Captured

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Abriana

Easton paced nervously back and forth across the worn hardwood planks. Tapping the handgun on his thigh, he muttered, “Why did I get into this?”

He sat down on a wooden rocking chair, got up, and began pacing again.

“I’m going to go to jail,” he said with a worried look on his face. “That’s it, my future is gone. The rest of my life is going to be spent in a jail cell.”

More pacing. More tapping.

He sank to his knees and placed his hands over his eyes. “Why did I ever listen to her in the first place? I mean, who pulls this kind of mess on someone?”

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

“Now isn’t a good time,” he snapped when he answered the phone.

“Did I do WHAT?” he shouted.

He paused. “What if I did? Then what would you do? Then you wouldn’t be able to play your stupid little games anymore!”

Suddenly he went silent and his face turned red with rage.

“You did WHAT,” he growled.

“NEVER threaten me again! Do you hear me?” Then, without hesitation, he chucked the phone across the room and stomped in the opposite direction.

A minute later he came back with the gun tucked in his pants and two open beers.

“I’ll never understand you women,” he said shaking his head.

“Here,” he said handing me an ice-cold beer. “Drink this.”

I shook my head.

“It will help you forget about your knee,” he said gruffly.

Looking down, the bleeding had finally stopped, but the gash left by the rock looked raw and angry.

“Fine,” I replied and reached for the beer. The glass bottle clanged against the handcuffs Easton had secured to my wrists. I guess I won’t be getting out of these any time soon.

I took a sip and let the chilly liquid slide down my throat. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the painful throbbing sensation in my knee.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” said Easton in a quiet voice.

I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I refused to look him in the face.

“You didn’t have to point a gun at me.”

Easton shrugged his shoulders. “You tried to run away, again. What was I supposed to do?”

Deciding not to push it, I let the subject drop. Instead, I drank my beer quietly and scanned the room. When my eyes landed on my blindfold in the corner, I shuttered. I wonder why he didn’t make me put it back on?

“I’m going to make some dinner,” said Easton.  A worried look crossed his face. “You better come with me.”

I stood up and followed him into the kitchen.

“Here,” he said pulling up two chairs. “Put your leg up and I’ll clean your knee and get you some ice.”

Opening up the cabinet he pulled out a first aid kit. Yellow with age, Easton scrunched as he flipped open the cover. He pulled out some antibiotic cream and gauze. Next he grabbed several paper towels and wet half of them.