I wake suddenly, every thought in high definition. My eyes take in the bright rays of sunlight and without a doubt I know I've slept too long. My eyes flit around, taking in my surroundings. Outside the window there is still a steady stream of cars flowing past on both sides of the van, so we're still driving. In the center console, there are two empty coffee cups, and by the haggard look on Damien's face, that's the only recharge he's gotten.

Speaking of the devil, Damien turns to glance at me. His eyes pass over my face, but stop when they see that my eyes are open. "Ah. Perfect. Now that sleeping beauty's awake, I can finally get some sleep."

I flush at his comment. I know I've been asleep for a while, but it's no hundred years.

Damien pulls the van off of the freeway, deftly weaving through the maze of cars until he gets to the exit. We pull into a seedy looking motel: the letters on the sign, the ones that aren't burnt out at least, spell out OEL SHMTEL. I'm pretty sure that it was meant to say MOTEL SCHMOTEL, but I'm not sure that is any better.

Damien jumps out of the van, slamming the door behind him. The metal shudders its disapproval at how harshly he left, and I find myself agreeing. My door swings open, and I would have fallen out of the van in surprise if I wasn't seatbelted. My face flames hotly, and I unbuckle my seatbelt with my nose in the air. I have to keep some dignity after all.

Damien smirks as I hop down from my seat, and I know that I'm not fooling him with my fake dignity. I sit on the ground and let him cut the zip ties from my feet. My shoulders relax and I try to march into the motel. I might be able to retain some dignity. Damien stops me by digging his fingers into my shoulder. I wince. For a guy, Damien has some wickedly sharp nails. They might even be stilettos. I try to turn and get a peek at his other hand, but that causes him to grip my shoulder even harder.

I freeze. What's going to happen? He wouldn't kill me, would he... at least not in public, right? Can you call an empty parking lot public? The only people who could possibly see you are the ones who gave it the stench of cigarettes.

"I did not say that you were free to walk away from me Kyla." The words are hissed, so quietly that I can barely hear him. He grasps my arm even tighter, and I feel something warm trickling down my skin.

I swallow a gasp at the pain that runs through my arm. Something tells me that any noise I make right now could get me killed.

Damien cold stare bores into my face. "You do what I say. You don't think until I tell you to, breathe until I tell you to. You do what I say, when I say it. No more, no less." He brings his face very close to mine, our noses almost touching. If this was another person closer to my age, we might look like we were about to kiss. He exhales a long breath smelling of coffee.

"Do you understand me Kyla? Because if you don't, it could get very bad for you." He punctuates each of his words with a squeeze of my arm. A tear falls unbidden from my eye. I nod sadly.

His fingers are removed from my arm, and I lift the sleeve up carefully. My eyes close at the sight. My arm is already starting to bruise, mottled splotches of purple on my flesh. I lift the sleeve up even higher, and I see the bloody grooves from his nails. I put the sleeve back down carefully and bite back my tears.

"Come along Kyla. It's high time we got some rest. Wouldn't want anything to escape us."

You mean that you don't want me to escape you abusive jerk, I think bitterly. You couldn't bear to let your precious prize disappear, now could you.

***

The lady at the reception desk barely spares us a passing glance, too engrossed in her phone to see my pleading eyes, or the murderous look on Damien's face. She hands us the keys, and I thought I saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes as her gaze swept over the two of us. It's gone as soon as it appears, though, and her attention returns to her screen. My only chance of escape, ripped away by social media.

Damien marches me up the stairs to the room. We walk past the doors set into the walls, everything covered in the same peeling grey paint. The doors and walls must be thin, because I can hear everything going on in the rooms. An argument in 14, television in 12, and....something in room 7. We make it to our room.

Damien fixes me with a glare and I stay still as he unlocks the door. The door swings open to hit me with a smell of tuna fish. I wrinkle my nose as I step in. I look around the room, cataloguing its contents. One dresser, a crooked picture of a sailboat hanging above the headboard of the single bed, and an armchair that actually looks decent. A stained carpet, and another door, probably leading to the bathroom.

The realization hits me. There's only one bed. Not even a bed that could comfortably fit two people. No, this is a twin bed. The only way for two people to fit on it would be to...no. No no no. I frantically look around the room for another place to sleep. My gaze lands on the armchair.

That'll work. Should I go over and claim it now, or wait until he tells me to do something. My arm throbs, and I have my answer. I clasp my hands behind my back and stand with perfect posture. All you'd have to do is put me in a uniform and I'd be the picture of a Catholic schoolgirl.

Damien's voice breaks into my thoughts. "Kyla."

I turn to face him. "Yes, Damien?"

His face breaks into a grin at my words. He's probably happy that I'm following his ridiculous rules. Well, if his happiness keeps me safe, then I'll kowtow to him all he wants.

"Where would you like to sleep? I'll be sleeping on the bed."

I study his face for any sign of a trick. I can't find anything. Not a twitch of an eye, a corner of the mouth raised. Nothing. I decide to stay on the safe side.

"I'm fine with sleeping wherever you want me to," I reply. I'm surprised my voice doesn't tremble.

"You must have some preference," he presses. He must actually be letting me choose.

I pause to look as though I'm giving it some thought. "Could I possibly sleep on the armchair? It looks very comfortable."

Damien grins again at how polite I'm being, or maybe he's just happy for some reason. His smile makes me want to vomit on his fancy shoes. "Of course. Are you sure you won't be too cold?"

"Oh no, I'm used to the cold. Thank you though." The sweet words taste like bitter poison on my tongue. What I really want to say is that nothing could be colder than his personality, but I quite like my life as it is thank you very much.

