Pitch black. It’s all encompassing and suffocating me. Choking me with the hints of musty upholstery, iron, and mildew. I’d barter what’s left of my soul on a roulette table that when you factor in the rusted metal and convulsing of my lungs in panic, spilled alcohol, and sweat you’d get a recipe for disaster. It’s so tangible I can taste it. I’m pissed I didn’t see this coming. I’d become too complacent. Impromptu drinks with friends sounded harmless. Less so when friends of friends were added but I wanted to feel normal. I’d stopped looking over my shoulder and now I have to pay the price. Of course that could be the cramped space finally taking her turn at my psyche. Guess it doesn’t matter if a space really is cramped or not if you can’t see it. My eyes are open but everything remains bathed in darkness.

When did I fall asleep?

When did I wake up?

Where did I wake up?

My head hurts. One of them must have slipped me a mickey.

God, my father would be ashamed if he could see me. If he wasn’t already worm food. All of this is his fault anyways. I’d bet this has something to do with the family business. Stupid code of honor bull—why can’t I move my arms?

Don’t tell me the tied my… They tied my arms…and my legs. This just keeps getting better and better. The breath that I huff out which usually floats my bangs falls short. My hair is sodden, fused to my forehead, my gin laced breath especially cool where the two connect. That’s the last time I let someone talk me into trying a drink called Corpse Reviver No 2.

I’m not hog tied. Separate binds at the wrists and ankles. Feels like some kind of rope. That’s a plus, means they underestimated me. If I could just get to the blade I keep in my shoe I can get to work cutting my ties free. My shoulders aren’t sore yet so it can’t have been that long since they put me in here… wherever here is. My legs are a bit stiff. I’m on my side with my arms behind my back, my knees in a fetal position. There’s something that feels like fabric just out of reach at my back. It’s at the tips of my fingers but I can’t grab it. You’d be surprised what things people stupidly leave with live captives. I prefer using swept clean concrete cells. A little window just out of reach, a steel door with a little slot for deliveries, and the little radio I rigged to play the same two Eminem songs on repeat. Psychological torture does half the heavy lifting for you and after about a week with minimal engagement or feedings they break, they always break.

I’m not ready to alert my would be abductors that I’ve regained consciousness so my best bet is to slowly try to gauge my surroundings. I barely move when the steel toed heel of my boot tinks against the surface. It’s not enough room to fully stretch out in and considering I’m only five foot six wherever I am must be pretty cramped. There was definitely something at my back. I took the risk of slowly shifting my weight so now whatever it is is propping me up. I’m stuck halfway between laying on my side and back with this solid thing digging into my shoulder blades.

No time to focus on the air suddenly feeling thinner. Claustrophobia can wait, escaping comes first. Calming breaths. In and out. Just like that therapist taught you. Now isn’t the time to freak out. As quickly as the relief came it was stolen away, the click of a hatch then bright lights pouring in overwhelming me. Stinging my eyes and making me curse my decision to change orientation.

“My my what a naughty little bunny you are.” I’m squinting before I register a familiar tongue smooth as velvet invades my ears which only serves to piss me off. I’d know that voice anywhere.

“You’ve got to be kid—” He reaches in the space I created grabbing me by my immobilized arms and hoists me clear. I don’t make it easy for him thrashing and flailing with all of my strength.

“And here I was under the impression that absence would make the heart grow fonder. I have to say my feelings are hurt, after all the trouble I went through you don’t seem all that excited to see me.”

“That’s the understatement of the century, you psycho! I won’t even ask how you managed to escape custody and lock me”— my eyes slide to where I’d been temporarily held by my ex-boyfriend— “You locked me in the trunk of my car!?!” My voice reached new octaves of outrage, hopefully I burst his eardrums.

I finally make out my cranberry red 1970 Chevelle sitting solitary in what looks like a cleared out storage unit. The limp body of the bartender who’d been sending me drinks all evening disjointed like a marionette to fit in the front of my boot. That’s one mystery solved into my circumstances I suppose. I can’t decide what I’m more pissed about, that Adrian is back, that he locked me in the trunk with a dead guy or that I’ll have to commit to some serious elbow grease to clean those stains out of my car.

