Somewhere in the Trees

five

I hear leaves crunch beneath heavy boots.

When my eyes open, my vision is a bit bleary, and my head feels like a rubber-band is tightening around it. The front of my skull throbs with a pain so intense, a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.

All I can see is the wide open sky, mid-transition from night to morning. Red glowing clouds are stretched across a pink canvas.

My head is back, my neck draped over the crook of somebody's elbow. They're holding me, bridal-style, my legs hanging limp over their other arm. My arms are also hanging down, my fingertips grazing the legs of whoever's holding me.

I lift my head up slightly to catch a glimpse, despite the shooting burst of pain the action brings me.

I don't recognize them. It's a young man, very clean-cut, staring blankly ahead as he walks with me through the woods. He has jet-black hair, slicked back with not a strand out of place. He has pale skin and powder blue eyes. He has straight posture, despite the fact that I can hear in his jagged breaths that he might be struggling to hold me.

When he notices me look at him, his lips lift into a small smile.

My lips are so dry I can barely pull them apart to talk. My tongue swipes over my bottom lip and it feels like my skin has split open.

Strangely, I don't feel afraid. It's almost like I'm outside of my body, standing in the distance, watching as this mysterious man carries my barely-conscious body to God-knows-where. I don't even feel like I'm alive. I can't feel my heart beating and I can hardly move.

"You might wanna get back to sleep," he tells me, his voice hushed. He still wears a smile. His teeth are straight and white.

I continue to stare up at him. I touch his legs again, feeling his pants. The material feels scratchy beneath my fingertips. When I look ahead, there's a beat-up car sitting on a dirt trail.

I feel so weak and out of it. I can't process what's going on and I don't remember anything that happened before this.

When we near the car, he uses the hand of the arm that's supporting my neck to crack the car door open. He kicks the door open wider and grunts slightly as he leans over and places me onto the back seat.

I look up at him and sweat is beading down his forehead. He's a skinny, young man. He bends over slightly and takes a few breaths, before he straightens back up and wipes his forehead off.

He's wearing a button-down, linen shirt with straight-leg linen pants. They almost resemble scrubs. They're blue.

He stares in at me, the sun now shining brighter down on the atmosphere, making his figure a silhouette and his face unreadable. He whistles an unrecognizable song as he stares at me, placing his hands on his hips, as if he feels accomplished.

I start to sit upwards. My clammy hands touch the leather seat beneath me. "Who?" is all I'm able to say. My voice is incredibly raspy. I cough a few times to relieve my throat, which feels like I must have swallowed knives.

"Get back to sleep," he whispers to me, before he looks over his shoulder. "I'm warning you."

Just as he looks away, I bring my knee up and forcefully press my foot into his groin. He cries out and instinctively curls forward as I pull myself up and jump towards the sliver of room between the car door and him.

Just as I step my foot out of the car, about to bolt away from him, he wraps his arm around my stomach.

I look ahead and catch a glimpse of blurry figures walking in the distance. It's two people, both of their arms hooked on either side of an unconscious body. The body's legs are dragging on the ground and their head is rolled back.

I stare at the three of them, squinting, trying desperately to make out who that is. Before I can, I'm thrown backwards forcefully onto the seat. My head slams against the interior door handle and only worsens the severe pain that throbs through my skull.

Suddenly, his fingers are latched around my neck, and the pressure on my throat makes my eyes widen instantly.

I frantically reach up to peel his fingers off, but I can't get a grip on him. I let out a few squeaks and try to kick my legs at him, but his body weight is fully pressed down onto me.

"If you know what's good for you," he says through heavy breaths, his teeth gritted together, "you'll stay quiet. I like you. I'm doing this because I like you."

He's staring at me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, and the image keeps distorting, spreading his jaw open wider and drooping his eyes downwards.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

I grab onto his face, digging my nails into his skin, peeling them down his cheeks as he grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. Blood pools from open slits on his skin. Still, his grip won't release.

He looks over his shoulder again, as my body shakes and pins and needles start buzzing through my extremities. He looks back down at me.

"You're welcome," he says, as black stars fill the edges of my vision.