Determined To Live (22 page)

Then I carry his
food, utensils, and napkin in. He gives me a short distracted,
"Thanks," without taking his eyes from the laptop screen.
I'm actually surprised I even got a thanks, although I could care
less whether I did or didn't.

I go back and clean
the kitchen. While I'm washing the dishes, I stare out the window at
the storm - foolishly spacing out - so when Jake kicks my one good
leg and I crash to the floor, I had no idea it was coming. Covered in
soap and water, I look up at Jake while rubbing the fire out of my
arm, which caught the edge of the counter went I went down.

"How
the hell am I supposed to eat that damn steak with no knife? Are you
stupid?"
Apparently
I am.

Why don't you
get one of the knives you hid, you moron? Why don't you use your
pocket knife? Why don't you pick the damn thing up and eat with your
nasty fingers?

But
of course I don't say any of that. I just shake my head and
apologize, over and over.
God,
I hate him. I hate being weak. But mostly, I just hate myself.

All
this happened because of me. Because of the dumb shit I've done. Like
becoming involved with Jake - even if we hadn't had sex, I never
should have allowed it to go as far as I did - believing Will's
judgment of Jake was based on jealousy alone, and then separating
myself from everyone who loved me and running off.

I totally
deserve everything I'm going through now. Totally deserve it all.

"There
are no knives in here. I'm sorry. I should have made something else,"
I tell him, and prepare as best I can for the pain of that too being
my fault.
Which
I guess in a roundabout way, it is.
Because
if I had a knife...

Jake waves his hand
at me in disgust and stomps back to the other room. Once I'm able to
get back up, I clean the water and soap suds off the floor and
counter where it had splashed and been flung right along with my
body, then finish the dishes. But I don't allow myself to relax; I
keep my eyes and ears open this time.

I
go to the doorway and look over to see Jake eating his steak, a
frikken
knife
in his hand. He looks up and, I'm sure, catches my look of disbelief
I'm too slow to hide. He grins and pops another bite of steak in his
mouth.

I'm
in disbelief
not
because he actually has a knife, but because my slow brain just
realizes he's to the point of making shit up to beat me for. It's
become a game;
fun
for him. Now, no matter how much I try to please him and keep my
mouth shut, it's not going to matter.

I
tear my eyes away from his cocky grin and turn away, then I
ease
myself back down on the sofa and just wait. I study him, and can
clearly see his appearance is the same as yesterday: pale, red
cheeks, and sweating.

When he finally
finishes eating, I struggle to get up from the sofa, but apparently I
can't move as fast as he wants me to. His plate comes flying across
the room and just barely misses my head. I hear his loud disgusting
laughter follow me to the kitchen as I once again gather what I need
to clean up the glass and leftover food. Finished with that, and his
dishes washed, I'm exhausted and ready for bed. The storm and
gloominess outside doesn't help the exhaustion.

I go in and start
pulling on the sofa, amazed at how difficult it is to get out
compared to putting it back in. Of course Jake doesn't help. He just
sits and watches me fight with the damn thing and laughs. When I give
a hard tug, it jumps free and throws me back - off-balance and
straight on my ass. My ass hurts, my hands hurt from catching myself,
and of course every other part of me hurts. The bastard laughs even
harder.

Extreme
pain is becoming my natural state; I wonder how nice it would feel to
not hurt for once.

I crawl back to the
bed, using it to pull myself up. Then I straighten the blankets and
throw the pillows on top. As I sit down on the bed, I can't stop the
sigh that escapes my lips. I lie down and cover my body with the
blanket as my head sinks into the pillow. Closing my eyes, I will my
body to relax and to stop hurting so badly.

But my body isn't
going to let me relax with Jake awake. And my
mind
sure as hell won't. When I hear the chair creak and his footsteps
come my way, my eyes fly open. He comes next to the bed and stands
over me, and my body tenses up even more, expecting pain.

"Comfy?"

No, but I could
be if you'd disappear...for good.

Not gonna
happen,
I think, as he
strips naked and climbs into bed.

This is how it goes
for the next four days. He leaves most of the day and I cook, clean,
and get beat. The violent sex increases to include mornings, and even
afternoons when he returns. I've learned to sleep as much as I can
because he won't give me the time I need to heal. One day he didn't
beat me at all, but my body still felt like he had because I was so
tensed-up from waiting and expecting it. His appearance now includes
dark circles around his eyes and blotchy skin. His fever is still
very high.

On the last day, he
surprises me when he wakes me from the deep sleep of my nap and
announces we're leaving...
right
now
.

Terror
fills my body as I realize that, even though I didn't want my family
to find me, a small part of me
did
want them to. But in my dreams,
they
won.
They
lived, not Jake.

But going so far
away where they have no hope of finding me shatters any dreams, any
hopes, no matter how unrealistic they are. I swallow the sobs wanting
desperately to escape, because all that will get me is just more
abuse.

I pull my body up
out of the bed and grab my shoes and socks. Then I pick up the
fatigues I'd gotten out several days ago, dreading having to ask Jake
to cut them for me. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out
slowly, I go in search of him. Surprisingly, he does nothing more
than take it from me, cut it, and hand it back...all with a "loving
and caring" attitude. I stand and stare at him for a few moments
before I scream at myself to get the hell out before he snaps.

