"Why were you racing? Did you guys get into an argument or something?"

"The guy went ballistic," he repeats.

"Yeah, but why why? I mean, there had to be a reason."

"Apparently not for him."

"But that doesn't make sense." I sigh. "That's not like him."

"Have you not seen his temper yet?"

Unwilling to answer, I glance out the window, watching as Matt takes another turn, pulling out onto the highway.

"What hospital is he at?" I ask, noticing how we keep getting further and further from the lake.

"Fairmont." He turns his radio up even louder.

"Why Fairmont?" I say, competing with the music.

Matt shrugs. "It's where the ambulance took him. The EMT guy said there are more people on staff there tonight."

I dig my nails into the palm of my hand, eager to get there and to see him. The speedometer climbs up well past eighty. Meanwhile, the heavy metal pours out of Matt's dual speakers, making me even more anxious.

Finally, Matt weaves over to the right lane and takes the Fairmont exit. A couple of minutes later, we reach the center of town and follow the first few hospital signs.

The town of Fairmont is even more desolate than I remember; which is why I almost never come here. Only a small grocery store, a pizza restaurant, and a gas station occupy an otherwise dark and narrow street. I spot another hospital sign, positioned under one of the few streetlamps. It directs us to the right.

But Matt takes a left.

"You missed the sign," I say, pointing back at it.

Matt turns down the music and tells me he knows a shortcut, but we end up at a stoplight-one that seems to take forever.

The inside of his car is cold and damp-and getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

"I think we should go back," I say.

Matt scratches nervously at his face and then adjusts his rearview mirror. The pinecone air freshener dangles with his gesture, forcing me to notice the toxic scent in the air-like bug spray. "I think we're lost," he mumbles, turning down a desolate road, and then another, until I'm completely turned around.

There's a sickly feeling raging in my stomach as we drive farther and farther from the center of town and deeper into a dark wooded area. I glance down noticing that the door handle is missing.

"Relax," Matt says, bringing his car to a stop at the end of a dead-end street. There's a trailer parked in the woods, like maybe we're on the fringes of a campsite. He cuts the engine and then turns to face me. A relieved smile crosses his face. "Are you scared?"

My jaw tenses. I feel my eye twitch. I try to nonchalantly run my hand over my jacket pocket and search for my cell phone. But Matt notices, s.n.a.t.c.hes the phone away, and chucks it out the window.

"Now's no time for a phone call," he says, moving in closer.

"What are you doing?"

"Relax," he says again. "I just want to talk."

"You lied about Ben."

He nods and stares at me. His teal blue eyes are wide and intense. "I had to. You wouldn't have come with me otherwise. . . . Right?"

I look toward his door, noticing his handle's still there. "What do you want to talk about?" I say, trying to play along.

"Us," he whispers, taking my hand.

I resist the urge to s.n.a.t.c.h it away. Instead I lean in closer, wondering if I can grab his car keys from the ignition-if maybe I can use them to fight.

"I still care about you, you know." He rakes my palm with his fingertips.

"I care about you, too," I manage to say.

"No," he says, peeking up at me. "I mean, I really really care about you. I wish we never broke up. Why did we?" care about you. I wish we never broke up. Why did we?"

My mind reels, searching for the perfect answer. "We thought we were better as friends."

"No," he snaps. "That's what you you thought. You said you didn't want a relationship, but it looks like you want one now-hanging all over Ben." thought. You said you didn't want a relationship, but it looks like you want one now-hanging all over Ben."

"I'm not interested in Ben," I lie.

"Then, why did you come with me? Why did you seem so upset when I mentioned his name . . . when I mentioned his bike accident?"

I move my free hand down my leg, hoping to reach for the keys. Meanwhile Matt continues to scold me, telling me how tired he is of watching me flirt with other guys, that I have no consideration for anyone but myself, and that I'm such a selfish b.i.t.c.h.

"My dad's going to be looking for me," I say, suspecting it must be well after seven.

"Well, let him look for Ben." He smirks. "That's who everyone's going to blame when they can't find you."

"They'll find me," I whisper, feeling a knot form in my chest.

"It actually couldn't have worked out better," he continues. "Ben's shady past, your sickening attraction to him. . . ."

"Did you hurt Debbie?"

He shakes his head and moves even closer. His face is only inches away now. "I haven't been following Debbie," he whispers. "I've been following you." He runs his finger down my cheek, then strokes my chin. "We never did get to kiss much, did we?"

"A few times," I mutter, remembering the last time we went out. The night seemed more like an appointment with the dentist than an actual date. It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk that night. He wouldn't relax or open up, but he still tried to kiss me before we parted ways. I turned my head in the nick of time-just before his lips b.u.mped the corner of my mouth.

Matt traces my bottom lip with his thumb, like he's about to try and kiss me again. "You're so beautiful, you know that?"

Keeping focused on the keys, I move closer and press my mouth against his. Matt closes his eyes to kiss me back. Meanwhile, I reach behind him and try to s.n.a.t.c.h the keys from the ignition. They wiggle out. And make a jingling sound. Matt notices and grabs my wrist, twists my arm behind my back, and pins it there.

"You're such a b.i.t.c.h!" he shouts.

"Please," I tell him. "I'm cold. Turn the heat on." I gesture toward the ignition.

Matt relaxes for just a moment, as if he might believe what I'm saying, but then he reaches into his console and grabs a set of handcuffs. He pulls my pinned hand from behind my back to try and put the cuff around it, but I'm able to thwack him with my other hand; my fingers just miss his eye. He recoils slightly but then rebounds, grabs both my wrists, and snaps the cuffs around them.