He’s smart enough not to give me a moment to regroup as he pulls a hook down from the ceiling securing it to the rope on my ankles before hoisting me upside down like a cow in a butchery. Of course his smarts were never a part of the problem when we were together. That would be the fact that he’s a controlling narcissist.

I can see the coppery red staining my curly blonde hair in the series of mirrors lining the wall opposite me. That explains the headache. Thank god I opted for a sports bra and fitting crop top rather than something more flashy for drinks.

“You know, when I asked that guy to spike your drink he didn’t bat an eye. He was almost excited to help me, hardly needed the thousand bucks I offered him for his assistance.” Adrian spoke twirling what looks like the knife I keep in my left shoe in his hands.

“Now I won’t feel as bad when I’m burning what’s left of him from the upholstery I’ll need to destroy.”

“You always did have a special sense of humor. Thinking you’ll make it out of here. It’s one of the things I love about you Bunny.”

“To love you’d have to be capable of human emotions and we both know that’s not something you can do so why don’t we skip all the filler and you just tell me what you really want from me.”

“What else could you give me Bunny? You left your father’s legacy behind in LA. Thought you’d change states and make a new name for yourself here in Texas. You had all those people eating out of your hands back home. Convincing them you were just a poor manipulated victim and not a major player. I want revenge Bunny.”

“Well it wasn’t hard when I could use the detective my father had on the take as leverage. You idiots made the ‘too many bad men’ angle easy. The fact that you’re even standing here just proves the system is broken.”

“I befriended a guard and convinced him to spring me. Helps that he hated his home life. He was convince we’d go on the run that’d end in us going out in a blaze of glory. Almost wish I didn’t have to snap his neck.”

“Yeah Adrian that must have been really tough for you.”

“You helped me cultivate that relationship you know? I told him I had a girl but she ran off with my kid and everything I owned.”

“You lied to him just like you lied to everyone else you’ve ever come across in your life?”

“It wasn’t a lie. That money you stole before you turned your daddy in was like a baby to me. I raised it, helped it grow, and you took it. Now you’re going to tell me where it is. Who knows maybe if you throw in what you’ve earned from your extracurriculars I may keep you around. See I’ve been watching you for a while Bunny. I know you’re back up to your old tricks. ”

“It seems so are you because you still have that habit of being an obsessive stalker. Guess both of our old habits die hard.” I try to remain as cool as possible but with the blood rushing to my head I know its a matter of time for I pass out.

The shrill sound of my alarm fills the space. It must be eight in the morning. Now that could work.

“Hey Adrian, if we’re going to keep playing this game I’m going to need to take my meds. Thanks to all the love I got from you and daddy dearest I found myself in ther—”

“You think I don’t know that! I told you Bunny I know all about you little rehabilitation kick and your therapy. I know that pretty little doctor lady put you on a script for Xanax to cope with your anxiety. I know everything there is to know about you Bunny.”

He finished his rant by lodging my blade into my shoulder. It takes everything in me not to scream as warm blood trickles from the wound onto the floor. I refuse to shove fear or weakness to this lunatic.

“I even know you keep your pills in your glove box and since I’m so nice and I want us to play as long as possible I’ll give them to you.”

His form retreats to my passenger side and he returns holding my pill bottle. The cap clatters as he abandons it on the floor. He takes one and holds it out for me to feed out of his palm probably convinced I’d try to bite his finger, smart because I would. Then like I knew he would he empties a few into his palm and throws them back. It isn’t until I’m sure he swallows them that I spit mine across the room.

“What the—”

“I do have a script for Xanax but I wouldn’t take that stuff. Now a street version of Ambian I’d definitely manufacture and sell that.”

“Bunny you—” his words are cut off by his bodies thud to the floor. He’ll be unconscious for a while which will give me plenty of time to get out of this. I begin swinging taking advantage of the momentum I create. Once I’m free I’ll have two bodies to bury in the desert. Just great.