Clusterfuck [Lesbian]

Chapter 4

It was too dark to see. Or maybe Mia never opened her eyes. Where was she? The blank room spun, but a rumbling beneath soothed her into unconsciousness again.

Her next awakening was much more harsh.

Mia's body hit the ground. Well, she was in something that hit the ground. It was still dark. She couldn't breathe. Whether she was panicking or suffocating didn't matter, as the world seemed to crush her from all sides. She couldn't pry her legs away from her chest, nor move her arms from behind her. It was impossible in the cramped space. Reaching her fingers up her palm, she felt zip ties.

Audrey didn't fuck around.

Mia tried to weasel her hands free, but the plastic further dug into her skin, dragging out a whimper.

Then a metal door fell shut.

"Hello?" Her voice left with no breath to support it, muffled by her mystery cage.

Plan B: Mia kicked her legs to draw attention—no room.

Where the fuck am I!?

"Um, I'll call the-"

Jim.

"It's Mia!" She forced a yell.

He pulled back a zipper, revealing one of today's mysteries. She was in a fucking suitcase.

When the top flipped off, a single bright light drove knives through her eyes and into her skull. It was soon blocked by the head of an extremely concerned Jim. Mia offered a weak smile.

Jim stood frozen and if she didn't feel so sorry for herself, Mia would've almost felt sorry for him.

"Mind giving me a hand?"

He snapped out of it and nodded repeatedly, pulling out a box cutter for the ties. As soon as she was free, she pushed herself to sit up. The first shaky breath of fresh air did nothing to help her throbbing headache. Neither did the next. On top of that, everything was stiff and aching, especially her shoulder where the metal bars had dug into her skin.

"Fuck me," she muttered, rubbing her wrists.

"Your head." He froze once more, staring above her eyes. "Let's get you inside."

What's wrong with my head?

Jim helped Mia stand and pulled her arm over his shoulders to lead her through the backdoor.

It was just the two of them. Chairs sat upturned on tables and stools on the bar. Jim had the mop bucket left out, all the lights on, and soft jazz playing in the background. Mia used to tease his music taste, but now she appreciated the gentleness of it, though it still poked at the throbbing of her temples.

After he pulled down a stool for Mia to sit on, Jim went behind the bar to dampen a rag and circled around again. At the slightest touch to her forehead, she flinched, but then took a deep breath before holding herself still for him to wipe her face. Was she bleeding? The alcohol he brought out to sterilize hinted at a yes.

"So, what is it you do for work now?"

He pressed the cloth to her forehead again, and this time it stung. Mia winced. There must be a cut. When did her plan go to shit? Eyes shut, she began recounting her steps from when she left the bar, but a more pressing question surfaced by the moment Jim had finished cleaning.

"Do you have ibuprofen?" As he sighed and walked away, Mia's eyelids drooped closed again, too tired to keep open. "Or Vicodin?"

A few moments later, he pressed the pills into her hand.