I curl up on the armchair, self conscious because I know he's watching me. I make sure to face away from him, pretending to be extremely interested in the stained grey wall. It's almost as if when they decorated this place they decided the color scheme was questionable stain and puke grey. If it was, then they did an admirable job.

I hear Damien relax on his bed, the bed springs creaking in protest under his weight. The noise is oddly comforting, maybe because it makes me feel like he's not watching me anymore.

I shouldn't be tired. I just woke up like an hour ago. My body doesn't seem to care though. It's definitely sending me signals telling me to sleep. I yawn and wrap my arms around my body. Might as well rest up. Who knows when Damien will let me sleep next. My eyes close and I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

My eyes snap open to see Damien's face above mine. I swallow a scream and force myself to smile at his leering face. "H-hello Damien." I can't stop the stutter in my trembling voice. I don't know what he's going to do to me.

"Hello Kyla." His smile widens, and I begin to tremble. "It's time to go. Do you need to freshen up? The bathroom is disgusting, but at least the water's clean."

Wait. He's not planning on doing anything to me? Damien clears his throat. "No. I don't think so. Thank you though."

Damien nods, and steps back to let me get off of the chair. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. "Well, if you don't feel like freshening up it's time to go. I've already paid at the desk, so all that's left to do is grab any stuff you might have and leave."

I make a show of looking around the room. "Nope, nothing here. Let's go."

Damien smiles, not a smirk, not a sneer. A genuine smile. What's up with this personality switch. "Lead the way little miss snarky."

I walk out the door and wait for Damien. He locks the door behind us then starts down the hallway. He spins the keys around his finger, humming under his breath. I'm dumbfounded. What happened to him? This can't be the same person who manhandled me for trying to walk away.

Something's up. But for right now, it can stay like this. I don't particularly like Nice Damien, but he sure seems to hurt me less.

***

We get into the car, and Damien doesn't even try to ziptie me. He must be in a really good mood. As the van pulls out of the motel parking lot, leaving a trail of exhaust in the cold morning air, I see a man peeking out from around the corner of the building. It looks like he's wearing a suit, but that can't be right. Nobody in a suit would waste money in a motel like this. They could stay in a hotel, or even in their car. Anything would be preferable to this shack.

I erase the man from my mind, brushing it off as a brief moment of paranoia.

I dig my hands into the soft leather of Damien's seat, trying to get warm. The heater doesn't work in this car, and despite my constant complaints, he won't stop the car to let me get a blanket. I've come to the conclusion that Nice Damien isn't even related to Mean Damien. Mean Damien would have beat me for asking for a blanket once, let alone 3 times.

I look out the window at the same rolling hills we've been driving through for an hour, the only difference the position of the sun, and the animals I see grazing along the side of the road. This time it's cows. Whoopdedoo. Shifting slightly in my seat, I glance at Damien as his hands tap an unsteady rhythm on the steering wheel.

.

I notice him check his rear-view mirror. "I thought we would be able to outrun them for a few more hours," he mutters, speeding up the car and weaving through traffic on the crowded highway like a maniac. I crane around in my seat to see a black van following us.

"Hey Damien. Who's that?" I ask nervously.

He looks at me, still driving at 100 miles per hour, and I have the sudden urge to shout at him to keep his eyes on the road. "Someone you don't want to meet, Kyla. Sit tight. We are in for an interesting ride."

Without another word, Damien stomps on the gas pedal and adds an extra 50 miles per hour to our already illegal speed. I am thrown back into the leather seat, the material not enough to soften the impact that knocks the wind out of me. Carefully, I sit up and crane around again to glance at the black van. Its gaining on us.

"Damien!" I shriek. "They're catching up! What do we do?" I start to panic, my breath coming in short gasps. What will happen if they catch us?

"Calm down Kyla," Damien reassures me in an even tone, not taking his eyes off the complex maze of cars he is weaving in and out of. "They won't catch up to us. I've had many close calls with them so far, and I have not been caught in a car chase yet. I do not plan for this to be the first time I do so either."

I look at him with fearful eyes, surveying the confident way he is maneuvering the car through traffic. I suppose it does look like he knows what he is doing. My breathing slows down to a more normal pace, but I am still far from calm. I couldn't have been kidnapped by a normal person could I?

Damien takes notice of my slowed breathing. "Are you calmed down yet? It will be harder for me to concentrate with you having a panic attack next to me."

I glare at him. Yes I'm calmed down, but he didn't have to be rude about it. I nod, just in case Mean Damien decides to make an appearance.

Damien increases our speed again, now going close to 200 miles per hour. The other cars almost appear to be standing still, the optical illusion a result of our speed. I glance at the black van again, sure that it will be far behind. My stomach sinks as I realize it is the only car that looks like it's in motion, and it is still almost right behind us. I can see the person behind the wheel, a giant muscled man, one that looks like he belongs as some super villain's goon.

I whip my head back around at Damien, but he is already increasing our speed. The only problem is that the black van is doing the same. Then, mercifully, the van is trapped, with cars in the front and on both sides of it. Slow moving cars.

I relax my shoulders, even though I didn't know I was tensing them. I watch the blur of colors that is the highway through the windshield.

I see the red car a second too late to warn Damien. Its blinkers are off, and it is merging into our lane going close to the same speed as we are. I barely have time to think about how odd this is before it is too late. I hear a strangled cry escape from my throat as I realize there is no way we are going to be able to avoid running into it. Damien hits the brakes, slamming me into the hard dashboard, but he's too late. Our speed propels us forward, and the last thing I see before the world goes dark behind the airbag is the candy red exterior of the car, and its government license plate.