protested, but it was enough for him to snatch up the pack of smokes and a lighter from the table.
Andreas had been kind enough to leave a glass of water on the wooden nightstand, so Remy figured it'd be his ashtray.
He lit up the smoke and ran a hand through his messy hair. A gentle breeze hit his naked torso, reminding him he didn’t have any clothes here. He was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts, but perhaps his kidnapper was getting him some more?
The irony seeped into him, but instead of finding it funny, dread filled him. More guilt, too. He was complaining about his friends keeping him away from drugs and alcohol; meanwhile, the men who had been kidnapped by his half brother more than three years ago…they knew real suffering.
As it often did, the guilt threatened to crush him, which was exactly why he preferred to stay intoxicated.
The sound of wheels crunching on rocky dirt outside made him push away those thoughts for now, and he kept his eyes trained on the door until Andy entered the cabin with two duffel bags and a white table fan.
"I see you haven't chewed off your leg to escape." Andy gave him a mild look on his way over to the corner cabinets by the fridge and the small sink. He stuffed the cupboards with everything from clothes and soap to blankets and water. "If you succeed, you can always walk down to the campsite, sell your ass for a few bucks, and take the bus to LA."
Remy didn’t take the bait. Didn’t show that it stung because it was well-deserved. "How long are you planning on keeping me here?"
"As long as it takes." Andy shrugged and sat down at the table, twisting the cap off a bottle of Coke. He also followed Remy's lead and sparked up a smoke. Menthols . Gross. "I won't be here all the time—I got the studio and my girl, too."
Right. Remy had almost forgotten Andy's fiancée. Last he heard, she was pregnant. "You can always let me go right now."
Andy's mouth quirked up. "'Cause you've been doin' such a bang-up job on your own."
"Depends on what the goal is."
Andy nodded with a dip of his chin. "Well, our goals aren't the same. I don’t give a flying fuck if you're stuck out here for months. You're gonna get all the toxins outta your system, get rid of the worst of the itch, and stop putting your friends through hell."
Months? Try, until breathing wasn’t a chore.
And Remy was a Stahl, wasn’t he? Putting people through hell was evidently what they did. "For the record, I haven't had a fucking drink in over a week now, and—"
"And who can you thank for that?" Andreas shot at him.
Remy gnashed his teeth and continued. "Secondly, I'm not your responsibility."
"We don’t want your death on our conscience, either." Andy looked tired, but no less ticked off. "It's one or the other, Rem. Guess which one we're going with." He shook his head and flicked away some ash into a miniature ceramic cup. "I know what you've been through, but what do you think those guys—the men who were taken by Ben—would think if they knew you were throwing away your life?" He leveled Remy with a serious look. "They had no choice. You, on the other hand, are wasting away willingly."
Remy knew Andy was right, but it didn’t erase the fact that Remy believed he was worthless. During his thirty years on this planet, he'd caused more hurt to people than he'd helped. He'd caused more pain than he'd done good.
"Send me to rehab." It was his last attempt to get away for now.
Andy smiled. "Do I look stupid? As far as I know, you haven't committed a crime, so they wouldn't exactly be able to detain you. You'd be free to leave whenever, and we can't have that."
Remy admitted defeat.
*
The whole day passed in silence.
Andy played with his phone, disappeared a few times to call Minna and his fiancée, prepared a few sandwiches for lunch and dinner, and flipped through a couple body-art magazines to pass time.
Remy did nothing, aside from take two bathroom breaks where Andy followed him like a
Andreas had been kind enough to leave a glass of water on the wooden nightstand, so Remy figured it'd be his ashtray.
He lit up the smoke and ran a hand through his messy hair. A gentle breeze hit his naked torso, reminding him he didn’t have any clothes here. He was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts, but perhaps his kidnapper was getting him some more?
The irony seeped into him, but instead of finding it funny, dread filled him. More guilt, too. He was complaining about his friends keeping him away from drugs and alcohol; meanwhile, the men who had been kidnapped by his half brother more than three years ago…they knew real suffering.
As it often did, the guilt threatened to crush him, which was exactly why he preferred to stay intoxicated.
The sound of wheels crunching on rocky dirt outside made him push away those thoughts for now, and he kept his eyes trained on the door until Andy entered the cabin with two duffel bags and a white table fan.
"I see you haven't chewed off your leg to escape." Andy gave him a mild look on his way over to the corner cabinets by the fridge and the small sink. He stuffed the cupboards with everything from clothes and soap to blankets and water. "If you succeed, you can always walk down to the campsite, sell your ass for a few bucks, and take the bus to LA."
Remy didn’t take the bait. Didn’t show that it stung because it was well-deserved. "How long are you planning on keeping me here?"
"As long as it takes." Andy shrugged and sat down at the table, twisting the cap off a bottle of Coke. He also followed Remy's lead and sparked up a smoke. Menthols . Gross. "I won't be here all the time—I got the studio and my girl, too."
Right. Remy had almost forgotten Andy's fiancée. Last he heard, she was pregnant. "You can always let me go right now."
Andy's mouth quirked up. "'Cause you've been doin' such a bang-up job on your own."
"Depends on what the goal is."
Andy nodded with a dip of his chin. "Well, our goals aren't the same. I don’t give a flying fuck if you're stuck out here for months. You're gonna get all the toxins outta your system, get rid of the worst of the itch, and stop putting your friends through hell."
Months? Try, until breathing wasn’t a chore.
And Remy was a Stahl, wasn’t he? Putting people through hell was evidently what they did. "For the record, I haven't had a fucking drink in over a week now, and—"
"And who can you thank for that?" Andreas shot at him.
Remy gnashed his teeth and continued. "Secondly, I'm not your responsibility."
"We don’t want your death on our conscience, either." Andy looked tired, but no less ticked off. "It's one or the other, Rem. Guess which one we're going with." He shook his head and flicked away some ash into a miniature ceramic cup. "I know what you've been through, but what do you think those guys—the men who were taken by Ben—would think if they knew you were throwing away your life?" He leveled Remy with a serious look. "They had no choice. You, on the other hand, are wasting away willingly."
Remy knew Andy was right, but it didn’t erase the fact that Remy believed he was worthless. During his thirty years on this planet, he'd caused more hurt to people than he'd helped. He'd caused more pain than he'd done good.
"Send me to rehab." It was his last attempt to get away for now.
Andy smiled. "Do I look stupid? As far as I know, you haven't committed a crime, so they wouldn't exactly be able to detain you. You'd be free to leave whenever, and we can't have that."
Remy admitted defeat.
*
The whole day passed in silence.
Andy played with his phone, disappeared a few times to call Minna and his fiancée, prepared a few sandwiches for lunch and dinner, and flipped through a couple body-art magazines to pass time.
Remy did nothing, aside from take two bathroom breaks where Andy followed him like a
Similar Books
