Page 49 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 12

MEISIE

This time, I wake up to a girl screaming blue fucking murder. I sit up bed with a gasp trapped somewhere in my throat, my heart pounding, before I realize it’s the stupid television again.

I flop back onto the bed and throw a hand over my eyes, groaning theatrically. It feels like someone rubbed rock salt in my eyes.

And why?

Because I must have woken up a hundred times last night.

And why?

Because I kept thinking—hoping—dreaming, that he was lying next to me.

Now that we have some time to talk, Meisie, let’s explore your relationship with Cillian.

Fuck off, lady. I’m warning you.

You say you desperately want to escape your kidnapper, but is that what you are truly focusing on right now?

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Do you hear me? The whole time I was upstairs supposed to be scoping out the place, all I could focus on was man chest.

Hard, perfectly chiseled, delicately fuzzed motherfucking man chest. You tell me how I’m supposed to focus on anything but that?

Trish remains silent on this topic, the dried-up whore.

Idiot. Idiot!

You’d swear we were dating the way I acted last night. And did I even manage to disarm him? No? He ended the evening looking like he wanted to smash a wall. Or my face, Or possibly my face into the wall.

Oh no, Cillian wouldn’t do that.He likes my eyes. He’s not into blood and gore.

I’m seriously starting to wonder which of us is doing the seducing.

Definitely won’t be me anymore—that plan failed miserably.

The girl on the television finally stops screaming. I hope it’s because someone chopped her fucking head off. I frown and sit up again as a small piece of dialogue catches my ear.

Saw. Someone’s watching Saw.

I flop down again. Probably just my imagination.

Have you considered that perhaps you would prefer not to be in control all the time, Meisie?Trish asks sweetly.

Well fuck me sideways, granny Trish. You’re a regular Einstein.

I’ve only ever been on the receiving end of unrelenting control. My parents, my friends, Alex, Cillian. I guess I’m just a natural-born submissive. And here I thought I could be in control for once. That Ideservedto be my own woman.

It explains why I keep fucking this up. Why I keep letting him win.

There’s a lull in the movie, and I hear the air-conditioning kicking in.

If I banged real hard on the door, would he let me out? Or has he decided after last night it’s easier just to leave me down here to rot?

On an entirely unrelated note—is it actually possible to die from boredom?

I lie there for the remainder of the movie, half trying to figure out which scene I’m listening to, half running through a list of all the horror movies I’ve ever seen.