Determined To Live (14 page)

Mistake!

His hand slapping
my already abused face comes out of nowhere. I feel like my eyes are
about to pop out and I squeeze them shut to hold them in. My arms are
still tied behind me, so I can't protect myself, and when his hand
again slams into my face, all I can do is turn away.

His
voice screaming close to the back of my head makes me jerk away even
further in terror. "Stop making me do that! Don't you think if I
kill someone I have a good reason?" -
Not
really, no!
- "He'd been bit by one of those zombies. Would you have rather
I let him attack me?
You
?
I will do everything I can to protect you, even if that means killing
someone who's infected even before they've turned."

"If you would
really do anything to protect me, then prove it," I foolishly
challenge him.

His eyes narrow and
his lip curls. "And exactly how do I do that?"

"Well, for
starters, stop frikken hitting me! Don't you think I've had enough
head trauma?"

Jake stares at me
intently, his eyes darkening dangerously. After what seems an
eternity of holding my breath, he says, "Alright. I won't hit
you again. You'll see. You'll see I love you more than anyone else
ever has."

Not likely,
Freak Boy.

He turns away from
me and drives the truck inside the garage, parking next to another
Hummer, one without blood, guts, body pieces, hair, and dents from
bullets in it. He gets out and comes over to my side and finally
unties me from the headrest. I'm disappointed when he leaves my hands
tied, though.

Jake
then carries me upstairs to a large room. This one already has cots
set up, their bedding folded at the end of them. He carries me
through a second door that ends up being a bathroom, complete with
shower, where places me on a chair in the corner of the room and
tells me he's going to "
help
me
"
go to the bathroom.

What the...!

Uh, no thanks.

When I tell him I
can do it myself, he ignores me and lifts me up until I'm in standing
on my good foot, then pulls on me until I'm forced to hop and follow,
or fall on my face.

He
unbuttons and unzips my fatigue bottoms, and I sit on the toilet and
flash back to when I was uncomfortable with little Mel watching me.
What
I wouldn't give for it to be Mel watching me now!

But
thankfully, Jake pays no attention to me as he goes over to turn the
shower on. So I empty my bladder, but when I'm done I start panicking
about how I'm going to wipe myself, considering I'm tied up.
There
is no way in
hell
I'm going to let him do that!

Ok.

"Maybe
I am,"
I
think to myself as he does exactly that.

Oh my god! Just
kill me now!

But there is
definitely no way in hell that I'm taking a shower while he's in here
watching me!

Again, maybe I
am.

Jake
starts stripping my clothes off, having to untie me to get my shirt
off. He grabs a plastic trash bag from the cabinet under the sink and
seals my cast. He lifts me into the shower, then he shuts the curtain
and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Ok,
I can deal with this.
I relax and decide to just take advantage of the perfect almost hot
shower, even though I had one not that long ago, but it's not as if I
have much of a choice.

Just as I pick up
the bottle of shampoo, the curtain toward the back of the shower
flies open and I spin around, falling back against the side shower
wall when I lose my balance. I gasp when a very naked Jake steps
inside.

Oh dear god!

What a complete
waste of an amazing body. A beautiful body with an incredibly
twisted, ugly mind.

As his huge hands
come up and move in my direction - breast high - I back away. But too
soon, the shower wall slams into my back.

So this is it.

But
he surprises me when all he does is take the shampoo bottle out of my
hand.

"Turn around,"
he orders.

I do, and soon feel
his hands smoothing the creamy mixture through my hair, his fingers
gently massaging my scalp as he does his best to avoid the swollen,
painful spots. He turns me so my back is to the spray of water, then
rinses my hair. Turning me around again, he goes through the whole
process with the conditioner, except this time - once he gets my hair
thoroughly coated - he slowly, gently runs his hands down each side
of my body, then slides them across my stomach. After that, his hands
go on an intense exploration of my body.

I
won't lie -
Ha!
What's the use? You'd know the truth, anyway.
-
but leaning against his hard-muscled chest, his hands on my body, his
lips on my neck -
Oh,
yeah. Did I forget to mention the lips part?
- and the fact I can't see him to remember who he is, all come
together to make me lose my senses -
if
I ever really had any.

I relax against his
chest, close my eyes and moan with the incredible pleasure his hands
are giving. His lips make their way to my cheek and then tease at the
corner of my mouth. I bring my arms up, running my own hands through
his wet hair, and turn my head so that our lips can meet for a full
kiss. When they do, I moan even louder and move my hands to the back
of his neck to pull him firmer and closer to me.

Then he blows it.

No!
Not
that!

Man, you people
really need help!

He
speaks
.

"Ah, Canada. I
knew you loved me," he moans out, his lips trailing kisses down
the side of my face.

My eyes fly open
and my body tenses up. I drop my arms and straighten my body away
from his, horrified at what I've done.

