Target practice? He was actually gonna trust me enough to take me out for fucking target practice? Holy shit. He was totally insane. Didn't he remember me beatin' the fuck out of his feet a few hours ago with a big stick? I could remember it, still hear the sound of the wood hitting flesh loud in my ears. Knew I wasn't likely to forget that sound anytime ever.
Slowly I noded my head up and down, instantly distrustful of him anytime he ever said anything was my choice. Nothing was my decision, it was all about him and how far and fast he could jerk me around. But I didn't mind bein' jerked around so much as long as there was a semi-automatic weapon in my hand
( ... )
Pulled my clothes on and tried not to limp when I moved towards the door. Shouldn't be showing weakness in front of her, but the broken toes fucking hurt, and there wasn't much I could do about that right now. Didn't really want to squeeze them into shoes at the moment either. Could feel the keys in my pocket as we walked towards the front door. Faith could always take one of the guns, kill me, and then go wherever the fuck she wanted
( ... )
I was so fucking pissed when I saw all the weapons and shit he had hidin' under the carpet. Under the carpet in the trunk! Where'd I'd been hog-tied for about seven days straight. Tons of shiny blades and guns and things I coulda used to perpetuate my own escape. Why was I so fucking stupid sometimes? Why hadn't I looked harder? Tried harder? Been less scared? I hated moments like these that just showed me what a total dumbass I was
( ... )
Yeah, I bet she wanted to try that thing out. I'd just got done telling her it could blast a person in half and now she wants me to just hand over some ammo. I reached back into the trunk and pulled out a box of shells for the shotgun, sticking them in my pocket. "Ever fire a shotgun before, Faith? You have to be very careful with one of those or you'll end up on your ass." Pocketed a box of bullets for the gun I had and slammed the trunk shut
( ... )
Comments 10
Slowly I noded my head up and down, instantly distrustful of him anytime he ever said anything was my choice. Nothing was my decision, it was all about him and how far and fast he could jerk me around. But I didn't mind bein' jerked around so much as long as there was a semi-automatic weapon in my hand ( ... )
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