If We Survive The Night

Good Job

Casey

"Come one, move!" I'm keeping my voice low, even though Owen is still outside and can't possibly hear me. "Jaden, please, hurry up!"

"I'm trying!" he growls from the floor. The rope finally comes off, together with the broken chair leg, and he kicks at them, sending them flying under the table. With a groan, he turns, kneeling on his free leg, the back of the chair to which he's still attached pushing his face almost to the floor. He tries to get up but sways and falls to the side again. Outside, the engine goes quiet and, seconds later, a car door slams shut.

"Come on, come on, come on," I chant, watching Jaden prepare for another attempt.

"Damn!" He growls, and, finally, manages to step on his left foot, and push himself up, together with the chair. Its three remaining legs hit the floor, and he's finally in a sitting position, tilting a bit to the side where his own leg is replacing that of the chair. He's painting, and his face is glistening with sweat mixed with dried blood.

"Good job," I whisper.

"How does this help us?" he says.

I have no time to answer, because the door opens, and Owen appears on the threshold. His eyes immediately fix on Jaden, who's very obviously in a different part of the room than he was before. I silently pray that Owen doesn't notice the missing rope around Jaden's left ankle, and the missing chair leg. I can't really think of how this little achievement helps us, but if Owen does notice, he might punish Jaden for trying to break free. I mean, he's apparently planning to kill us, anyway, but there's no need to speed things up.

Owen carefully closes the door.

"Have you been hopping about?" he asks Jaden, throwing his keys on the table. "Show me how you did it. That must have looked funny."

"What did Jen want?" I ask, trying to draw his attention to me.

"How does that concern you?"

"Does she know that you have us here?"

"Hell, no!" He snorts. "She'll never find out. Just like nobody will ever find out what happened to you." He cracks his knuckles, walking over to me. "So, where were we?"

"What did she tell you?"

"As I said, doesn't concern you." He stops by the bed. "We don't have much time, so let get to it."

Surprising me, he grabs me by the ankles and pulls at my feet, making me stretch out on the bed. The next moment, he's on top of me, straddling my hips, keeping me down with his weight. He leans forward, his hands on my shoulders pressing me into the mattress. The handcuffs keep my hands above my head, and all I can do is watch as his face gets closer.

"Sorry, no time for foreplay," he says. "Remember what I said about biting? Will you be a good boy?" He hands slide down and start unbuttoning my jeans.

A noise comes from somewhere in the room, wood dragging on wood, and then, something crashes into him from the back, pushing him forward, making him drop flat onto me. He growls and turns around in one movement, still lying on me, and kicks at Jaden, sending him stumbling back. I can hear him crash to the floor. I can barely breathe under Owen's big body, but, as he begins to slide off me, I wrap my legs around him, trying to keep him away from Jaden. Then, in a flash of inspiration, I catch his head in a headlock.

He wriggles, trying to get free, then attempts to headbutt me. I raise my chin and turn my head to the side to avoid him. I don't really know what to do next. I've never fought before. Hell, I once saw my classmate tear off the wings off a fly, and I had nightmares for a week. I'm not a violent person. Yet I know that if I let go, I'm dead, and so is Jaden. So, I tighten my grip on Owen and hold on for dear life.

"The fuck," he croaks. "Let go!"

I don't bother to answer, every ounce of my strength going into holding on to him. His fingers dig painfully into my forearms. We would have rolled off the bed already if not for my handcuffs—attached to the headboard, they don't let us get too far. He tries pushing with his feet now, forcing me to the wall, perhaps hoping to smash my head against it, but with my legs wrapped around his middle, he can't get enough momentum for that.

I can hear scratching sounds from somewhere on the floor, probably Jaden trying to get up again, but I know there's little he can do to help me, still tied to that chair. I must deal with this by myself. I can only wish there was someone tougher in my place.

Owen is kicking like mad now, no longer talking, making choking sounds. I'm really hurting him. I've never hurt anyone before. This is so against everything I've been taught, violence not being the answer and all that. Yet if there's another solution to this, I can't see it.

What if I kill him? Oh my God, am I actually trying to choke a man to death?

"Get the bastard!" Jaden sounds closer, but I don't see him, my eyes squeezed shut with the effort. "Finish him! For Hazel!"

Hazel. The thought of her clears my mind. She was such a good person, and this piece of shit killed her. For nothing. For just being there. She had three grandchildren. She showed me the Happy Birthday cards they'd made her. 'Best Grandma in the world' and all that. And he just—shot her.

I feel no pity anymore. With the remains of my strength, I tighten my grip on his neck, squeezing. I feel wetness on my forearms, where his nails have broken my skin, drawing blood, but his fingers are no longer digging into my flesh. His struggling gets weaker, and then, after what feels like a long time, his body goes limp in my arms. I keep holding on to him, panting, unsure if he's faking it. There's no way I could have done this. The guy is twice my size. He's got to be pretending.

I catch a movement and turn my head to meet Jaden's eyes. He's kneeling by the bed, his hands still attached to the chair behind his back, but his both legs seem free. Apparently, he's broken yet another chair leg in his fall.

"Good job," he tells me, and the approval in his voice feels like a soothing balm on a sore wound. "Good fucking job, Casey."