The Woman in the Trunk

Sleeping with my arm forced over my head and something over my mouth sounded miserable. Besides, this kind of place didn't seem like the kind of place that cared about screaming. After all, no one had come when I had cried out earlier.

"I won't scream," I offered as he reached out toward the nightstand with his free hand, turning on the TV, turning it up almost painfully loud, some old sitcom from the nineties playing.

"Good." He sighed again, something clearly weighing on him. And I wasn't generous enough of spirit to feel bad for my kidnapper, so I forced my lips shut, watching the characters that were vaguely familiar to me move across the screen. "Get some sleep, Gigi," he suggested what felt like a lifetime later, so long that I figured he'd already fallen asleep.

Eventually, with no other choice, I did.—I woke up to a very serious, very loud voice in my ear.

"You need to get off of me, Giana," Lorenzo's voice called, sounding sleep-rough, which was an entirely too good sound. And I was just barely conscious enough to appreciate that. "Giana, get off of me," he demanded again, voice more forceful.

That seemed to penetrate the curtain of sleep.

Get off of him?

As soon as the words sank in, started to make sense, it all came to me at once.

His breath on the top of my head.

His hard body underneath mine, stiff as a board.

His chest rising and falling under my cheek.

Oh, God.

God.

I'd crawled up on him in my sleep.

That was, well, completely humiliating.

I threw my body backward like he'd suddenly caught flame, feeling the cold of my side of the bed, realizing I must have been passed out on him for a while before either of us woke up to notice it.

"I... I never sleep on my back," I told him, embarrassed, needing to explain. "I'm a side sleeper. I... I'm not used to having someone next to me."

"I'd hope not," he agreed, voice tight, reminding me of my role. Sweet, innocent, high school senior.

"You don't have to be all pissy. I didn't mean to do it," I said, giving him the kind of sass I had been known for in my teens.

"I'm not pissy. It's just... never mind," he grumbled, folding upward, reaching into the nightstand to produce the handcuff key, freeing his wrist.

With that, he dragged me across the bed by my arm, cuffing me to his side of the bed, taking the key with him, and disappearing into the bathroom.

I couldn't be sure, but I was almost positive I heard him hiss out "fuck" as soon as he closed the door.

When he came out a couple minutes later, though, he was collected again, though he completely avoided looking at me, even when he un-cuffed me and told me to take my turn, that we were leaving.

He was all no-nonsense that morning, tossing all the food into the garbage, looking out the window, binding me, duct taping me again, checking outside one more time then dragging me outside and throwing me inside the trunk.

It was the only time I would say he was truly rough with me, my head whacking a bit off the outside of the trunk as I was pushed inside, hands shoving me into the depths, then nearly catching my foot in the door as he slammed it.

From there, it was just a lot of rolling around, trying to kick out my legs in such a way as to prevent me from slamming into the carpet-covered hard edges.

Time stood still.

It could have been minutes or hours.

My best bet was on hours.

The car stopped twice.

Once, it seemed, to get gas.

Another, I wasn't sure, but the car idled and Lorenzo cranked the music higher before the door slammed, seemingly leaving me for a few moments.

But with my arms bound behind my back, I was effectively useless.

Lorenzo got back in the car, the music turned lower, and we were moving one again.

Again, I lost track of time, but was pretty sure hours were passing before we idled again, before the music went deafening, before the door slammed and I was sure Lorenzo was leaving me on my own.

This time, I wiggled, hoping that I could get the car moving, could draw attention to me. I couldn't seem to get the position myself right to kick out the taillights, and even if I could, I didn't think I could get my hand out the opening, so the best bet was to make the car move enough that no one would confuse it for the bass in the music.

All I seemed to accomplish was tiring myself out, because before too long, the door was slamming and the car was peeling away again.

At some point, I was pretty sure I started dozing off, the soft rumble of the car on a road without many stops seemed to soothe me like it was known to do for small babies.