Touch

50

Still slumped over, I open my eyes and sit up. My arms are asleep.

My head throbs. I try to whisper the word hello, but my throat is burning. And so are my wrists, a stinging, searing pain snakes down my fingers and crawls up my arms.

There's a spill of some sort beside me. At first I think it's a drink or some food, that I toppled something when I passed out. But then the smell hits me, an odor like sour milk, and I realize I've thrown up.

The bowl of water still sits beside me on the TV tray. Half of it has spilled out onto the rug and my jeans.

Did I do that in my sleep? Is it from all my thrashing around? I lean toward it, thirsty for a drink, but suspicious that it's the water that got me sick in the first place.

What did he put in there? How long have I been passed out? What time is it now? I look up at the window, but the shade and curtains block out all light.

I wonder if anyone's noticed I'm missing yet, and if they're on their way to save me. My eyes fill up with tears again.

I try my best to blink them away, to convince myself I'm going to get out of here. Glancing first at the knife still stuck above the door, I survey the room. It's actually not much bigger than a walk-in closet.

I scoot forward so that my feet reach the side wall; then I kick against it, noticing that the interior walls are covered with fake paneling. The room shakes with my kick.

More water splashes out of the bowl on the TV tray. I kick harder, and there's more shaking, like the room doesn't have a solid foundation, as if maybe I'm not in a house, or even a building at all.

I take a deep breath, remembering the trailer I saw in the woods earlier, wondering if that's where I am.

My pulse races. I continue to kick against the wall. The room bounces back and forth.

And then I hear something outside, a screeching sound. I strain to hear, and then I scream at the top of my lungs, until my voice breaks. Still, no one comes. I can only hear the calling of birds outside now.

I close my eyes and kick harder, imagining the force of my blows actually toppling the walls over. But instead it's the knife that topples. It falls from above the door and lands in the center of the room. Quickly, I reposition myself , scooting to the side and extending my legs.

A cramp runs down my outer thigh. I do my best to breathe through it, to make my muscles relax.

Meanwhile, the knife lies just beyond my foot. I reach for it, but my leg cramp worsens, causing me to fall back. My shoulders ache.

My left arm is numb. I let out a breath and try a little harder. The handcuff squeezes against my bones, and I feel something snap.

At the same moment, my leg muscles relax a bit, enabling me to move forward just a little farther.

My foot grazes the knife, and I'm able to slide it toward me. I scoot back and sit up straight, dragging the knife toward my hands with my foot. After several attempts, I finally manage to wedge the blade under my shoe, just inches away from my cuffed wrists.

My arm still numb, I try to cut through the knots but end up slashing my thumb with the blade.

Blood trickles down over the rope, making it hard to see what I'm doing. Still, after several strokes against the knife, the rope is cut, and I'm free from the wall.

· · ·

Harry Styles

~ Malum