Up to Me(53)

I recognize the noise as gunfire. I know it’s strange, but my initial reaction isn’t fear; it’s relief, relief that I can put the sound together with its source, that I can quickly make the association.

That must mean my brain is still working to some degree. I’m not a cucumber yet.

I hear a second shot. It brings with it a more logical response. Fear. No, not fear. Terror. My pulse races with it. The sensation is only exacerbated by the fact that I can barely move, much less do anything about whatever is happening. I realize I’m helpless and that my fate will likely be decided without me even be able to manage coherent speech.

Where’s Ginger when I need her?

In my head, I’m laughing. As a bystander might, part of me is worrying that I’m making light in the midst of such a serious situation.

Am I losing it? Is any of this even real?

I struggle to open my eyes. Blearily, I blink my reluctant lids. A bright reflection on the ceiling swims across my vision, making my stomach roil. I close my eyes for a single breath and then fight to open them again.

I hear bumping again and the sounds of heavy footsteps. My heart thumps heavily inside my chest as panic sets in.

They’re coming for me! Oh sweet God, they’re coming for me!

Summoning every bit of strength left in my sedated body, I lift my head off the flat, smelly pillow and look from left to right. I’m in a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. Alone. With a window to my left.

I don’t feel the tears so much as see my vision blur behind them. If I could just make it to the window…and outside…to freedom…

Maybe someone would help me…

Taking a deep breath, I bend my arms and slide my elbows under me to try and push myself into a somewhat upright position. As though they’re made of jelly, though, they melt away as soon as I try to bear any weight on them. I try a second time, to no avail.

The futility of my efforts, the hopelessness of my situation hits me hard again. Only this time, the longer I’m awake without the drug-dosed rag being shoved in my face, the clearer my head becomes. And the more panicked I feel.

I’m telling myself I’ll try again and again when a loud crash sounds at the door across the room. Splinters fly when it’s torn off its hinges by a body being launched through the opening. My mind struggles to take in what I’m seeing.

A tall, thin man with a springy bush of brown curls on his head lands with a thud on the floor in front of the bed. I look back to the doorway, my heart lodged in my throat, and I see the most wonderful hallucination I could ever imagine conjuring.

It’s Cash, standing like a thunder cloud, right in front of me. His face is smeared with black streaks and his lips are curled in rage. He looks fierce. He looks murderous.

He looks like heaven.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes lock with mine. I see the anger, the determination, the I’m-teetering-on-the-threshold-of-apeshit-crazy. But I also see relief and something that makes my heart swell. Then his attention moves to the foot of the bed.

I see him drop to his knees and I hear his animal growl as his fist pumps up and down over and over again. The dull thump-squish-crunch makes saliva gush into my mouth. The image that comes to mind is of a bloody, mangled face being pounded into the floorboards by Cash’s massive fist. But I can hardly feel sorry for the guy. In fact, if I could manage to move, I might go lend a hand in beating the everlovin’ crap out of him.

Just a few seconds later, Cash is coming to his feet and rushing to the side of the bed. The whole scene has a surreal quality until he squats down, putting his face level with mine, and reaches out to gently touch my cheek with his fingertips.

“Are you okay?” he whispers. His face is a mask of agony. I can see the guilt eating at him. He thinks all of this is his fault.

“I am now.”

He closes his eyes for a heartbeat. When he reopens them, his soul is there for me to see. “Oh my God, Olivia, I didn’t know…I thought… If something had happened to you…”

“I’m fine,” I say, not really knowing whether or not I actually am. I just feel the overwhelming need to soothe Cash and take away some of his pain.

Right before my eyes, I see logic sweep in and force him into action. “We have to get you out of here.”

I know he’s right and I can feel the medication wearing off a little more every minute, but still, I don’t think I can walk.

“Can you help me up?”

A frown flickers across his forehead. “Help you up?” he asks, almost like he’s insulted. I feel confused, but he doesn’t give me time to ask questions. Rather, he rises and slides his hands beneath me and lifts me into his arms.