Stained Read Online Free PDF

to accidentally cut you open.”
    The sidewalk moves beneath me. I feel sick. He did something to me. Drugged me. “Let me go!” I kick at him, miss, then kick again. My shoe connects hard. But he is like a machine; nothing seems to hurt him. “Why are you doing this?” I scream. I think I scream; I’m not sure if my voice makes it out of my head. Everything is spinning.
    He drags me toward his car. I feel like I’m being pulled through Jell-O, and I just want to sleep. But no, I can’t. I wrench my eyes open. The car tilts toward me, the side door like a gaping mouth. I claw at Brian’s skin, his clothes, anything I can get my nails into, trying to scream, but my voice won’t work.
    The world tilts again, my vision blurring, and then darkness sucks me down.

SARAH
    I AM COLD AND SHIVERY, my head aching, an oily taste in my mouth. I feel sick, like I might vomit, and I’m more tired than I can ever remember feeling. I don’t want to be awake, but there’s a reason I have to be. Only I can’t remember why.
    My skin feels clammy, and my clothes are damp and heavy, weighing me down. Something soft and thick presses against my tongue, my teeth. I can’t breathe properly! I try to spit it out, but it won’t leave.
    The smell of leather and vinyl, wet cloth and pine cologne, makes me feel even more nauseous, like when I used to get carsick on our trips up to the cottage. I just want to lie here and go back to sleep, but something keeps jostling me, making my head vibrate.
    Dad
, I try to croak.
I had the strangest dream. Nightmare, really.
But I can’t make my voice work.
    Someone’s whistling shrilly, the sound cutting into my eardrums. I groan and try to push myself upright, but my hands are fastened behind my back, my shoulders sore and aching. My ankles are stuck together, too, my legs cramped in an uncomfortable, bent position. I can’t seem to straighten them. I wrench my eyes open.
    I’m in the back of a car, stuffed on the floor behind the front seats. I lift my legs. Silver duct tape is wrapped tight around my ankles.
    My stomach heaves.
It’s true. It’s all true.
    I roll on my side and yank at the tape, trying to pull my wrists apart. “Help!” I cry. “Somebody help me!” but the words make only a bleating sound through the cloth.
    The whistling stops. “Quiet!”
    Why? Can someone hear me?
I slam my feet against the door. “Help! Let me out!” I try to shout.
    The car swerves. “I said shut up!”
    I hammer at the door, every thrust exploding inside my aching head.
Let me out, let me out, let me out!
The car swerves again, pebbles spitting against the windows, and then it lurches to a stop, my face slapping against the front passenger seat.
    Tires screech, horns blare, and I pray for an accident, pray for another car to hit us, for anything that will make someone find me.
    Brian unfastens his seat belt and whirls around, hoisting himself over the space between the seats. His handsome face is distorted with rage: his eyes are slits, his nostrils flaring, his lips curling back to show his teeth. He looks like a different person than the one I saw this morning, or even than the one who chased the boys away. He looks merciless. Cruel.
How could I not have seen it?
    It seems crazy that his expensive suit is still neatly pressed, his tie perfect, after everything he’s done. I push back as far away from him as I can in the cramped space.
    â€œStop kicking the door,” Brian snaps. “This car is still new.”
    Maybe if I make enough trouble for him, he’ll let me go.
I slam my feet harder.
    There’s a click, and then Brian pokes a knife into my side, right through my coat. “I don’t have time for this shit. When I tell you to do something, you do it.”
    I hardly dare to move, to breathe, afraid even the movement of my rib cage will nudge the knife into my