Nothing had really changed in here. My bed was still just as I’d left it. Even my stack of books was still on my desk.
Cole’s loud stomps as he came up the stairs sounded out. With a cry, I pushed my dresser against the door, hoping to keep him out. It took everything I had inside me to move that heavy thing, but I got it in a good enough position before rushing into the closet.
He swore as he tried to open the door.
“Rosalie, I’m not playing. Open the damn door.”
“Go to hell!” I yelled from the closet.
“I have lived in hell for the last five years. Come on. Let’s just talk. I’m sorry for kidnapping you?—”
“My husband is going to kill you!” I shouted back.
He was quiet for a moment as I dug through old boxes, looking for anything to help me get off the damn balcony.
“I’m not afraid of Anson,” he finally replied. “Come on. Open the door.”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind!” I shrieked.
“I-I know I’m not being normal, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? It wasn’t like I could just call you and talk to you.”
“Why not?” I shouted, frustrated that I hadn’t been into bondage. Had I, there would be ropes in this damn place. I made a mental note to take up more hobbies.
He was quiet again. “I-I didn’t think you’d take my call.”
“News flash! Try that next time before you fucking kidnap someone!”
“OK. You’re mad. I get it. But we can fix it if you just come out. Please. I only want to talk.”
“Not happening.” I spotted a bunch of old dresses and went to them. Quickly, I took them off the hangers and began tying them together.
“Another note to self: keep more weapons in the house,” I muttered.
“Rosalie?” Cole called out. “You’re being quiet. What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I continued my work as he grunted and bitched on the other side of the locked bedroom door, clearly trying to use his strength to get it open. I’d wedged it in a way that would make it hard as hell for him to get in.
“Rosalie! Come on! Just…” Grunt. “Talk to me.”
“Fuck off,” I shouted.
“No, like real talk. Please.”
“Asshole,” I muttered, hauling out the dress rope I’d made and opening the balcony doors.
“Rosalie? Hey. Come on. Don’t you fucking dare try to go off the balcony. You’ll get hurt. Rosalie? Rosalie!”
“See you, jerk.” I threw the dress over the balcony railing, tied the sleeves together to hold it, and looked down. If I fell, I’d die because I’d hit the stone patio below. My room was on the second floor, but with the house’s high ceilings, the drop had to be at least 30 feet. Maybe more.
It was worth trying.
Carefully, I climbed over the railing of the balcony in my purple nightgown and bare feet. Night had fallen. Cole continued to hammer on the door, calling my name.
I had to move fast in case he came down.
I breathed out, my heart pounding, and grabbed the dress rope I’d made.
“Please hold,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
