Her
My mother always said I was too meddlesome, too loud, too much. Maybe she was right. I’ve always been the type to shove my nose where it doesn’t belong. But this time, this time, I might’ve really screwed up.
It was a typical Saturday night, but exhaustion weighed heavier than usual. After grinding through a grueling twelve-hour shift and enduring the chaos of a party out of town, my body screamed for rest. My eyes burned, my shoulders throbbed, and all I could think about was collapsing into bed. As I shuffled toward my car, the buzz of my phone broke through the haze. Trent’s message lit up the screen like a warning flare: “Get your ass home. It’s late.”
Home. Not to a husband or boyfriend, just an apartment I shared with my best friend. Sometimes we shared a bed too. Casual, uncomplicated. That’s how I liked things.
I fired off a quick reply: “On my way. Grabbing snacks. Need anything?”
I stop at an unusual place, a desolate roadside where the grass grows untamed and the air smells faintly of rain. This isn’t where I’d normally find myself, but there was an accident on my usual route. I deviated and now I’m here. Just me, the fluorescent glare of a half-empty gas station, and the quiet drone of the night.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
It wasn’t the kind of scream you laugh off, a drunk couple arguing, someone fooling around. No, this one hit me in the chest, raw and desperate. I froze, my keys biting into my palm, my breath catching.
At first, I didn’t see them. The station was poorly lit, the glow from the single bulb over the pumps barely cutting through the dark. But then I spotted them by the edge of the lot: a girl being dragged by her arm, struggling, her cries muffled as the guy gripping her hissed something I couldn’t make out.
My gut twisted. I should’ve walked away. Pretended not to see. That’s what most people would’ve done, right? Just get in the car, lock the doors, and drive. But I couldn’t.
Not when her eyes, wide, terrified, found mine.
“Hey!” My voice came out sharper than I expected, cutting through the still night. The guy stopped, turning to face me. He was young, couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, though I couldn’t see much of his face with the cowboy hat shadowing his features. The girl looked very young, maybe eighteen. Her face was pale, streaked with tears.
“Mind your own business,” he said, his tone almost bored, as if I were the one out of line. “We’re just having a fight.”
Bullshit.
The girl flinched as he tightened his grip. “Then let her go,” I said, stepping closer. My phone felt slippery in my trembling hand. “You can meet up in daylight and fight all you want.”
My phone buzzed again, another message from Trent. “Just come home. It’s late.”
I should’ve listened.
Because that’s when I heard the footsteps behind me. Before I could turn, something hard slammed into the back of my head. Pain exploded, hot and bright, and my legs buckled. The world spun, the asphalt rushing up to meet me, but an arm snagged me before I hit the ground.
“She saw too much,” a voice growled impatiently.
“Take her,” the first one said. “We’ll deal with her later.”
My vision blurred, the gas station lights smearing into streaks. I tried to fight back, but my limbs felt sluggish, distant. Panic surged, clawing at my chest, but it was too late.
I’d meddled.
And now I was their problem.
“I’m sorry, please let”
The words came through thick and distorted, like they were underwater. Someone was sobbing, no, not someone. Her. The girl. The one who’d been screaming.
My head was pounding, a dull, relentless throb at the base of my skull. Everything felt wrong. My eyelids were leaden, too heavy to lift, but I fought against it, blinking slowly, hazily. The darkness around me kept pulling at my consciousness like quicksand, but the jolts of the car kept yanking me back.
A car. I was in a car. That much I knew.
The seat beneath me was rough, sticky in places. Vinyl, maybe. My hands, they didn’t want to move. Or maybe they couldn’t. No. I could move them. I just… couldn’t feel them properly, like they didn’t belong to me. They felt too heavy, like anchors.
The car hit a bump, and my head lolled to the side. That’s when I saw her.
The girl.
She was hunched over in the front seat, her shoulders shaking, hands pressed to her face. Her hair was messy, stuck to her cheeks with tears. “I’m sorry,” she kept saying, her voice breaking over and over, like a scratched record. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, ”
“Shut the fuck up!” The snarl made me flinch, or at least, I think it did. I couldn’t tell where my body ended and the pain began. My vision swam, blurry shapes shifting like shadows on water, but I caught flashes: blonde hair, a hard jawline, a clenched fist gripping something, a phone? A wallet? I couldn’t tell.
The man leaned forward, his voice sharp, cutting into the girl. He shoved something toward her, and she recoiled like it might burn her. “I said, stop crying! You’re gonna make this worse!”
She hiccupped, a stifled sob catching in her throat.
I tried to move again, to sit up, to speak, but my mouth felt stuffed with cotton, my tongue heavy and useless. A weak groan slipped out instead, a pathetic sound that barely escaped my lips.
The man’s head snapped toward me. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, and my stomach dropped. His face twisted, jaw tightening, before he turned back to the second man. “What the fuck did I tell you? You let her get a good look at me, huh? You’re useless!”
He smacked the dashboard with his palm, the sound sharp and echoing in the confined space. The girl flinched again, curling in on herself like she wanted to disappear.
The car swerved slightly, and my head lolled the other way, hitting something hard, a door, maybe. A dull metallic clang. I let out another groan, this one louder, but it only earned me a hissed, “Shut her up!”
“Please, I’m sorry,” the girl whimpered again, her voice barely a whisper now. I wanted to scream, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, to will tell her to run. But my body wouldn’t listen. All I could do was blink slowly, fighting to stay awake as the shadows around me swallowed more of the light.
I wasn’t going home tonight.
Time slipped away. Minutes, hours, who could tell? The hum of the engine was a dull vibration under my skin, lulling me in and out of consciousness. I’d wake up, halfaware, and then slip under again, sinking into that strange, dark space where pain throbbed but the world felt distant, unreal.
