Song: Lydia- Highly Suspect
--
-Does your lover enjoy the feeling of knives under her fingernails?
He re-reads the text three times. Does your lover enjoy the feeling of knives under her finger nails? Does your lover enjoy the feeling of knives...
The screen shows his worst fears. His shoulders tense and he feels his fists clench.
-Maybe she would like the same treatment as your sister.
He feels the phone begin to crack beneath his fist. His heart speeds up as his hands begin to shake.
No.
Dear god not her. Anyone but her.
Turning around to his beautiful nymph, his pretty young thing, he delivers the one sentence that ruins his heart. He knows it's for the better.
"This was a mistake."
He sees the anguish in her eyes, the never ending heartache he knows he's caused her is brought to the surface once again. Though she ties to hide it, he can tell her heart is broken almost as much as his.
Almost.
He forces his legs to carry his numb body out the door. Away from her.
--
As soon as his truck speeds out of the parking lot, his phone begins ringing. It's like scissors to his ears for he knows what is to come. He composes his anger before he answers.
"The fuck do you want," he growls as he presses his foot harder to the gas pedal.
A dark chuckle can be heard on the other line of the phone and Andy feels his own body freeze over like ice. The first time hearing his voice for a year and he still can't seem to shake his fear.
"I assume you're on your way," the dark, mangled voice invades his eardrums, bringing memories of torture, starvation, a life Andy had thought he left behind.
"How did you find me," he turns onto the highway, going well above the speed limit.
"Have you forgotten about the chip in your ear? Hmm... seems your memory isn't as good as it might have been."
The fucking chip. They've heard everything.
As soon as Andy hears these words, the truck has pulled over to the side of the icy highway in a dangerous manoeuvre. Andy curses as he rummages through the duffle bag on the passenger seat. He finds the knife he stored at the very bottom just in case. He clutches the handle in a moment of hesitation, then a moment of weakness.
"Weakness is death, Andrew. Remember that," the gravelly words of the man he has feared his whole life echo in his head.
He lifts the knife to his ear.
In a movement quicker than his own thoughts, he saws through the top part of his ear with the dull pocket knife. Right where the tracking chip should be placed. He screams in agony as he feels the cartilage of his ear being torn off.
He finds the tiny green chip embedded in the torn off part of his ear. Opening his window while he tries not to pass out, he chucks both of them out the window.
--
3:49 am.
His watch tells him he's been passed out almost half a day. Ten hours wasted.
