“I was an ass back then,” he finally responds, still looking off to the side. “I was a stupid teenager. But it’s not like that anymore. I mess with you because you give it back just as good, and it’s harmless, and it’s us.” Dean glances my way with his piercing blue eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy our pranks and our banter and all the dumb shit we do to each other.”

My reply is quick. “I don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying, Dean. I don’t enjoy getting picked on. I don’t enjoy always having to be on high alert around you, wondering what ‘dumb shit’ you’re going to pull on me.” I pause for effect, simmering on my final words. “Or wondering how you’re going to sabotage my next relationship.”

His eyes flicker with something I can’t exactly pinpoint. It’s not guilt or remorse. It’s not enjoyment either. “Whatever.”

My eyebrows pull up, expecting more than a brush off. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for the role you played in ending my four-year relationship?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

I can feel the flames spreading up my chest like wildfire, lighting up my neck, my ears, my tongue. “You’re a fucking jerk.” I twist my body to the left, trying to get as far away from Dean Asher as I possibly can. I curl my body up towards the wall and retreat into the confinements of my own mental prison.

I hear him let out a sigh from behind me, and I’m not sure what it means. Then he mutters under his breath, “I’m the only jerk you’ve got.”

I was wrong.

I’d rather be alone.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but the sun looks like it’s setting in the sky as an ambient orange glow penetrates the dusty window above us. I envision myself breaking free of the handcuffs and climbing the wall, punching the window with a determined fist and squeezing out through the narrow opening. I’ll run free, not even caring where I end up.

Anywhere is better than here.

Dean and I have not spoken since our argument, which must have been a few hours ago. He fell asleep shortly after, his back to the pole and his head against his shoulder. He looks peaceful, and I catch myself staring at him every now and then. I’m jealous that he’s somewhere else right now. I haven’t been able to fall back to sleep—every time I close my eyes, I can smell my captor’s nasty breath against my cheek as he humiliates me.

I also really have to pee, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Are we supposed to just soil ourselves down here? Is getting chained up like animals, raped and tortured, not good enough for that sick bastard? I squeeze my thighs together, knowing I won’t have any choice but to let it out soon. The apples of my cheeks burn just thinking about it.