He opens his car door and starts to pull me out. I let out a scream and try to bite his hand, but he pushes me back against the car and then squeezes my neck.

"Shut up!" he shouts.

My throat burns. I hear myself sputter and choke. Finally, he lets go, muttering how next time I won't be so lucky.

It's pitch black outside. With the door still open, only the car's interior light shines over our immediate area.

Keeping a firm hold on the cuffs, Matt leads me to the rear of his car. He pops the trunk and turns his back to fish inside. And so I kick him, hard, right in his upper thigh. Matt stumbles back, but tugs me with him, still holding on to the cuffs. I raise my arms and try to pull away. Tears stream from my eyes.

"Enough!" He swings and misses my face. I duck away just before he can hit me.

I try to kick him again, but Matt pulls me closer, and I almost lose my footing. He pins me against the side of his car with his knee and then smacks me in the jaw.

The canvas behind my eyes goes black. Stars spray out all around me, and my head begins to swirl.

48.

"You're starting to come around," a voice whispers. I open my eyes. Things are blurry for a second. And for one relief-filled moment I think that maybe what happened was a dream. But then I feel my jaw ache-a gnawing, singeing pain-where he hit me. And I realize that this isn't a dream at all. It's just that Round One is over. And I've lost. Now that the blur of colors is lifting, I'm able to see Matt. He sits cross-legged right in front of me. "How are you feeling?" he asks. I try to swipe a strand of hair from in front of my eyes, only to find that my hands are still cuffed together, only they're behind my back now. "Where are we?" I ask, looking around. It's dark except for a small lantern positioned between us. We're sitting on the floor of a tiny room. Aside from a TV tray in the corner, there's no furniture, no appliances, nothing mechanical, just a thin layer of carpet beneath us.

"Don't worry," he says. "We're in a safe place."

There's a stash of food and a bunch of bottled waters sitting on the TV tray, as if maybe he plans on my being here for a while.

"I think this will make you more at ease." He reaches into a paper bag, pulling out my stuffed polar bear-the one I couldn't find last night. "I want you to feel comfortable here," he says, dropping it onto my lap.

I tug my hands away from the wall, surprised when they move-that the cuffs aren't attached to the wall itself.

"I've given you a little slack," he says, reaching behind my back. He pulls forth a piece of jump rope-I can tell from the plastic handles. "I meant to bring real rope, but even with all my planning and lists I somehow forgot to buy it. Isn't that always the way?" he smirks.

I peer over my shoulder, able to see a metal loop sticking out of the wall, by the floor. He's attached the cuff chain to the loop with the jump rope. "I've given you a little wiggle room, but you won't be able to stand. I thought it was only fair, seeing as you'll be sleeping here."

"What?" I ask, feeling my insides tighten up.

Matt smiles in response, thoroughly enjoying this. Meanwhile, my skin ices over, and my forehead starts to sweat.

"And before you even think about attempting to untie the knot," he continues, "save yourself some aggravation, because I'm somewhat of an expert."

I look back at the webbing of knots. There have to be at least forty of them, each tangled over, through, and under the next.

"Impressive, wouldn't you say?" he asks.

I ignore him and continue to look around the room, noticing a narrow door behind him and a window to the right. The window has its shade down and there are curtains hanging at the sides. "What do you want?" I ask, meeting his eyes.

"You," he whispers. "I just want to be with you."

Keeping my shoulders steady, I try to wriggle free of the cuffs, but they're way too tight. "We're friends," I remind him. "You can be with me whenever you want."

"You know that's not true."

"It is," I say, trying to sound convincing, running my fingers over the knots. I try to pull at one of them, but it doesn't budge one bit.

Matt sweeps back the strand of hair that hangs in front of my eyes and then moves in closer.

"If you let me go, we can start over," I say. "We can even start dating again."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he snaps. "Don't lie to me!"

My heart beats hard. My head starts to ache.

"You'll be happy here," he a.s.sures me. "I'll give you everything you want."

"I want to be let free."

"Not now."

"Then when?"

"When you can say you love me and mean it." He moves the lantern to the side so he can scoot in closer. He smells like the inside of his car-that thick, poisonous scent.

Hot, bubbly tears work their way into my eyes, until I can't see. "It doesn't have to be like this," I whisper.

"Deep down, you wanted this," he says; this is followed by a kiss on my lower lip. "You asked for it. And I aim to please."

"No," I insist, drawing my face away.

"Yes," he says, moving in even closer. "You asked for it with the way you flirt, and how you always want to be the center of attention, and your recent attraction to danger. I know that's why you're attracted to Ben. You want some adventure in your life. You like the idea of dating someone with a dark side. And so that's what I've given you."

I shake my head, trying not to lose it completely.

"I should think you'd be grateful," he says, continuing to kiss me. He makes an invisible line of kisses that travels from my mouth down to my neck and then back up again.

I try my best to play along, to hold back my tears by focusing on something-anything-else. I look over his shoulder in search of something sharp. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a knife sticking out from the pile of food.

"I have something to show you," he whispers into my ear, sending icy-cold chills straight down my back. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a folder full of photos.

They're pictures of me-at the beach, in front of my house, by the shopping mall, and at the bakery downtown.

"I just can't get enough," he whispers. "I'd look at these when you weren't around, reminding myself it was only a matter of time before I'd have the real thing."