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I glance over my shoulder at him, surprised that he has nothing to say about our restrictions. But then I snap it shut once again when I note his thunderous expression. Enzo may not be vocalizing the words, but his seething glare says it all. He’s not any happier about being confined to the room so strictly than I am.
Swallowing, I glue my teeth shut as Sylvester opens the door, walks in, flips on a small sconce hanging over the head of the bed, and presents the room to us. It’s barren, save for a rickety circular table and two chairs to our right, the wood weathered and splintering. The walls are all gray stone with a single bed shoved sideways in the left corner. A small square window is above it opposite the sconce, the beautiful night sky in perfect view.
Sylvester points toward the right corner of the room. “Right there is yer bucket. You can empty it in the morning,” he instructs, pointing to a white bin that looks like it’s been used before without being properly cleaned.
It takes effort to keep my cheeks from blowing out. There is no fucking way I’m using that. I’d sooner pry that window open, stick my ass out of it, and let nature take over.
Enzo and I keep silent, and the stagnancy in conversation grows awkward. Does he expect us to thank him for the lovely accommodations?
“Breakfast is at seven in the mornin’. You can come down then. After that, I’m sure we can find something to keep ya occupied.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
“You two have yerselves a good night.”
With that, he turns and hobbles out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.
Right when I go to open my mouth, curious how he’d even know if we use the bathroom, I hear a soft click.
My teeth snap shut, and mine and Enzo’s gazes collide, both full of surprise.
“Did he…?”
Enzo is already charging toward the door and turning the doorknob. But it sticks.
“He fucking locked us in here,” he spits, jiggling the knob again with no luck. “Stronzo.”
A slimy feeling crawls down my spine and wraps around each bone until I’m encased in a deep, insidious feeling.
“Why does it feel like being imprisoned?” I ask aloud, mumbling the words as I wrap my arms tightly around myself.
“Because it fucking is,” he snarls, his accent strengthening with his anger. He slams his hand against the door before storming toward the bed.
His expression is enraged yet calculating as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his spread knees and fingers linked. He stares at the wooden door, likely deciding when the best time would be to bust it open.
“Don’t do anything crazy,” I tell him. “We literally have nowhere else to go.”
He turns his blazing eyes to me, but again, I refuse to crumble beneath his fire.
“You’re right, we don’t have anywhere else to go. But I’m not the weaker man out of the two of us.”
My eyes bug from my head. “You have the audacity to punish me for my crimes, and here you are, planning to rob an old man of his home.”
The muscle in his jaw pulses, and he only glares as a response.
“Obviously, this situation is really fucked up, but it isyourfault we got caught up in that storm to begin with. Don’t punish everyone else for your fucking mistake, Enzo.”
He stands abruptly and charges toward me. I blanch, stumbling back until I'm flattened against the door. His palms slam against the wood on either side of my head, consuming me in a raging storm as violent as the one that brought us to this place.
“You can steal an entire identity, but breaking out of a room is too far for you, baby? Are there any other unforgivable morals you want to share, or is it only okay when you're the one ruining lives?”
Ouch.
“Be better than me, Enzo,” I bite out.
He chuckles without humor. “Not very difficult to do.”
I frown, his words like a sharp hook digging into my chest.