"Jake,
I'm sorry, but I'm so tired and I'm not feeling very good. I think I
need to get some sleep. I'm sorry," I have a feeling telling him
the truth -
that
I don't love him and never will, and when I'm not being a moron, he
disgusts me
- probably won't fly with him. I can't even imagine the beatings I'd
get then. Hell, he'd probably kill me.

He
actually remains gentle and caring as he helps me wash the
conditioner out, the whole time apologizing for not thinking of
me
and putting
my
needs first. When we're done getting clean, with no further
"
incident
,"
he helps me out of the shower, takes the plastic off my cast, and
dries me off.

Then he carries me
back into the larger room with my towel wrapped around me. He pulls
out one of his black t-shirts and hands it to me, asking me if I need
help. I shake my head and pull the shirt on quickly. It stops
mid-thigh on me, so I feel like I'm wearing one of my short
nightgowns from back home. Then he assists me into another pair of
black fatigues.

Once he's finished,
he helps me back to my cot and tucks me in, rubs my hair, and kisses
the tip of my nose as if I were a little kid. I almost expect him to
sing me a lullaby or read me a bedtime story. But instead, he goes
over to his cot, makes it, and pulls it right up against mine. Then
he goes across the room, locks the door, and turns off the light.

I hear his cot
squeak and protest as his weight collapses on it. I hear the movement
he makes as he settles in, and then all is quiet. Just as I'm
thinking it's safe and nothing else will happen, I feel the heavy
weight of his thick-muscled arm lay across my stomach. I quit
breathing, waiting for whatever he has planned next. But after
several moments of stillness, and deep steady breathing from his
direction, I relax and allow the nagging thoughts I've had to push
aside for a better time, to come through.

What the hell is
wrong with him? Why has he changed so much? Is it whatever is in the
vials? Is it medication for a mental illness? And what the hell is up
with those pictures of his parents?

So
many questions and no answers.

I slowly wake to
soft morning sunshine lightly kissing my cheek. Raising up on my
arms, I look around the room. The cot that was next to me when I went
to sleep is folded and against the wall. The bedding is also neatly
folded and stacked on a chair. I don't see or hear Jake anywhere.

Sitting up, I
cringe as the cot makes all kinds of noise, especially when I swing
my legs over the side. I am certain attempting to get away is
hopeless - being one-footed and all - but to not even try is stupid.

I drop to the floor
and crawl to the door where I raise up, twist the unlocked doorknob,
and back out of the way as it opens. Then I crawl forward and peek
down both ways of the hall, seeing no one. So I cross the hall and
look through the iron bars to the open garage floor below.

Still no Jake.

Did he go inside
the armory without me?

Wouldn't bother
me a bit, but I have a feeling I couldn't be so lucky.

I can't begin to
think why that is.

I reach the top of
the stairs and don't even take the time to worry about the intense
butt-bumping bruises these metal stairs are going to leave me. I make
it to the bottom rather quickly and take a brief few seconds to rub
my aching butt before continuing on my knees toward the nearest
Hummer. I reach it and open the drivers side door. Pulling myself up,
I have to turn to get in butt-first...and come face-to-chest with
Jake.

Well,
of course. Like no one saw
that
coming!

"Going
somewhere?" he asks as he smirks at me, his fists on each hip.

"Jake! I
thought you'd left me. I couldn't find you anywhere," I explain,
hoping to avoid another beating.

As his hand springs
toward me, I jerk away, expecting pain. But he just places his hand
on my shoulder and his face changes to one of concern.

"I
wouldn't leave you, Canada. You don't ever have to worry about that."
-
Oh frikken joy!
- "I just went outside to check the main fence. We don't want
those undead beasts to be able to get in, now do we?"

I have a very
strong feeling it's not the zombies he's concerned with at all, but
my family. All I can do is nod as I try to swallow the huge lump in
my throat. He goes to the back of the Hummer and opens the hatch. I
watch him distractedly, until he starts swearing and throwing things
around in anger. That snaps me back to attention, and when he starts
toward me like a pissed-off bull, my eyes widen in fear.

"Where the
hell is my bag! I have important stuff in there, stuff I need. Stuff
that I have to have! What the hell did you do with it?" he
roars, his face almost touching mine. His angry snorts of breath wash
over my terror-stricken face.

I desperately think
of something to say that won't get me killed. Unable to believe he
will buy it, I lie anyway, "I have no idea, Jake! I haven't seen
it."

I
hold my breath, my body trembling with fear.
What
is he most upset about losing? The pictures or the vials? I wish I
could ask him about those, but now, I most certainly can
not
mention them.

His eyes narrow as
his face gets even closer to mine. But just when I'm positive things
are going to get painful for me, his body relaxes and he straightens.

"Sorry. I
guess I misplaced it. Though I can't imagine where."

I watch his face as
he tries to figure out where he could have possibly left it. Knowing
he'll soon figure out that he had left it right where he'd expected
to find it, I attempt to distract him.

"Jake,
shouldn't we plan how we're going to get inside the armory and make
it through the zombies, if there are any? And how I'm going to do
this with only one good foot?"