REMI
Ilaunch myself toward the door leading to the garage, but I’m not quick enough, and Gage scoops me up into his arms.
I fight with every ounce of energy I have, throwing elbows, knees, pulling his hair, but he twists me effortlessly, binding my wrists.
“I fucking hate you!” I scream.
“Good,” he replies nonchalantly as he grabs each of my fingers one at a time, looking at them intensely.
“You sick fuck!” I spit at him, mad at myself for not being able to muster a loogie.
“If you think this is sick, you’re in for a real shock when you find out what else I’m going to do to you.”
“You fucking asshole!”
When he’s satisfied, he brings my hands over my head, stretching them high so he can hook the slack of my bindings through an eyelet.
He goes to a bag and pulls out a long hunting knife.
“P-please! I’ll do anything you ask!”
“Will you calm the fuck down so I can begin the inspection?”
“Inspection?”
“You hide out the entire apocalypse until suddenly you decide to reach out. Could be because you’re out of food. Could be because you are bit and scared, and don’t want to die alone.”
“You think I’m bit?”
“Not really, but it’d be negligent of me not to check.”
“And you can’t check without chaining me to the goddamn ceiling?”
“I’ve seen men get scared during inspection and try to get the jump on their inspector.”
“Oh, you’re scared of me!” I say mockingly.
He says nothing.
“Why do you need the knife?”
“To remove your clothes.”
“I have to be naked? That’s just…it’s—”
“I know you’re worried that I’m some type of sick fuck. Let me assure you—I am.”
I tremble as he draws closer, knife readied.
“Please don’t do this!”
He grabs the collar of my shirt and yanks it out, placing the blade inside and pulling it to him, slicing it down its center. Then he makes short work of the sleeves, and a moment later, the tattered remains fall to the floor.
“Please, not my bra!”
SLICE.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the humiliation.