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Giving into the urge to cry, I let the water beat down over me and wash my tears away. I remind myself that it could have beenso much worse. It’s hard to accept. I might not have died, but I still lost my life.
Chapter Three
Then
She was a presence that I could feel no matter where I was. I sensed her with me wherever I went, and yet she may as well have been a ghost.
I heard her screams, her hopeless cries of anguish that echoed off the walls and through the ventilation system from her room to mine. The noise was so painful it felt like the flesh was being stripped from my bones. It marked me with a permanence that would follow me to my grave. Her screams slashed my skin, leaving behind nothing but scars, and every time I heard her cry out, I gained a new one. Her pain became my pain, infecting every part of my heart and soul until I was consumed with it.
But it was the days that she was silent that scared me the most. I worried that she’d faded away and that maybe this place was rubbing off on me. Did I imagine her here because the loneliness was crippling, or was she truly a ghost haunting me?
It feels like hours have passed since I’d last heard her—not a sound, no sniffle, or quiet crying.
Darkness had fallen outside, and the building itself was shutting down for the night.
I stare up at the air vent and decide, fuck it. The risk is worth it. After all, what are they going to do, lock me up?
I stand on the foot of the bed and reach up, thankful for my height, and push the vent up. It lifts with a groan, and I twist it and ease it out before jumping down and sliding it under the bed.
Grabbing some of my clothes, I pull the covers on my bed back and arrange the fabric just right before using one of the pillows to bulk out the shape. I tug the blanket back over it and decide that’s as good as it’s going to get.
If someone looks in, they’ll think I’m asleep, and there is no reason for them to come in and check any further. I get back on the bed and haul myself up into the vent, holding still for a moment while I wait to see if anyone heard me.
When I don’t hear any footsteps, I blow out a relieved breath and start crawling through the air duct. I’m lucky that I only have a short distance to go before I find the next opening.
I look down and see a room just like mine, but with everything flipped the opposite way around. I can’t see any movement, making me wonder if she’s gone. Maybe they sent her home. As much as that should make me happy—the sad, broken girl finally getting out of here—I’m not. She’s become the one thing here to keep me focused. To stop me from thinking about the shit outside this place.
Deciding I might as well check while I’m here, I pull the hatch up quietly and ease myself down, hanging from my fingertips until I drop to the ground.
I look toward the bed and find the blankets messy and the pillow missing. A glance around the room shows a sweatshirton the chair next to the desk and a pair of flip-flops on the floor beside it. If she did leave, she didn’t take all her things with her.
Maybe she died.
I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my hair, pausing when I hear a faint sound. Listening, I realize it’s a whimper.
My gaze darts around the room once more, but there is nowhere for someone to hide other than the bathroom, and with the door wide open, I can see that it’s empty.
My eyes fall to the bed before I stand up and slowly get down on the floor. Wide, scared eyes stare back at me from under the bed.
I don’t say anything for a minute, stunned by how fucking pretty she is. I know pretty girls. I’ve had my fair share of them, but none of them had anything on this one.
I open my mouth to ask her if she’s okay but shut it again. Of course, she’s not okay. I can tell from the pillow under her head that she didn’t just crawl under here because she heard me. She’s planning on sleeping under here. There is only one reason someone would do that when there is a perfectly good bed above them.
She’s afraid.
I lie down flat on my stomach and tuck my hands under my cheek. I stay beside her and wait.
If she starts screaming or crying, I’ll go. Until then, I’m staying right here where I can watch over her.
Eventually, she relaxes a little. She doesn’t take her eyes off me, but she takes her hands off her chest and spreads them out so that one lies between us.
I reach over and take her hand in mine. She jolts and tenses again, but when I don’t yank her out, she relaxes once more.
There is something in her eyes—something beyond the fear, something much worse. I only recognize it because I see the same damn thing shining back at me in the mirror each day.
Neither of us speaks or moves, and I never look away, not when her eyes flutter closed and not when her hand goes lax in mine.
I stay beside her all night, guarding over her until the sun comes up.
