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10
Monroe
Idon’t know why I keep doing this to myself. I should know by now not to let anyone in, not to trust anyone. Every time I let someone close, they leave me. Every time I trust, I get disappointed. I should be used to it, and maybe I am, but it still hurts. The pain stays the same no matter how many people turn their backs on me.
Last night, I poured my heart out to Alaric. I told him my darkest secrets, which I haven’t told anyone in a long time. I thought I felt something between us, some sort of connection. He held me when I needed comfort, and I was stupid enough to let him.
I let him hold me in his arms, cuddled into him like we are some kind of couple. I let him whisper sweet nothings in my ear while I cried myself to sleep, thinking this morning will be better. Things are going to change now.
I’m so naïve. Naïve and stupid.
That’s all I can think of since I woke up alone and cuffed to the bed. Betrayal settles deep into my bones, and I keep telling myself I need to hold on to this. I need to remember this, no matter how sweet he is at times. It’s all lies, and he doesn’t care about me.
I am his prisoner, his plaything, something he bought and put away when he doesn’t need it at the moment. And when he’s done playing, he’s going to get rid of me. I have to get away before that happens because for Alaric,getting rid ofmeans he’s going to kill me.
The house is quiet, and I know he’s not here because when I first woke up, I spent five minutes yelling his name. There’s no clock in this room, so I have no way of telling the time, but my bladder tells me I need to get up and go to the bathroom.
I am so mad at him I entertain the thought of peeing in the bed out of spite, but I don’t know how he would react, and frankly, I would be too embarrassed.
By the time I finally hear someone in the house, my bladder hurts from holding it for so long. I yell his name, and it doesn’t take him long to appear in the room.
“Unless you want a yellow stain on your mattress, you need to hurry up and let me go to the bathroom.”
“I didn’t wanna wake you up, but I went to the grocery store and got some food,” he explains but doesn’t give me an apology. Not that his apology would mean anything to me.
He pulls the key from his pocket and quickly unlocks my handcuffs. I dash off the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. Running to the toilet, I pull my panties down just in time to relieve myself.
Afterward, I take my sweet time in the bathroom, washing my hands and face, brushing my teeth, and combing my hair. It’s a small act of defiance, but the thought of him waiting on me does make me feel a tiny bit better.
When I run out of things to do, I slowly open the bathroom door, ready to give him my best angry face, only to find he is not in the room anymore. I look around, dumbfounded, and even stick my head into the closet, but he is nowhere to be found.
Did he leave me here on my own… uncuffed?
The excitement of that thought doesn’t even have time to build before I hear the sounds of dishes clinking together coming from the kitchen. So he didn’t leave. Still, this is the first time he let me out of sight without restraining me. This is my chance.
I look around the room to find my clothes. Getting dressed quickly, I curse myself for wasting so much time in the bathroom. How long did he sit here and wait? When is he going to come and check on me? Maybe this is a bad idea.
Before I can talk myself out of this, I tiptoe to the window and unlock the two latches. I push it up… or at least I try to. Using both hands, I shove the window up using all my strength, but it won’t budge. Confused, I scan the corners of the window and find a metal lock deadbolts to the edge. Fuck!
Briefly, I entertain the thought of trying to break the window, but I don’t think I could, and even if I was able to, the loud sound would alert him before I could make it far. I need a better plan.
Balling my hands into fists, I take a deep breath, forcing the adrenaline from my failed escape to stop pumping through my body so he won’t suspect anything.
When I find myself calm enough, I take off my shoes and put them back exactly the way I found them. I make my way into the kitchen and find him in front of the stove. The butter sizzles as he cracks eggs into a large pan, filling the space with a savory breakfast smell.
“I figured you would be hungry,” he tells me. “I got eggs and bacon from the store, pancake mix too. I didn’t know what you’d prefer.”
“Yes, I’m hungry.” I try to keep my voice even. “Eggs are great. I’m not picky.” I’ve never had the luxury of being picky about food. When you grow up the way I did, either you eat what you have or you go hungry. Everything tastes good when you’re hungry enough. “Can I help you with anything? I feel weird just standing here and watching you do all the work.”
“You can get another pan for the bacon. It’s in the cabinet under the kitchen island.”
“Okay.” I step past him to get to the island behind him. Leaning down, I open the cabinet and look inside. There are multiple frying pans and pots inside. I grab a skillet that’s going to be great for bacon. I reach inside and wrap my fingers around the cast-iron handle.
As soon as I pick it up and realize how heavy this thing is, an idea forms in my head. Peeking over my shoulder, I make sure he is still turned away from me.
My eyes fall on his broad back, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he stirs the eggs. Gripping the handle tightly, I stand up straight and tiptoe behind him.
My heart is racing furiously, the rapid beat of it knocking the air from my lungs. I lift the heavy cast-iron pan over my head, cringing at the thought of hurting him. I’ve never hurt anyone, but I know I have to do this. I have to. For me and for Grams.
