Page 200 of Her Wicked Plan

He takes my hands into his. “My mother wanted me to be happy, and with you, little angel,” A kiss is pressed against my knuckle, “I will be happy.”

“Leo, I’m not sure icing out your family with all of you grieving—” What am I saying? He is agreeing to this, Veronica! Shut your mouth!

“I’ll figure something out.” His tone holds honesty, but there is a flash of unease in his eyes.

“You’re sure about this?”

“I’m positive,” he reassures me, that bit of doubt dissipating behind his gaze. “Now, the sun goes down in about an hour. Grab what you need, and I’ll meet you by the lobby after lockdown. We will have to make sure Edith isn’t there.”

“Okay.” Going up on my toes, I press a soft kiss on his lips.

He gently pushes me towards the door. It’s my cue to leave and get ready, so I take it.

Once back in my room, I take out a fresh pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Folding them neatly, I set them on my bed and then go for my journal with my new bookmark tucked in place. Hiding it between the two articles of clothing, I sit on the bed next to them and slide out of my slippers.

We only have those and a pair of tennis shoes to wear. The sneakers aren’t comfortable; the sole is as thin as paper, so I often wear slippers. But what about running in the woods wearing those fuzzy things? There’s no way. The sneakers will have to do.

I hide the clothes and journal under my pillow and lie down. Shortly after, the lights shut off, and the guard makes his rounds. Peering into each little window to ensure the patients are where they are supposed to be. My eyes remain on the ceiling as I hear him walk past my door to check on the other girls, then walk past again to take his stance at the main door.

I count the minutes when I know he is at his post.

I used to do this whenever my parents would sit me on a timeout. They wouldn’t let me in my room because my toys were there. How would it be considered timeout if I could still play with my toys?

Instead of giving me the luxury to sit in my room while serving my punishment, they made me sit in a closet. It wasn’t even one of our nice, luxurious ones in the house. It was a shallow linen closet. Shelves full of extra towels line the wall, with one bulb in the center of the ceiling.

Underneath the bottom shelf was a cubby space where my mother normally had the maids store the spare laundry detergent. That is where I sat, next to a bottle of some overly expensive detergent and a mop bucket. With me sitting beneath a shelf, the light didn’t reach me. It was dim and mostly dark down in my space. Maybe that’s why I hate solitary so much.

Except here in the asylum, it’s a bigger closet but much colder.

The numbers in my mind climb until they reach 600.

Ten minutes have passed. That gives me enough time to act out the idea that conjured inside my head. It was the first one that came to mind, and I was limited with time.

Sitting up in my bed, I flip the pillow over. Grasping the clothing wrapped around my journal, I hold it at my side and go to my door. Curling my hand into a fist, I bang loudly against the metal.

A stinging sensation tingles my hand as it continuously pounds the door. Pain radiates down my arm with how hard I’m hitting it. Even being in pain, there is no pause between the thundering knocks. I peer out of the window to see if he is coming.

The guard stalks down the hall, his expression annoyed. When he stops outside my room, his expression deepens. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I... I...” I drop from my toes, my hand falling to tuck the clean clothes in my hand. Channeling embarrassment, it takes over my face like a mask as I glance back up. “I forgot to use the bathroom before coming to bed. I couldn’t hold it and⁠—”

His lips curl in disgust. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

Swallowing hard, I suggest, “If I could just run to the bathroom quickly, put on some fresh clothes. I’d like to not sleep in wet clothes.”

I hold the clothes trapped between my fingers in his view. His eyes slide over the fabric before focusing on me. He huffs out a breath, the clinking sound of keys sounds from the other side of the door. A turn and a click. I step back for the guard to open the door fully.

What an idiot. I can’t believe that seriously worked.

“Thank you.” I bow my head, putting one foot forward to leave the room.

He grabs my arm, stopping me from proceeding. “What do I get in return?”

With my head still down, my eyes lift. I can see the door to the hall from here. I’m close. I won’t let anything stop me. Turning my head, I stare up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I am being nice and allowing you access to the bathroom after hours so you can change out of your filthy clothes.” He looks me up and down. “Don’t you think I should be rewarded?”

Bile rises in my throat. Of course, he would want something in return. I’ve heard about it from other patients before. I forgot to consider that when I saw it was him standing guard. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just please, let me change first.”