Page 41 of Meet Cute

Nodding weakly, I lean in until our lips gently touch. It’s a weirdly innocent kiss, full of more exploratory feelings rather than pure desire. At least until his tongue slips past my lips and we’re right back to making out.

Both of his hands grip the counter, so I can’t pull away even if I wanted to, but I honestly really don’t. I’d much prefer kissing, cuddling, and watching TV over being screamed at and having to sleep in a cold basement.

But how long can this last? Am I gonna do something wrong and mess it all up? Is he gonna lose feelings entirely and get rid of me? Surely not, right? Why go through all this trouble only to get bored? “Mmf,” I moan out in surprise when he grips my ass and lifts me off the counter.

We only part for a few breaths before going back in for more, and I make a point of showing him how much I really want this. When he sets me down again I almost want to grab his collar and do it all over again.

“Food, food… uh…” The fridge opens to reveal almost nothing except a jug of milk and some small items. Finn bounces on his feet, nervously tugging at his sleeve. “I need… groceries. I gotta go… get them.”

With doubt written all across his face, Finn eyes me up and down. “You won’t… You won’t do anything, right? I-I don’t wanna… the basement… Please don’t make me do that, Dunk—I mean bunny.”

“I can’t even move,” I remind him, “so I won’t be going anywhere. I promise.”

Finn blinks. “You promise? Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “One hour. I’m gonna be gone for one hour. I’ll bring you back… something. Pizza? Is that good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want me to put you in front of the TV?”

Being spoken to like that makes me feel so gross. He’s treating me as though I’m some useless inanimate object who needs his help. But that’s what he wanted, isn’t it? I depend on him now, which means he won in the end.

“Please.”

Once I’m settled on the couch with a blanket and a pillow, Finn hands me the remote and stands there. It’s obvious that he really doesn’t want to leave, and I can’t blame him. But what am I gonna do? I mean, really.

My legs don’t even work right and crawling would be agonizing. Even with the painkillers there’s this constant, searing pain at every moment of the day. Does he not realize that?

“B-Bye, bunny.” Finn kisses the crown of my head and ruffles my hair. “Be good, okay? …Please?”

“I will.” Can’t just leave it at that though, can I? “Bye, Finn. Drive safe.”

You’d think he won the lottery with how bright his face gets. “Y-Yeah! I will! Bye, bye Duncan!” He hugs me for good measure, before putting on his boots and disappearing out the front door.

It’s snowing again, even harder than yesterday. What if something happens to him? No one knows I’m here. Would they come and check? How long would that take? I thought I was saying it to play the role of a loving husband, but now I really do hope he drives safely or else I might starve to death.

THIRTY-ONE

Ten minutes. That’s how long the TV holds my attention before my eyes begin to wander. Windows are locked. Can’t reach the door. But there, hanging off of a wooden chair, is my holy grail. My jacket. My fucking jacket.

Yes, Finn has been snooping through my phone and there’s a high chance it’s not even there, but what if it is? What if by some fucking miracle it is? One call and I’m out of here, hopefully to a hospital so my legs aren’t lost forever.

That thought is terrifying. The severity hadn’t been lost on me, but I guess I never stopped to really think about it either. If my legs don’t heal properly, what will happen to them?

Maybe I thought I could pass the time by being an idiot. Playing pretend, playing house—playing whatever you want to call it. I can’t fathom how I let him put his dick anywhere near me. It makes me sick to my stomach, partially because I hate myself for it and partially because I hate how much I liked it.

Can’t think about that, though. Gotta focus on what’s important, and what’s important is getting out of here. Playing pretend was nice and all, but this might be my last chance.

It’s gonna hurt. With little to no grace I throw my front half off the couch, landing on my elbows with a huff. They dig into the carpet and burn, but I push forward until my entire body is on the ground.

When my legs slam against the floor it hurts so damn bad. An agonizing ripple of pain shoots out throughout every nerve I have, and for a beat I have to just lay there and brace myself.

But it’s not important. It isn’t. One arm and then the other, moving forward until I cross the shiny gold strip where carpet meets wood, and then down the hall to the little chair in the dining area.

Tugging at the bottom of my jacket doesn’t yield much. I can’t risk tearing it, because if it’s moved or dead or anything else he’ll know. I can’t have him knowing. He might literally never trust me again if he finds out. Stretching the smooth fabric to its limit, I get it down just enough to reach the bottom of the pocket.