Deadly Double Love

Deadly Double Love 33

Their voices faded away to nothing as they walked further and further away. When I knew they were gone for sure, I looked down at my restraints. I started yanking my wrists around, trying to pull them out of the handcuffs. But my hands were too big to slide out of the cuffs. I didn’t care, though. I just kept pulling and yanking as hard as I could.

Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands grab my forearms and stop me from struggling. I snapped my head up to see Scott looking at me, horrified.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“We have to get out of here,” I told him. “Let go of me!”

“Do you see what you’re doing?” he said.

He lifted my wrists and I looked at them. They were a bloody mess.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him.

“Yes it does. You aren’t going to escape,” he said.

“If I keep trying, I’ll be able to,” I insisted.

“We can’t escape,” he said. “There’s not way to.”

I was quiet as I looked at my wrists again. They were raw and stinging. I looked at my hands and then at the handcuffs. Scott was right; my hands were too big to possibly squeeze through the cuffs.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t keep trying to escape.”

“But we can’t just sit here and do nothing!” I said.

“Well then let’s sit here and think of better ways to get out of here than blindly thrashing around,” he replied.

“Fine,” I sighed. I lowered my head, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” Scott said. “It’s going to be okay.”

He lifted my chin with his hand and looked into my eyes.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he promised.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Let’s see how your dad is doing,” he said.

We walked over to my dad and sat beside him

“How are you feeling, dad?” I asked him.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, but he was clearly in a lot of pain.

I scooted down to my dad’s feet and gingerly rolled up his right pant leg.

“Oh my gosh,” I said as I saw the mangled mess that was his calf.

The entire lower half of his right leg was covered in blood. The bullet was lodged right below his knee. The bullet hole was small and perfectly round. It was still oozing thick, red blood at a steady rate. The sight was so horrifying that I had to press a hand to my mouth to keep myself from vomiting.

“It looks worse than it is,” my dad told me in a strained voice.

“Can I see that dishtowel?” Scott asked my dad.

My dad loosened his grip on the bloody rag he’d been clutching since it had falled off of his leg. Scott took it and tied it around the bullet hole, just as he had when my dad had first been shot. My dad balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut, clearly in pain, but not wanting to show it. I placed my hands on his, trying to comfort him, but it didn’t help.

“Come on,” Scott said. “Let’s give him a little space.”

I reluctantly moved away from my dad to the other side of the room.

“He’s going to be okay,” Scott told me, seeing my worried face.

I swallowed, wanting to believe him, but not quite being able to.

“What do we do when we get hungry?” I asked, changing the subject.

Scott dug around in his pockets and pulled out a pack of gum.

“There are twelve pieces left,” he said.

He pulled one piece out and tore it in two. He held one piece out to me and I took it. We unwrapped the gum, popped it in our mouths, and chewed.

After a minute, I laid down on the cold ground and curled up in a ball. I closed my eyes and finally fell asleep with the minty taste of the gum in my mouth.