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BIANCA
My head is pounding, and every muscle in my body aches as I try to stretch out my legs.
The ground is cold and damp beneath me, and my body can’t stop shaking from the chill in the air.
What the hell happened?
I peel my eyes open, wincing at the stabbing pain in my head, to find the room cast in darkness.
My heartbeat quickens as I glance around and see nothing but the outline of a door to my right.
“Oh god.” A sob tears through me as my right hand moves to my abdomen.
I need to stand up. I need to get the hell out of here.
But as I try to climb to my feet, my teeth gritted with the effort, pain seers through my arm.
I cry out, my legs buckling beneath me.
“No.”
I pull against the heavy metal cuff locked around my wrist.
The chain rattling echoes around the dark room.
But as the cuff grazes the wound on my wrist, I almost black out from the pain.
Panting, I gently feel along my arm and fight back a sob as my fingers come away bloody.
The wound must be a few inches long, and it’s still bleeding. It needs to be cleaned and stitched up before I risk getting an infection.
Not that it matters. I don’t think I’m going to leave this place alive.
The odds are stacked against me, but I’m going to do everything I can to get the hell out of here. “Think, Bianca.”
I need to stop this bleeding, but all I have on me is my sweater, and I’m not sure if it will make the best tourniquet.
I have to at least try.
I shrug my right arm out of my sweater and lift it up over my head, leaving me in nothing but a tank top.
Whimpering as the metal cuff grazes the wound on my arm, I try my best to wrap the arm of my sweater above the wound and tie it in a knot, praying it will be enough to stop the bleeding.
A thin sheen of sweat breaks out over my skin as I take the material in my teeth and pull it tight, doing my best to muffle my sobs as pain shoots up my arm.
I don’t want to risk drawing the attention of whoever is keeping me here by crying out in pain, so I grit my teeth as tears stream down my face as I continue to pull the material tighter.
Once I’m certain I can’t tie my makeshift tourniquet any tighter, I slump back against the cold brick wall and let my eyes flutter closed for a moment, exhausted from the effort.
My head is foggy, and I can barely make sense of my thoughts as I try to think back to what happened after the car crash.
I remember pulling Zara out of the car…
Oh, my god.
“Zara?” I whisper. There’s no answer, and my heart is threatening to come out of my throat as I realize we could have been separated, or worse... “Zara!”
A soft moan sounds to my left.
