Legacy

Chapter 21: Stitches

When I wake up I yelp at the pain in my arm. I had rolled over in my sleep and put all of my weight on my broken bone. My eyes ache so I rub them with my thumb and forefinger. I yawn and tired tears seep out of my eyes as I look up.

I gasp and back up against the wall. Michael is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, staring at me and taking a slow drag off a cigarette. His eyebrow quirks as smoke shoots from his lips. I cover my cast with my good arm and stare right back at him.

How long has he been here?

Michael snorts and puts out the cigarette on the surface of the table. The only sound is the tiny hiss as the ash fizzles out and the sound of his nails as he scratches his chin. I bite down on my tongue as he stands up. He maintains eye contact while walking over to me.

It's hard to breathe steadily when Michael stands in front of me. He shoves his hands in his pockets and I move my eyes down to watch him rummage through them. When he finally removes his hands I hear the tinkle of his keys and stiffen.

I make no move to give him my ankle, and no move to pull away when he lifts it to unlock me. The shackle bounces on the mattress with a clack and Michael slides the keys back in his pocket.

Right as I open my mouth to say something, Michael has already turned his back to me and started walking back to his seat. I stretch my legs and wince at the stabbing pain in my thigh. My fingers brush over the tight bandage around my leg.

Michael clears his throat, causing my head to bolt back up. His eyes stare back at me before sliding over to the chair across from him and back to me.

I exhale carefully as I gingerly rise to my feet. The pain in my thigh gets worse and I swear that the gash is pulsing under the bandage. I have to limp over to the chair and whimper as I finally sit down.

My eyes stay glued to the table's surface. Those scorch marks from past cigarettes stare right back at me. We sit in pure silence for what feels like minutes. I peer up every once in awhile to see Michael not even stealing a glance at me.

I hear the flick of his lighter a good three times before the smell of smoke fills the air.

Why isn't he saying anything? Screaming? Yelling? Punishing me? Bending me over this table? Cutting me until I lose more blood than I can legally donate?

This much silence is impossible to sit through.

"How many of those have you had today?" My voice is no less croaky than it was last night. I force my eyes up to look at him, keeping all emotion from my face.

Michael takes a puff and sighs. "This is my fourth one today." He drags a hand through his hair. "It's almost noon." A snort escapes his lips. "You really stressed me out, September."

I flinch as he tosses a newspaper onto the table and taps an article with his finger. "I have a buddy. He thinks I collect tragic news articles. Thought you'd wanna see this." He slides the paper over to me. "Read it for me, willya," Michael says.

A picture of me from the high school yearbook smiles at nothing. The words above it make me suck in a breath. I begin to read: "Local Teen Assumed Dead. Authorities Call Off Search."

Michael grins. "Keep going. It gets better."

I gulp and read further. "September Walker, reported missing last month, has disappeared seemingly without a trace along with her father, Matthew Walker." Tears begin to well in my eyes and Michael nudges my leg with his foot. "Mason Lee, a friend of September, has made claims about multiple accounts of  relentless physical abuse from the father to the daughter, and believes that she is still alive and out there somewhere."