I thank him, turn,
and haul ass back to the other room. After I get my sock and shoe on,
I stuff the other sock inside the shoe I can't wear and leave it on
the floor. Jake has been coming in and out of the back rooms with box
after box, setting them by the door. He brings in a small grocery bag
and puts my shoe with the sock inside. Then ties it and hands it to
me to carry. I slip the loops over my wrist and stay seated, waiting
and watching.

He opens the door
to the hall, disappears briefly, then reappears with a large cart. He
loads the boxes on the cart, and then motions for me to follow him as
he pushes the cart down the hall. I use the wall to keep my balance
with my free hand, and hop way faster than my body can handle, as I
stare daggers into the back of Jake's head. When he stops abruptly
and turns to me, I hop a few times in place quickly to keep from
falling. I look up at him, expecting to see anger, but he looks
concerned instead.

"Honey,
I'm sorry. I know you have to be tired from all that jumping around."
I'm
not jumping, I'm hopping.
There's
a difference...sort of.

I can't respond
because I'm too busy sucking in air, and wiping the sweat off my
face. He comes over to me and gently grabs hold of my arm and leads
me to the cart. Then he picks me up with both hands on my waist, and
sets me on top of the cart.

Aww, how sweet.
Now what are you going to do? Ram me into a wall? Slam me into a
doorway? Knock the cart over with me on it? Push me down the stairs?

But
incredibly all he does is push the cart, being extra careful that I
not
get hurt.
As
I said before, I believe this Jekyll and Hyde shit is worse than him
being full-time Hyde.
At
least then I know what to expect.

When we reach the
stairs, he spends a moment coming up with a plan on how to get both
me and the cart down without leaving me alone at either end.
As
if I'd have a chance in hell of getting very far, either way.
Finally, I suggest that I go down the concrete stairs beside him on
my butt.
It will hurt like
hell, but just standing here while Mr.
Brains figures something out
isn't too pleasant on me either.

He agrees and then
does something to the bottom of the cart that make the wheels
disappear up inside it so that now he can slide it down the stairs
easily.

With
his body strength
alone
,
he's able to control the huge cart loaded with the boxes of food,
clothes, and other items easily.

Does that give
you any idea of the kind of hurt that bastard has put on me?

My ass is on fire
by the time we make it to the bottom so I stand and rub my butt while
Jake puts the wheels back down, then he picks me back up and sets me
on the cart again. We reach the front door, but he keeps right on
going. The bangs on the door intensify when the undead, just on the
other side, see us. Jake wheels us down the hall, turns down another
hall, and then one more turn until we are at the back door. I can't
hear any sounds from the other side of this door, but it won't take
them long to come for us. I know there's a small cement slab just
outside the door, with metal handrails on each side that extend about
eight feet.

Can't wait to
see how he plans to get us out of this.

But I watch in
astonishment as he walks right up to the door and throws it open. A
scream is stuck in my throat, but dies when I see that he's made some
kind of metal tunnel between the back door and all down the metal
railing. At the other end, the tunnel wall goes right up to the
truck, and the two passenger side doors of the truck are safely
inside the wall.

So this must be
what he's been up to when he's left me alone upstairs.

"This
barricade is only a temporary thing so it's not held together real
well. We're going to have to hurry and be very quiet, alright?"
I nod. "You get in the front while I put this shit in, then get
out so I can get in the driver's seat." I nod again and start to
slide off the cart when he grabs my arm tight and digs his fingers
into the sensitive inner flesh. "Don't even think about trying
anything. Keep the door open."

I hadn't planned
to jackass!

Only because I
didn't think of it.

I nod and he lets
me go. I get off the cart and hop as quietly as I can to the truck,
open the door, and get inside. All the windows that are exposed to
the outside are covered in dark plastic material that I can't see out
of, and the undead can't see in. I can hear them, though. The moans
and grunts of the zombies send enough terror through a person without
even having to see them. Just the knowledge that only one bite can
turn you into a monster who feasts on the flesh of the living, with
no regard for the love you might have for the person you're about to
devour, is enough.

Jake loads box
after box, and I have a few moments of real fear every time one of
the undead hit or bump into the truck. The noise seems deafening,
although with the bullet-proof material of the truck's body and
windows, it can't be as loud as it seems.

Finally, Jake
closes the side door as quietly as he can and pushes the cart away a
few feet. I get out so he can climb in, then I follow him back
inside. Once I have the door shut, he starts the truck, and the noise
outside gets a little louder and a little more intense - but when he
rips off the material covering his side window and the front window,
the zombies go nuts! Jake tears away from the makeshift tunnel before
they can group up and make it impossible to get through.

He orders me to
take the rest of the material off the windows I can reach. I do, but
I can only reach my side window and the side window directly behind
me. I ask him if he wants me to climb in the back to take all of the
others down and he tells me no, that he doesn't want me climbing all
over the boxes.

Actually, you
don't want me near the guns. Smart man. Damn it!

Jake drives to the
side gate and plows right through the few undead just coming in,
probably drawn inside by the increased noise of the ones who are
salivating for us already. When we make it through the gate, Jake
turns right and has us on the highway out of Kansas City within
fifteen minutes.