, the man sneers at me, “What took you so long?”

I try to give him an apologetic look, but he’s not looking at me.

“The bird shit on the table. I’m not cleaning that.”

Birds are supposed to shit all over the place.

A roll of paper tower is next to the sink. I grab it and start cleaning the bird poop.

“That won’t get rid of the germs.”

I look at him, expecting him to tell me where to find cleaning supplies.

He doesn’t make eye contact, so I clear my throat.

“Under the sink.”

I go to the sink, grab a bottle of bleach and a dishcloth, and return to the table. Once I clean it, I return to the sink to wash the dishcloth and put the bleach where I found it.

“Just leave them there. It’s getting late, and my cats hate it when I disrupt their routine.”

Cats?

Maybe he wants me to help him get food for his pets, but I don’t understand why he can’t do it on his own.

He stands and grabs the backpack.

I pick up the crow and leave the kitchen. The man is right behind me.

“At the end of the hallway, turn left. It will lead to the living room. There’s a door there that leads directly to the garage.”

Several minutes later, we are in the garage next to a Harley.

The man hands me a helmet while he asks, “Have you been on a motorbike before?”

I nod before I put the helmet on.

“Good.”

The man gets on the motorbike. I tap him on the shoulder, and he quickly jerks away.

“I don’t like being touched,” he snarls. How was I supposed to know that?

I yank my hand away before I step in front of the moto and show him the crow.

He makes an angry sound before saying, “We are going to the store. You can’t bring the bird with you.”

There’s no way I’m leaving the crow in a house with cats.

I point at his backpack, which is empty. I’m sure that putting the crow in is a bad idea, but I don’t have a birdcage to keep it safe during the ride.

“What part of ‘the bird stays,’ don’t you understand?” he snaps. His eyes flash red, scaring me. Angry men can be unpredictable.

I move to the back of the motorbike and he instantly relaxes.

Since I’m still hoping he will take the bird to the vet, I gather the hood around my neck and had the crow sit on my shoulder, under the hood. After I make sure it won’t fall, I get on the motorcycle.

Since he mentioned he doesn’t like being touched, I grab onto his jacket, and he gets us out of the garage.