If I want my freedom, I’ll have to take it. And if Connor Heyward thinks I’m strong and stubborn and dangerous?
Fine.
For him, I’ll be all of that. I’ll be exactly what he thinks he wants.
And if poisoning him is what it takes to escape this ‘love’ he has for me, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
NINETEEN
POISON
HAVEN
The next morning, I wake up with a plan.
I’d been dwelling on it for most of yesterday, my resolve only hardening after Connor kissed me again, left with the foxglove, and returned an hour later to make sure that I had eaten my breakfast. He could obviously tell that he’d rattled me. From the threat of the poison to the insult of comparing me to it, plus how he pushed me to kiss him… I withdrew more than I had in days, curling up on the couch, back in the old Harmony Heights High Lacrosse Team t-shirt of his that Connor gave me to wear since—in his cheerful words—he couldn’t trust me not to leave if I was fully dressed in my own clothes. I’m back to hiding in Connor’s wider, long tees, the collar falling off my shoulder, while I’m padding around in bare feet so I don’t dart out into the woods given the chance.
He came back with lunch next. He clucked his tongue, absently tossing his pocketknife up and down, up and down while waiting for me to eat the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich he made me; a childhood favorite of mine that I thought no one but my former nanny knew I liked… but thisis Connor Heyward, and of course he fuckingknows. My worry and a bit of shame had begun to transform to belly-curdling fury by that point. I didn’t care whether he meant the knife as a threat or not. I refused to eat, and I made it clear he’d have to actually stick me with it to get me to choke down the sandwich.
He doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m not surprised by that. Frowning, concern flashing across his face, he simply said he’d leave it, and hope that I might feel more comfortable eating it if he was gone.
I got a couple of hours away from him then, but if I thought he’d stay away for my supper meal, I was wrong. He brought down the steak he promised, and one look at the set to his determined features told me there was no getting out of eating that.
Together, we sat at the small table, the farce of a couple sharing a meal together. The steak was perfectly seasoned and cooked way better than I could’ve ever done myself. Before I woke up in his house, I would’ve thought Connor Heyward existed on take-out and restaurant meals. I had no idea he could cook, and it irks me because not only can he clearly do so, but it’s proof that I… I don’t know anything about this man at all, do I?
Meanwhile, he seems to know everything about me.
He wants me to believe that he loves me. That he’s always loved me. Worse, he seems to think that by being the world’s most attentive captor, I might someday fall into the trap of Stockholm Syndrome and love him back.
That’s what he wants. That’s what he expects.
And that’s when I decide that the fleeting murderous thought that passed through my mind becomes my only way out of this madness.
So maybe it isn’t a good plan. It’s reckless, and I doubt I can pull it off, but the idea of just letting Connor bulldoze right overme, making it so that my life—my existence—is all about whathewants… I can’t.
I can’t do it.
Until the moment that I believed it was the end for me, that I’d lost my battle against Winter and his goons, I struggled and I fought as much as I could. It took some time to get my strength back, and to accept that the only true danger that Connor represents is to my freedom and not my life. Now that I have? I… I don’t think I’m scared of him.
If anything, he should be scared ofme.
That’s his mistake. He thinks that all he has to do is turn the lock, feed me, repeat that he loves me, and that’s it. We’re on our way to a happy ending. Me? I need him to understand that I’m not ready to concede defeat just yet.
That realization is clear as I sit at the breakfast table with him and watch steam curl from his coffee mug the next morning.
Fives minutes ago, Connor disappeared upstairs after getting a phone call. That was long enough for me to make a decision. Long enough for me to slip out of my seat and hope that he’s not watching the cameras, wherever he is.
I’ve tested the window a handful of times. I know it’s useless for a point of escape, but with a quick shove with my palms, it opens out enough that I’m able to sneak my fingers through and grab one of the smaller sprigs of foxglove.
The whole damn plant is poisonous. The stems, the leaves… I hate that I’m touching it, but I have no choice. I yank, scraping my knuckles as I feed my hand back through the small gap in the window. It closes, and with my heart racing, I crush the flower in my hand, trying to hide it as I tiptoe back over to the table.
If I do this, I could kill Connor. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get him to ingest any part of the plant—he would need to eat enough of it for it to be fatally toxic—but the part of my brokenbrain that prizes survival just keeps saying: it’s him or me. I can’t be his captive forever. I don’t want to be his prisoner.
To be fair, I don’t actually want to murder him, either, but what else can I do? He has the key on him. If he dies, I’ll be free. If he doesn’t, maybe he’ll put me out of my misery for trying.
Because that’s the biggest issue I have. For six weeks, I was basically tortured. My only experience with captivitybrokeme. Connor might be nice now. He might be trying to take care of me. Winter’s goons were nice enough at first until they weren’t, and even if they abided by his one fucking rule, they hurt me in ways I’ll never be able to verbalize.
Connor stole another kiss. He’s made it clear that he thinks of me as his wife, and that he wasn’t teasing when he said so. I convinced myself that he was, that his attempt to cut out my birth control implant was just another way that Connor Heyward was fucking with me. But now? After he thwarted my escape so easily, then finally dropped the teasing act, revealed the truth behind his ‘H’, andtoldme I was his?
