Escaping the Pack

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Chapter Three

Her

The beds dips and for one awful moment I think he’s going to hurt me like the others. There is pain, but not the kind I was expecting. The bones in my ankles scream as he tears the metal restraints from them, but I don’t have it in me to scream with them. The pain is worse in my wrists and my neck as he breaks the chains there too.
“Alright, I’m going to carry you out of here. Okay?”
I want to fight. I’m not restrained anymore and I would give anything to fight my way out. To get away from the pack and whoever this guy is.
I can’t. I try raising my hand but I can barely manage to curl my fingers in to form a fist. I realise that I’m completely helpless and at this stranger’s mercy and it’s enough to set off my panic.
“Shh. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I need to get you out of here.”
He leans down to put one of his arms around my waist and another beneath my knees, causing even more pain. To my shame, I whimper pathetically into his chest as he lifts me up.

The pain must have made me black out because as I open my eyes I can see the house over his shoulder as he walks us silently through the woods surrounding the packs town.
We walk in silence for over an hour, him not tiring at all being weighed down by me.
We finally reach a deserted and overgrown dirt road, the only thing I can see is a dark coloured SUV. He walks over to it and opens the passenger door. I resist the urge to cry out as he puts me in the seat. I haven’t been vertical in so long that my head is spinning as violently as my nerves are screaming.
My body begins to shake violently and I hear him swear as he rushes to open the back. He comes back with a blanket and box.
“I’m going to wrap you up and keep you warm and then I’m going to clean the wounds on your face, okay?”
Again, I don’t respond. I don’t have the strength to stop him, so, what would be the point in telling him that I don’t want him to touch me?
I will bide my time.
“This is going to sting a little,” he says as he wipes a cotton ball against my brow. ‘Sting’ was an understatement. It feels like he’s poured acid on my face, but my throat refuses to make noise.
It only takes a few minutes before he’s putting everything back in the box and climbing into the driver’s side. The car starts so quietly that it surprises me when we start moving.
He tries to offer me water, but I don’t trust that it isn’t drugged. I refuse the food as well. For a whole day I refuse everything he offers me. Even clothes. I stay wrapped in the blanket, fading in and out of consciousness, as he drives me to god knows where.

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