Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Pathetic.
That hasn’t changed in the least.
She doesn’t know though. She doesn’t know anything beyond these walls. I lean my head back, tearing my eyes away from her for the first time since I’ve been let back in.
She doesn’t know. And she needs someone to protect her, even if it is only just enough to prevent a worse fate. Surely, it’ll be enough?
For her. My teeth grind together and my knuckles turn white as I ball them into fists.
It better be enough. It has to be. It’s all I have to offer, and now she’s changed everything.
Chapter 4
Robin
My head hurts so badly. Why does it hurt so much? I try to push myself upright, and the ground is so cold and hard. It’s so uncomfortable, but my head is too heavy and I slump against the ground.
Where am I?
I try to remember where I was. The sound of the carousel shrieking as it slowly turned from the wind blowing filters through my memory. The empty swings sway back and forth. The school playground is deserted. I thought everyone would be here today. But it’s empty. The first day of summer and not a soul is here.
I remember how I looked up and the sun was far off in the distance, but still in the sky. Didn’t they know we still had time to play? I’m younger than most of the kids, only twelve, but even the older ones usually play with me.
I sat on the swings for a while, I remember that. As the pounding in my head throbs harder I remember how the metal chains twisted and I let myself twirl on the swings over and over. I could wait for the other kids. I was sure they’d show up.
Did they?
I squint, trying to remember and I turn my head. My palms brush against the concrete floor, my cheek flat against the hard floor.
There was a man. He had a golf club and he needed my help. I remember how lost he looked. He said he hit his last ball into the trees and he couldn’t reach into the bushes.
My heartbeat quickens as I remember, and my body goes still.
I knew to tell him a lie. I knew to turn around and run when he tried to take my hand in his. But he looked so hurt when I tried to pull away. He was genuinely upset, and all he did was ask me to help him.
The thin branches cracked under my sneakers as I went into the woods, following him to where he thought the ball had landed.
I open my eyes and I can’t breathe.
He lied to me. My nails scratch on the ground as I clench them into fists and slowly look up.
No! Mommy, help me! Tears blur my vision of the cinder block walls.
No! This can’t be happening. I pull my knees into my chest and try to stand.
Why does my head hurt so much?
“Are you okay?” a soft voice asks from behind me, making me shuffle across the ground and push myself against the cold wall. It takes a moment for me to wipe my eyes and see him.
He’s just a boy.
His knees are knobby and he’s thin, but his shoulders are broad and he has a look about him that lets me know he’s older than me. There’s another look about him, too.
Sorrow and sadness cloud his eyes. Or maybe I just imagined it, because the moment my vision focuses, a hard expression stares back at me. He doesn’t move from where he is, crouching only a few feet from me.
“Where am I?” I ask him quickly. I don’t know where the words come from. I feel hot and cold, and I’m so confused. “I want to leave.”
He huffs and shakes his head at me, pushing himself up from the ground where he was and takes a step toward me. He’s taller than me. In that moment, he scares me.
“You can’t leave,” he says simply.
My face crumples, and I shake my head. “My mother will-”
“We’re stuck here!” he yells at me, the anger in his voice making me flinch. He stares at the wall behind me, his eyes flickering to the floor then back to me. “We can’t leave.”
As I start to protest, I hear a loud rough bark outside. It’s followed by a series of vicious barks that continue unceasingly. It makes me whirl around and face the only window. It’s small and rectangular, covered in filth and high up on the wall. There’s barely any light coming through. Maybe there’s a bush planted in front of it. I’m not sure, but at the very least I know there are dogs close.
“Don’t try to run,” the boy says behind me and again I turn to face him. Threats all around me, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. So stupid! I wrap my arms around my shoulders. “My mother-”