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I’ve done a lot of screaming and crying in the past hour––is that all it’s been?––and it’s left my eyes itchy and my throat dry.
Bottle in hand, I walk the perimeter of the room. There’s no guarantee that King, or someone else, won’t barge in again, but I have the feeling that I’ll be left alone the rest of the night.
Upon closer inspection, everything––the furniture, bedding, knickknacks––looks even more expensive than I first thought.
I almost smirk, maybe my mother wouldn’t be so disappointed in me after all. To her mind, snagging a rich husband is the pinnacle of success.
Husband.
My stomach clenches and I take another sip of water.
I don’t know how King sees this all going down. It’s not like I’ll willingly go with him to a church, or a courthouse, and say my vows, pretending like I’m not a freaking prisoner.
And if he wanted to kill me, he would’ve already done it. So, it’s hard to picture him using amarry me or dieargument.
I don’t want to die.
If he does give me that ultimatum, I guess I’d go through with it. Marriage isn’t quite as bad as death. And I’ll just keep looking for ways to escape. He can’t keep me locked in a bedroom forever.
My cheeks puff out with my next exhale as exhaustion overwhelms me.
I eye the bed, feeling leery of using it.
But there’s no point in trying to make a temporary bed in the closet or bathtub or whatever. This isn’t one of my vigilante assassin books where they’re always on the run and trying to outsmart whoever might be after them. This is me already being well and truly held captive. King knows I’m here, hiding within the room won’t change that.
I press my lips together, still staring at the bed.
I bet this is his room.
I bet he’s brought lots of women here.
Hopefully of their free will.
And…I bet that mattress is comfortable as hell. No way a man like King would skimp on his own bed.
But just as I think about crawling under the fluffy comforter, I become aware of just how gross and grimy I feel.
It’s been a long day. Getting ready earlier, to meet up with Lee, feels like a whole different lifetime.
For him, I guess it was.
I grimace at my own dark thoughts. I’m gonna need to start going back to therapy after this.
I look down at myself.
Regardless of all the other stuff, I’ve been wearing a bra longer than anyone ever should, so that has to go. And these jean shorts are starting to rub in places I don’t want them to rub, so something soft to wear would be nice. And my once-cute shirt is sticking to me from the panic sweat I suffered during my kidnapping, which means it needs to be washed, if not burned. And my feet…if I think too hard about how sore my feet are in these little flats I wore because they were cute, not comfortable, I’ll start crying all over again.
My eyes move back and forth between the open bathroom door, the bed, and a door that must lead to the closet.
“Screw it.”
I tuck the water under my arm and hold my breath as I try the unopened door, pleased when it opens without effort.
The door swings inward, and just like in the bathroom, soft light emanates from the fixtures. Only in this case, the light is glowing from underneath the shelves.
The closet is huge and well organized, but not exactly full. Which isn’t to say that King doesn’t have a ton of clothes––because he does––he just doesn’t have enough to fill this giant walk-in closet.
The light switch looks way more complicated than a light switch should, but after a moment I figure out how to turn on the recessed lights overhead.
