Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” He gave me a look colder than winter then walked out. He shut the door loudly behind him, making it bang.
I stood in front of the sink, my reflection staring back at me. I had no idea what the hell just happened. I wasn’t sure if it was real. Did I imagine the entire thing? Was I making an excuse not to run away?
I eyed the window at the top of the ceiling and released a loud sigh. I had no idea who that guy was, but he wasn’t working for Bones. Why did he come in here and talk to me? How did he know I was going to run? Maybe he knew Bones in some other way. Maybe he hated him as much as I did. But if he really wanted to help me, wouldn’t he have called the police? Wouldn’t he have given me his phone?
I was so damn confused.
I gripped the sink as I tried to figure out what to do. That man knew exactly what I was going to do, and I’d never met him. If it was obvious to him, then it was probably obvious to Bones.
I had to go back.
I didn’t want to. My blood screamed in protest at the idea. Freedom was so close, just a window away.
But I knew I would never make it.
The sobs screamed for release deep in my chest, but I never let them escape. I kept them bottled inside, refusing to give in to my grief. There was no time to writhe in self-pity. Maybe this plan failed, but there would be another one. And if that didn’t work, then there would be another one. I wasn’t going to give up. One way or another, I would find my way out.
I returned to Bones like the obedient slave that I was. I walked up the stairs and returned to my seat, pretending I didn’t just attempt to escape his greasy hold. All I did was go to the bathroom and touch up my makeup. I didn’t meet a stranger who told me to return to the balcony. The last ten minutes of my life were uneventful.
Bones turned his head slightly my way, appraising me. The look was eerie, like he’d been wondering if something more interesting would happen. Maybe it was a test.
A test I passed.
***
The week passed with redundancy.
He came home from work, tied me up and fucked me, and then returned to his office and spent his time in solitude. I saw him again at dinnertime, and then he fucked me again before bed.
That was my life.
My time had been occupied by my thoughts. Who was the guy who marched into the bathroom like he owned the place? He spoke to me like I was annoying him, but yet, he was the one who chose to speak to me.
It didn’t make sense.
Why did he warn me?
He knew what would happen. When I returned to my seat, Bones stared at me with a new look. He’d expected me to run for it. He probably wanted me to so he could beat the shit out of me.
But Mr. Mysterious and his teal tie gave me a heads-up.
It was driving me crazy. It was another problem without a solution. What did he get out of helping me? What reward did he receive? None that I could deduce. When men came to the house, I scanned every one of them, searching for the man with the teal tie.
But he never appeared.
I wouldn’t rest until I knew the truth. I needed to know if he was an ally or an enemy. He couldn’t have been a friend because he would have called the police. But he couldn’t have been an enemy either because he would have let me crawl out that window.
Was I missing something?
***
We ate quietly together at the dinner table. We were having his favorite dish, lasagna and garlic bread. I hated the living conditions and the man who raped me every day, but I couldn’t deny how good the food was. At least that was one thing to be thankful for.
“I thought you were going to run.”
The sentence came out of nowhere, and I couldn’t prevent my hand from flinching, even if it was slightly. My eyes were glued to my food, and I didn’t care to look at him. We hadn’t spoken much since the night of the opera. The only time he said anything to me was when he called me a dirty little cunt—his dirty little cunt. “Excuse me?”
“At the opera. I thought you were going to try to run.” He kept eating like this conversation wasn’t confrontational. In most ways, it wasn’t. If it were, my head would be slammed onto the table.
“Why would I do that?” I’d become a great liar since I started living there. When my life was on the line, I did crazy things to survive. “I understand how powerful you are. You showed me. Where would I go? How far would I get until you came after me?”