When the car finally stopped, my eyes fluttered open, though everything was still a blur.
“She can’t walk. Just pick her up,” a husky voice growled.
Before I could process the words, I felt hands under me. My body shifted, weightless for a moment, then pressed against someone’s chest. They were carrying me. I felt the steady heat of their body, the rhythmic sway of their steps. The air hit my face, colder now, fresher. It smelled of dirt and grass. I fought to make sense of it, to anchor myself. What’s happening? Where am I? My thoughts spiraled, slippery and fragmented.
My vision sharpened, just a little, as my eyelids cracked open again. Blurry shapes resolved into the outline of a barn. A big one. A weathered structure, its wood darkened with age and damp. Fields stretched endlessly beyond it, nothing but open space for miles. No roads. No lights. At the other side a forrest.
Whoever was carrying me stopped, their boots crunching against a dirt path. Another sound broke through: her crying. The girl. Her sobs were louder now, raw and broken.
My chest tightened at the sound, though I couldn’t even lift my head to look for her. And then, sharp and sudden, the sound of flesh striking flesh. The crack of it jarred me fully awake, my stomach twisting as if I’d been hit myself.
Her cries turned into a whimper, and I heard the husky voice again, low and menacing: “Keep quiet, or you’ll get worse.”
I tried to move, to lift my head, but it was like my body didn’t belong to me. My limbs were sluggish, my neck weak. A groan slipped from my throat, unintentional, and I felt the arms holding me falter.
“Shit. She’s waking up.”
Before I could gather my bearings, I was dropped.
The impact knocked the breath out of me, not hard, but enough to make my head spin. I landed on something coarse, itchy, poking at my side. Hay. I was lying in hay.
The earthy smell filled my nose as I blinked, trying to focus on my surroundings. A rough laugh sounded above me. “Leave her there. She’s not going anywhere.”
I could see more now, my vision slowly clearing. I turned my head, or at least, I thought I did. The world tilted, but I caught glimpses: the girl kneeling, her face red and blotchy, hands clutching her cheek. The blonde man standing over her, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind them, the barn doors loomed open, shadows spilling out like ink.
I swallowed hard, the taste of blood and bile rising in my throat. The husky voice spoke again, closer this time. “Bring her inside. We’ll figure out what to do with them after.”
Them. Me. Her.
I felt a cold wave of fear sweep through me, sharper now as my head cleared. They weren’t done with us.
Not even close.
I’m not tied up.
That’s something, at least. Not being tied up means I can do something. Anything.
Think, Sam. Think.
I shift slowly, pressing my palms against the ground to steady myself as I push up onto my knees. My head pounds like a drum, each beat sharper than the last. My fingers instinctively move to the back of my head, and when they come away sticky and warm, I know it’s blood. My hair is matted with it, thick and clumped, and I wince at the pull of it sticking to my scalp.
They hit me hard, probably with something blunt. A pipe? A wrench? Whatever it was, it left my head throbbing and my thoughts sluggish.
Concussion, I diagnose silently, forcing myself to breathe slowly, evenly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I’ve seen worse before, much worse. Breathing’s steady, vision’s clearing. No immediate signs of brain damage, though my stomach rolls dangerously.
Focus.
The girl is crying, her sobs sharp and jagged, cutting through the haze like glass. I glance up, my vision sharpening just enough to make out her form. She’s curled up on the ground, shoulders shaking, her hands clasped protectively over her head like she’s expecting another blow.
Two of them.
The blonde guy is pacing, muttering angrily under his breath. His cigarette dangles from his lips, the orange ember glowing faintly in the dim barn light. The other one, the husky-voiced guy, looms near the girl, watching her with the kind of cruel detachment that makes my blood run cold.
Two men.
I can’t do much against two. Not like this.
And I’m scared. God, I’m so scared.
My arms tremble as I try to shift my weight, and the nausea that’s been bubbling inmy stomach finally surges.
No, no, no, not now.
I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s no use. The retch comes hard and fast, ripping through me with a force I can’t control.
I lean to the side, clutching my stomach as I vomit into the hay. It’s loud, messy, and impossible to hide. My throat burns, and tears prick at my eyes as I gasp for breath between heaves.
The pacing stops.
“What the fuck now?” Blondie’s voice is sharp, irritated. I can hear the crunch of his boots as he approaches.
“Is she puking?” the husky one says, his tone disgusted. “Shit, man, she’s probably concussed or something.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Blondie snaps. “Just great. What the hell are we supposed to do with her now? If she’s too busted up, ”
I don’t give them a chance. I push myself to my feet, my legs trembling but holding steady. God, just let me have this. Just one chance. The girl is still crying, her sobs quieting as she stares at me, wide-eyed. She knows something’s about to happen. Hell, I know it too. My pulse pounds in my ears. Move, I beg silently. Don’t just stand there. Do something. If we don’t fight, we’re dead, or worse.
One of them is only a bit taller than me, the other looms over us like a goddamn wall, easily over six feet with a bulkier frame. My height’s enough to stand my ground, but my head is pounding like someone’s driving nails into my skull. Doesn’t matter. If I can take them by surprise, if I can land a clean, hard punch on one of them, I can gain momentum. I just need that split second.
I glance at the girl. She’s watching me, wide-eyed, her shoulders trembling. “I-I need water,” I stammer, gripping the hem of my skirt to steady my shaking hands. I try to sound weak and dazed, less like a threat, more like a problem to be brushed off.
Blondie frowns, glancing at the taller man. The taller one groans, waving his hand dismissively. “Keep an eye on them,” he grumbles, stalking off toward the barn door like we’re no more dangerous than a couple of lost kittens.
Perfect. One down.
