Read Online Stained by Cheryl Rainfield - Free Book Online

now to console them.
    I slam my head against the door. If they can’t see through him, then no one will know where I am. No one will know what happened to me.

SARAH
    A BIRD BEGINS TO chirp like nothing’s happened, an inane chirp that makes me want to scream.
    I wrap my arms around myself and try to keep from losing it. The need to pee is getting worse. I can’t believe I have to; not right now. I’ve got to escape! But how can I, when I can’t even open the door? And there’s no one around to find me even if I did. I know that now. Brian wouldn’t have taken the chance of removing my gag if he thought someone could hear me scream. I must be far away from people. Very far.
    I wonder if they’ve found my backpack yet. If Mom is crying over it, if Dad is pacing up and down the hall. I wonder if Charlene’s instant messaged me, or if she even knows I’m missing.
    I sniff back tears. There’s no one in the world who knows where I am except Brian—and he’s not going to tell. There’s just him—and me. And no one will ever think to look at him. If they look at anyone, it will be Bad Boy. After what he did today, he’s the most obvious suspect. All anyone will remember about Brian, if they think about him at all, is how he saved me. No one will ever find me.
    No. I can’t die in this shack. There’s got to be something I can use to help me. Something he overlooked.
    I get down on my hands and knees and slowly move forward, sweeping the floor with my hands. My fingers touch the stiff cotton, and I jerk my hand away and keep going in as straight a line as I can without being able to see—all the way to the wall. I repeat this until I’ve covered the entire room.
    I lean my head back. There is nothing here except the down comforter. This is a holding tank, a prison. Nothing more.
    I have to pee so badly now that it hurts. I shift uncomfortably. My abdomen, my crotch, even the muscles at the top of my thighs all hurt. There’s nowhere to go, no toilet—and I am not taking my jeans off when he could be standing outside watching, waiting for me to make myself vulnerable. I’ve been trying to ignore the pressure, but the pain is getting bad.
    I clench my fists. “I can control this. Mind over matter.”
    But the pressure builds, and I have to let go. I feel relief as warmth spreads across my jeans and down my legs, and the pain subsides.
    And then I feel the cold, wet fabric against my legs. It’s all I feel.
    I haven’t peed myself since I was little and got scared watching
Star Wars.
Mom cleaned me up and didn’t even get mad. I want to hear her and Dad’s voices so badly, want them to tell me it’s okay, that I will get out of here.
    I slide down to the floor. I need to cry, but I won’t let myself give in. I think of Mom, of the way she’s always so positive no matter how bad things get, and I draw that strength to me.
    I
will
get out of here.
    I’m starting to feel the cold in my toes and fingers, and deep in my core. I shudder. What’s positive about my situation? There has to be something.
    I guess I’m lucky I have shelter, that he didn’t tie me up outside, and that he left me my down coat and the comforter. There. I can do this positive-thinking thing when I have to. I draw my knees up to my chest and hug myself, trying to keep warm.
    But I’m not just cold. I’m fiercely thirsty. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow. I wish I had something, anything, to drink. Orange juice, root beer, chocolate milk—I want them all. Hot chocolate, tea—I’d even take coffee, though I hate its bitter taste. I can’t believe I actually stood in the grocery store last week and argued with Mom over which brand of juice to buy. Right now I’d take anything, even the store brands that never taste as good. I try not to swallow.
    I read once that a person can go for forty days