Page 22 of Traces of Kara

“I was saving it, you know, for our actual birthday. But—” He looked at the clock and nodded. “Well, maybe we should have it now.”

Kara quickly nodded. The thought of the tape ripping her already bloody cheeks was terrifying, but she’d be able to talk. She had to talk to get him to let her go. “Mm-hmm,” she eked out.

Roland put his filthy hands on either side of her cheeks.

She closed her eyes.

His hands smelled of burning embers and iron. Kara held her breath.

He tore the tape in one slow swipe. Kara winced, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Marissa,” he whispered.

He took the edge of his bloodied shirt and patted the patches of blood from her cheeks. She clenched her jaw, swallowing screams of pain.

“Thank you,” she said. Connect. Get out alive.

He looked as if he were going to speak, then turned away and disappeared into the back room.

Kara wondered why she no longer had to pee. She wished her head would stop throbbing. She wasn’t prone to migraines, but this couldn’t be anything else. “I…I have a headache,” she said to the empty room.

“Yeah, that’s expected.” He appeared with two pieces of store-bought birthday cake on printed paper plates. Happy Birthday was spelled out in primary colors.

Kara lifted her bound hands.

“You gonna run again?”

Kara shook her head. “I promise. I’m sorry I ran. I…I was scared.” Of you. I still am.

Roland removed the bloodied blade from his pocket.

Kara pulled back. “What is that?”

He grabbed her wrists. “Knife.”

“No, what’s all over it?”

Roland slit the tape and pulled it off of her wrists.

The sticky adhesive pulled and ripped at the tiny hairs with each movement.

“Nothin’,” he said.

“That’s not nothing,” she said, and quickly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I’m not used to this.”

He worked the muscles in his jaw, the blade in his palm. “Don’t you worry about anything, Marissa. No one will separate us again.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“I took care of that little prick.”

Kara snapped her head up.

“Yeah, the one who’s always bugging you? I’ve seen him. I’ve seen you run from him.”

“What? Who?” Her heartbeat sped up. Her tongue felt thick. The pain in her stomach grew.

“That football bastard. He won’t be bugging you anymore.”