The Dog, The Baby and The Criminal

Chapter 7

Evangeline

I've been laying in this bed for at least half an hour now. In that half an hour I took it upon myself to distract myself from the sheer agony in my arms and legs and look around the obnoxiously large bedroom. The walls were a plain cream colour, with beige curtains hanging from above them, drawn over the huge wall length windows. The floor is shiny, brown, wooden flooring  with a white fur rug in the middle of the room. The bed was a king size, white wooden bed with thick, fluffy pillows plumped up behind me and a thick duvet, the sheets a beige colour. A white set of drawers and wardrobe were pushed against the far wall, a 40" flat screen tv positioned in between them. There were two white oak doors, one I assumed was a bathroom, and the other the one we came in through.

Once I had looked at every nook and cranny of the room that was bigger than my apartment. I was brought back to reality and the horrid pain that was currently shooting through my arms and legs. Well this is great. I was at a loss, I don't think it would be very a good idea to try and get up to take a look at my legs, but then I don't know how long I would be stuck in this room for either. I could wriggle out of my jeans while I'm in this bed, but what if someone walks in? What if he walks in?

Truth be told, I would much rather lay here in agony for the next week than risk him walking in while I'm in such a vulnerable state. He seems so cruel, malicious even. I hadn't even met him 48 hours ago and he had already screamed at me, drugged me, had me tied to a chair so tight that I could barely walk, and literally slapped me so hard because I told him I found his son, not kidnapped him, why would I want to kidnap him anyway?

He terrifies me if I'm being honest. Instead of asking me questions like a normal person, he took me from my home against my will and hurt me. The irony was really something, he thought I had kidnapped his son, but really the only person that had been kidnapped was me, the one that saved his son. How paranoid could a person be? There was only one other person I had met in my life with such deep rooted paranoia, and that was my ex, the man who had done unspeakable things to me and took away my child. I had escaped a man like that just to end up in the clutches of another.

Could my life get any worse?

I'm feeling sorry myself.

And feeling sorry for myself won't do anything to help me right now. I have to be strong and get back to Milo. With this thought in mind, I slowly shuffled to the edge of the bed, careful not to put to much pressure anywhere, and threw my legs over the side. I can do this. I slowly pushed my hands into the bed, wincing at the shooting pains in my arms and wrists. I've felt worse pain. I put my feet on the floor and pushed myself off of the bed. As soon as the pressure was back on my feet, I almost fell back on to the bed, the pain was unbearable. I stumbled backwards slightly, but I managed to steady myself on the bedframe. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain, tears rolled down my cheeks but I took a few deep breaths and stood myself up straight. Be strong. I moved a foot forward a step and burning pain shot up my leg. I moved the other foot and the same happened again. I almost collapsed. I wanted to fall onto the floor. I just had to remind myself I've been through worse pain, I can do this. I took small, slow steps towards the door that I'm praying is a bathroom.

After at least 5 minutes of struggling and limping I finally got there. I slumped against the door taking a few more deep breaths before opening it. A bathroom, thank God!

I walked inside, locking the door shut behind me. I made my way to the toilet as fast I could, I pushed my jeans down, hissing in pain as the fabric scratched against my wounds, and quickly did my business. After that, I did some weird manoeuvres were I somehow closed the toilet seat while still staying sat down. I pushed my jeans all the way off and started to take a look at my legs.

They look bad. The skin from my ankles to my knees was a mess. The tightness of the ropes around my legs had caused bad friction burn. Blisters littered the skin, the majority of them had popped, random splatters of blood covered the skin around the popped blisters. Were there weren't blisters, the skin was a deep red shade with bruising coming through. Some parts of my skin had started to split and crack from the severe friction burn. Horrid.

I reached over the sink to the left of me and grabbed a white cloth. I ran it under the cold water and brought it to me. I pushed up the sleeves of my jumper and started to clean up my wrists, I started rubbing the cloth up and down my wrists, soothing the burning pain in them. Once I had finished that I rinsed out the cloth and brought it back over to me. I looked between the cloth and my legs for a few minutes debating whether the pain would be worth bothering to clean them up.

Better get this over with. I slowly brought the cloth down to my legs, crying out in pain when it touched the skin. Tears of pain once again rolled down my cheek as I started running the cloth up and down my left leg. By the time I had finished, the only difference was there was no random splatters of blood and the white cloth was now a red cloth. I have to admit, the cold water did help numb the pain slightly, but now I had taken it away my leg hurt even more than before.

I reached over the sink again and started to rinse out the cloth again, fully intending to start on my other leg. But before I could there was a knock on the door.

I froze.

There was another knock, a louder one this time though. "Evangeline? Are you in there?" The all too familiar deep voice yelled from the other side of the door. I gulped, frozen in fear. I really don't want to face him right now.

"Evangeline?!" He boomed. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"W-what?" god I sound pathetic.

I'm sure I heard him sigh in relief, "I've brought a doctor to look at your wounds, could you come out please?" He sounded almost gentle.

I took a deep breath, do I go out there? What if he just ties me up again? You're being stupid Evie, you need help, I told myself.

I did need help, there was no way I could treat my legs in here with a wet cloth, they'll only end up getting infected.

"Evangeline?" He said worriedly. "I-I'll be right out". I tried to pull my jeans up but as soon the material touched my wounds, it felt like I was dragging sand paper up my legs. Great, just great. There was no way I could get them up.

Now what am I supposed to do? I'm not going out there with my jeans around my ankles, but I couldn't get my jeans up. I sighed, weighing out my options, there wasn't even a robe anywhere in the bathroom I could use. I decided to suck it up and ask for help, kind of.

"Erm S-sir?" I tried to shout, although my voice was barely higher than a whisper. "What is it?" He sounds impatient. "I-I need a robe or some shorts or something". There was a pause for a minute or two until I heard another knock on the door.

I pushed myself up off of the toilet seat and limped my way over to the door. I unlocked it and opened it a crack, grabbing some black basket ball shorts and a white robe, shutting the door again after me. I quickly pulled up the shorts, rolling the waistband over a few times so they wouldn't fall down and tied the robe around my waist.

One everything was secure I stood as straight as I could on my wounded legs and took a deep breath.

Time to face him.

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1489 words, slightly shorter than usual ☹

Who's POV do you like more? Dominic's or Evangeline's?

Thanks for reading! Things are going to start getting dramatic after this chapter. ;)