Just My Luck - Alice Winters


People like to say that they’re not lucky. For example, they play a game of cards and continually lose, so they decide it’s because they’re down on their luck. Not that they’re awful at cards or anything like that.

What’s really unlucky is when you’re walking down the street in the early evening and a car pulls up next to you. Of course, I didn’t think a whole lot about it until they grabbed me, smacked tape over my mouth, wrapped cable ties around my arms and legs, and stuffed me in the trunk of the car.

This, right here, is unlucky. At the moment, I’m not sure if I should panic. Honestly, I kind of feel like I deserve this but my brain is trying to tell me that I need to figure out how to get out and run away before the car stops and the assholes inside the car notice I’m missing. While I’ve been complimented for being “bendy” it’s not helping too much, seeing as my hands and legs are bound and I have no way to squeeze out of the trunk.

The car rumbles on and every time it hits a pothole, my head slams against the scratchy carpet that hides the spare tire. Supposedly, there are quick releases in trunks that glow in the dark for situations like this, but as I roll around, I see nothing glowing in the darkness besides the light from the taillights bleeding into the trunk.

I have the worst fucking luck.

I shift a little until my bound feet are aimed at the back seat and I just start hammering on it. There were four guys, so at least two have to be in the back seat and I’m determined to make their ride a living hell.

“Knock it the fuck off!” one screams.

I will never understand how or when I used up all of my luck. Maybe I wasn’t even born with any luck. That could be the issue here.

Okay. Think rational thoughts. Think calm thoughts. Whaling on the back of their seat is doing nothing beyond annoying them.

Now to get my ass out of here.

I roll onto my knees and chest and hold my arms behind me. The way the men grabbed me, I hadn’t thought they were amateurs, but really? Just zip ties?

First, I try working them this way and that to see if I can slip my hands free, but they’re too tight to budge, so I lift my arms up then draw them down to my ass as hard as I can. The first time, they just cut into my wrists, not planning on busting at all. It’s easier from the front, but I’m not sure I have enough room to get the ties to my front, so I try again. This time they break, leaving the skin around my wrists burning a bit, but my hands are free and that’s all that matters.

Now on to my legs. It would be easier if I had more room to work and more light, but I pull my legs up and grab what is left of the broken tie from my wrist. I wedge the sharp edge against the locking mechanism until it gives, and I slide the tie free.

These assholes clearly thought I’d be easy to deal with because I’m young and rich. A lot of people think I have stuff just handed to me and while they wouldn’t be completely wrong, there’s so much more to it. There’s so much they don’t know about my life that will never be seen from the outside.

I roll onto my side and push the carpet up before realizing that I was completely wrong. It is my lucky day because these assholes forgot to cover up the tire iron with a tire.

I pull the heavy metal tool out and feel it over until I decide which end is the best end to hang on to.

And now I wait.

While doing so, I decide to kick their seat a little bit more just for something fun to do. It makes them holler and threaten to kill me.

When the car finally shuts off, I roll into position.

I can do this. All I have to do is beat up four macho-looking men and run off. Yep. Just four men who look like they punch people for breakfast and probably have guns.

I’m going to die.

Nope. No. I can’t die. Dying’s no fun. I’m only twenty. I can’t just die now. I might not know what the hell I’m doing