Unlovable

Chapter 32

Rogers eyes pulsed. He ground his fists into them, trying to keep them open. It was already seven in the morning, but he hadn't gotten a lick of sleep the night before. He was running on pure adrenaline and focusing on the trip at hand.

The sun was beginning to peak above the horizon and Wishbone had just woken from his nap. He barked once at the window and Roger found himself impressed by the small pup and his ability to let him know when it was time to go out.

At the following rest stop, Roger pulled over. Attaching Wishbone's leash, Roger led him out of the truck. While they walked, Roger thought of how he would find Darcie once he had gotten to Chicago.

With all the hype her disappearance had left, Roger doubted it would be easy. He wondered if her phone number would be listed in the white pages, if she would answer when and if he called. He wondered if Lily could see anything that would help him. Landmarks, a street name, anything that would bring him closer to her would help a great deal.

He decided he would call her once he got into town, just in case. Either way, Roger was determined to find Darcie- Even if he had to go door to door to do so.

*~*~*

By ten a.m. Harold had returned to the house and had already jumped in the shower. Darcie had fallen asleep with her cuffed hand dangling over the side of the couch.

Momentarily, Darcie had forgotten about her restrictions and tried to stretch. She screamed in pain as her wrist set on fire from the inside out. She studied the wound carefully, noticing the red, swollen mark that wrapped around it. She licked her lips and grimaced at the pain in the left corner.

Her mouth was incredibly dry. She hadn't had an ounce to drink since the afternoon before, at Rogers. Her bladder was full, she was in pain, and she was petrified that the worse of the abuse hadn't even started yet.

Darcie heard the bathroom door open and looked up as Harold walked in the living room, drying his blonde hair with a towel, another wrapped around his waist.

"Morning," he said casually as he plopped on the couch next to her and began flipping through channels on the plasma screen. "Sleep well?"

She glared at him. He smiled in response. There was a time when that smile made her go weak in the knees, now it made her sick to her stomach.

"May I use the bathroom, please?" she asked hoarsely, her throat raw and aching.

He looked over at her, grinning.

"Well, well. Someone's awfully polite this morning."

Harold reached into his pocket and produced a small key.

"Can I trust you?"

She nodded.

"Don't make me regret this," he said as he set her free. She ran her hand along her wrist and grimaced.

"Take a shower, too. You stink."

She nodded again as she stood. Her legs almost gave way beneath her, but she controlled her body, mentally ordering herself to stay strong. She walked toward the bathroom. "Oh!" he called, stopping her in her tracks. "CPD will be here in about an hour to get your statement. Make sure you hurry up in there."

She nodded again and walked inside the bathroom, closing the door behind her quickly.

As soon as the door locked, she ran to the small window, trying her best to lift it up. She needed to get away from him, the whole situation. She needed to call Roger. They'd run away together, head to Canada or Mexico if they had to.