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I’m trapped.
What do I do?
Taking a deep, calming breath, I try to rein myself in, but it doesn’t stop the sweat that has broken out across my brow.
I cross my hands over my chest and try to ground myself. Try to stop the impending panic attack.
Inhaling, I hear the melody in my head. The one that calms me.
My fingers move.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I need to be rational.
Maybe he’ll let me out if I play the game right.
Concentrating on the vibration of the beat, I feel my pulse slow, and my nerves come back under control. Music has always been a way I’ve dealt with stress in the past. Stress typically associated with Roman. How unfair that his actions are still causing me havoc.
Once I’m completely calm, I slip into strategy mode.
I need to get outside to get a better lay of the land.
The only way to do that is to get out of this room. I jump up from the floor and step toward the door, banging my fist against the wooden barrier just hard enough to get someone’s attention.
“Hello!” I holler. “Anyone out there? I have questions.”
When no one answers, I try again. “Please…I want to talk,” I beg, and the sound of my pitiful pleading pisses me off. “Open the damn door.”
I hit the wood with my palm, and pain ricochets from the move. It’s too sturdy. Much thicker than the crappy ones in my apartment. It might as well be steel. Yet another reminder of where I am.
I slink back down to the floor in a pool of pathetic.
Damn, that hurt. Everything hurts.
My life is one giant mess.
I look at my hands. The insides and knuckles are both red from my attempted assault on the door. I’m lucky I didn’t break the skin. I’ll probably bruise, though. And for what? No one has answered. I’m still stuck in this room.
I slump against the door, ready to give up and accept defeat, when something occurs to me. Just because he didn’t answer doesn’t mean he can’t hear me.
I tilt my head up and look straight at the smoke detector.
Here goes nothing.
“I know you can hear me.” My gaze is heavy on the camera. At least, I hope that’s what it is. Otherwise, I’m losing my mind. I shake that thought off and continue. “I need answers about my brother.”
I inhale deeply before pushing the oxygen out of my mouth. “I’m ready to talk,” I promise. “I’ll be calm. I just need to know why he would want me protected.”
My hand lifts, and I run it through my unruly hair. I probably look like a wild animal after my fight with the door. Feeling self-conscious, I give the strands a tug, further irritating me.
I’m frustrated. A part of me wants to crawl into bed and hope that when I wake up, all of this is just a bad dream. Unfortunately, I know it’s not.
“We didn’t have a relationship,” I admit, dropping my hands to my sides and lowering my head until my chin almost rests against my chest. “You really don’t need to protect me. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fourteen.”
That truth washes away the anger and frustration and allows sadness to creep in. I’ve been on my own for so long. I’ve fought my own battles and demons, and today isn’t any different.
Except it is.
