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Even tried a month ago. Packed a bag and walked out the front door.

Alarms went off like crazy, and when I ran, Atom just tackled me and brought me back. Said nothing about it, just sat me down on the couch and asked if I wanted burgers or steak for dinner.

He can act however he wants and pretend this isn’t what it is. But it is.

I’m his captive.

For whatever reason, I am.

And till he gets what he wants from me, whatever the hell that might be, I’m stuck here.

I wash my hands, because even if I didn’t touch the cat food, my fingers still smell of that stench, then head downstairs.

I’m not tired, and I don’t want to read.

TV isn’t even something I want to zone out to.

I have energy, but the restless kind.

Instead, I kick off my heels, tossing them in the general direction of my prison cell, and walk to a weight bench.

I might still be in a dress, but lying down and lifting the bar over my head doesn’t seem too hard.

There are no weights on it, so it’s easy enough to do two dozen with a break between each.

I look around and debate the treadmill, but I don’t want to put shoes on.

Instead, I go to the free weights and grab a set, curling my arms up and down with a few weights before going up in pounds till my hands shake from the effort.

I set the weights down, but I’m not done. My brain is still on. I want exhaustion. I want to feel like I could sleep for a week.

I would try pills, but Atom doesn’t keep anything in the house. Not even Advil. I looked when I was on my period last month. He might have some in his room, the only place I didn’t check, but I’m not going in there now. What am I going to say? “Hey, I can’t sleep. Got some pills to knock me out with?” Yeah, no thanks.

I scan the gym again, eye the treadmill, and debate how hard it will feel running on bare feet. I decide to chance it and start walking toward it when the punching bag, the one in the corner standing by itself, calls to me.

I pivot on my heel and head to it instead.

I’ve never punched anyone. Been hit enough times to know how to throw a punch, though.

So I do.

I jab at the bag a few times. It sways back. I do it again, harder this time.

Then something comes over me and I can’t stop. I hit it over and over. Left, right, sometimes right, right, then left. The sting in my knuckles brings a small thrill to me, along with the jolt that goes up my arm.

I keep at it till I can barely lift either arm above my waist.

Only then do I go to my room, shut the door, and fall into bed, sleeping like the dead that I want to be.

Chapter 10 - Atom

“Come on, we’re already late,” I yell down as I swing the truck keys on my ring finger.

“Then go without me,” she hollers back.

I grin only because she can’t see me. I like this version of Nat. The one that doesn’t take any shit. Having women be all docile is annoying as hell. I like women who fight, push back, just enough. Old ladies need that kind of strength to make it long-term.

It only took three months since she moved in to act like this.