Kidnapped By Johnnie and Jake

Stitch Up

I looked at him as I tentatively sat down opposite, but he didn't make eye contact with me at all. He acknowledged Jake, but then continued reading his menu as if I wasn't there.

When Jake and Johnnie ordered breakfast, neither of them asked me what I wanted. Jake asked Kaycee, but he seemed to completely forget about me.

For a bit, while waiting for their food to arrive, Jake and Johnnie talked.

"I hardly slept last night because of this bullet wound," Johnnie murmured to Jake, so that the people on other tables wouldn't hear.

"Is it bad?" asked Jake.

"I think it'll be fine. I cleaned it with vodka, but it hurts like a bitch."

Then, they discussed other things, such as yesterday's events.

"I can't believe your fucking ex was working with those guys," said Jake.

His ex?!

"I know. Is working with them. I should've fucking shot her, but I ran out of time," said Johnnie.

"At least we cleared most their gang."

"The amount of times they must've been stalking us is insane."

And, when their food arrived, all of them began eating in front of me.

Why force me to attend a breakfast if I'm not allowed to have anything? It's not like I had access to any money. I had no wallet, no phone, no nothing. I just sat there as they ate.

After a while, I had enough. I scraped my chair out loudly and stood up, causing Johnnie to finally look at me, and then I walked away from the table. I didn't know what their reaction was behind me—if they looked like they'd leave me be, or if they'd follow me—but I stormed out of the building. If I couldn't enjoy a breakfast peacefully, neither could they.

Once I was outside in the open air, naturally, my eyes began scanning for ways to escape, people to ask for help. I suppressed those thoughts, though, remembering the conversation I'd had with Kaycee earlier: trying to escape never worked, but only made things worse.

Then, Johnnie approached me, looking fed up. "Get back inside," he said.

"No. Why?"

"Because I fucking said so. I can't trust you out here."

"Why are you being so cruel?" I asked.

"I'm not being cruel to you, I'm just not looking after you anymore. That means I'm not spending money on you, either. That's down to Jake now. If he doesn't do it, then that's your problem."

"So if I unwillingly starve to death, that's my fault?"

Johnnie sighed. "You made that decision. You wouldn't be in the situation if you'd just obeyed me. And you're not going to starve to death. We'll be back home soon, where you can make your own food. Now stop being so fucking dramatic."

"Well, can you at least ask Jake to spend his money on me?"

"You know what? You can just stay in the car," he said, reaching inside his pocket for the key and striding across the car park.

I followed him. I was glad about this; I'd way rather stay in the car, away from him and Jake and the awkwardness of watching them eat.

Once Johnnie reached it, he swung the door open angrily and stood holding it while staring at me, waiting for me to catch up.

I got in, and, deep down, I almost hoped he'd get in the car with me, or say something to me, but he simply slammed the door and headed back over to the restaurant.

*

Soon, Johnnie, Jake, and Kaycee returned to the car. Jake drove, and we were all silent for a while, until I heard Johnnie groaning from the front passenger seat.

"You okay, dude?" asked Jake.

"I don't know, I feel like I'm fucking dying."

Instantly, my heart began to speed up, and I leaned forward to see Johnnie's face. It was damp from sweat, his eyes were shut tight as if he was trying to deal with pain, and both of his hands were clasped over his stomach.

"We're almost there," said Jake, pressing down on the accelerator.

I didn't ask Johnnie any questions. I didn't want him to know that I cared, especially now that he'd abandoned me.

*

Around fifteen minutes later, Jake parked the car outside a run-down looking building, and then he got out, walked to Johnnie's side of the car, put his arm around him, and led him down the front path. Now that they were out of the car, I turned to Kaycee. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Johnnie's wound started bleeding in the restaurant, like, a ton. He thought it was healing, but now he thinks it's infected or something."

I didn't know whether I should stay in the car or not, but I knew that if I didn't get out now, I wouldn't be able to catch up with them before they entered the house, so I quickly jumped out and ran to the front door. Johnnie looked over at me for a second, but his expression didn't change, and then he looked straight back at the door.

Jake knocked once more, and then the door opened up. A guy who looked around his late twenties, with cornrows in his hair, and cargo trousers on his legs, was stood behind it. "Yo," he said. Then, he noticed the blood which had soaked Johnnie's shirt. "Oh, shit," he added, before ushering us all inside, apart from Kaycee, who was still in the car.

He led us down a dank stairwell into a cluttered basement. In the basement was an elevated bed covered in a stained, mostly white blanket, which appeared to be used as a shady operating table. There were also shelves stocked up with questionable-looking bottles of drugs with handwritten labels on the fronts. Many counters were covered in various silver-coloured operating tools, with bottles of alcohol beside them for sanitising.

After taking this all in, I quite felt for Johnnie. It was so sketchy, and it must've been nerve racking, but then again, it was his decision. He'd put himself in the position where he couldn't even go to a normal hospital because he'd chosen this lifestyle.

Without being told to, Johnnie pulled his shirt off and led down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as if he was trying to find something to distract himself from the pain.

The man instantly approached him and began inspecting the gunshot wound. "Shit's infected," he said. "Imma need to get some stitches in there and put you on a drip."

"Do what you have to," said Johnnie.

The man walked over to one of the counters near me to grab a bottle of alcohol and a piece of cloth. Then, he turned to me. "I'm Isaac, by the way, nice to meet you."

"I'm Brooke."

Isaac smiled at me before going back over to Johnnie and rubbing the cloth soaked with alcohol on his wound. Johnnie winced when he did so.

But that was nothing compared to when Isaac started stitching up. Johnnie groaned at that part, his fists clenching so hard that his skin stretched white over his bones.

During this time, Jake had found a seat across the room, and watched the process in a serious manner, so I came and sat beside him. I supposed that Johnnie wasn't only his friend, but also his partner in crime—they needed each other.

After Isaac had finally wired Johnnie up to an IV drip through a vein in his hand, using some very outdated-looking equipment, he came over to join me and Jake.