Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
My heart thuds in my chest, and the blood drains from my face. “Don’t do this,” I whisper, but my words fall on deaf ears. Jay turns his back on me and I scramble off the bed, but he’s through the door and slamming it shut just a moment before I can reach him.
“No!” I scream at him, pounding my fists against the door. Bang! Bang! “Don’t leave me in here!” I cry out for Jay as tears stream down my face and my voice goes raw. “Jay!”
Bang! Bang! I don’t stop screaming; I don’t stop pounding.
For so long I’ve dreamed of him coming back for me. I prayed he’d be safe.
If only I’d known.
I turn my back to the door, leaning against it as I slowly slide to the floor. My shoulders hunch and I feel useless, hopeless… worst of all, like a child again.
Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m back in the past all those years ago. But back then, Jay was my shoulder to cry on. My protector. My savior.
Now, I’m truly alone.
John. I hear him say his name in the depths of my memory, I see the look in his eyes and my own pop open.
He’ll come back at some point. And hopefully sooner, rather than later.
John will come back, and I can use him. Tears prick my eyes, and my throat closes with emotion. I can’t do that to him. I’m consumed by guilt. I can’t stop having flashbacks of me running away.
But I have to try. Jay’s not well, and I have to get him help. He’s not okay, and I can’t just stay here waiting around. Not for Jay, and not for John. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Chapter 8
Robin
I open my eyes slowly; the light is still harsh, and my head’s groggy. The chill is starting to get to me, and I’ve only just now realized I’m still in my thin silk nightgown.
That fucking bastard. I clench my hands into fists and grind my teeth as I try to comprehend what’s happened.
He’s alive. Jay is alive.
That little bit of knowledge in and of itself is earth shattering to me. My head falls back against the door and my throat feels tight. My heart aches for him.
I struggle to breathe as I push up from the floor and lean against the door to stand. My eyes slowly focus on the room he’s put me in, and it feels like a spike to my chest. A sob tries to escape, but I push it down, swallowing it and refusing to cry.
It looks the same as before… like a deliberate attempt to bring me back.
I shake my head. No, this isn’t the same. “It can’t be.” The words creep through my lips as my shoulders quiver.
Cinder block walls yes, but the wall with the door is drywall. I blink the tears back, my eyes going glassy as I turn to face it and then the bed. It only has a simple frame with a mattress covered by a white fitted sheet and a thin white sheet on top. Only one pillow is on the bed, also white and still rumpled from where I was lying.
There was never a bed before. Was there? I don’t remember one.
No, that’s something I would remember. I’m sure of it. I lay on the ground next to him with a tattered blanket. Instinctively I look for the blanket, as if it’ll be crumpled in a corner. The far right corner, the one farthest from the door. The one where we used to huddle together.
I swallow thickly, brushing my eyes with the back of my hand.
This room is made to look the same, but it’s not.
That house was burnt down. I remember the smell. The ashes. I remember the fear that he was in there when it happened. That the boy had died, and was burned alive. I wanted to die myself. I screamed, and the officer held me close until my mother came to me.
She was crying, too. Even as she held me firmly against her chest, my tears soaked her shirt and hers fell into my hair.
The knowledge that there was no one inside didn’t take the pain away. A pain that’s never left me, a pain that’s enough to render me useless in this moment.
My eyes feel heavy as I turn to the door again. It doesn’t look like the old door. It was steel and gray. It was a door that couldn’t be broken down. This one is painted white with a simple handle. No locks.
“No locks,” I whisper and lick my dry lips.
I reach a hand out and then look up toward the ceiling. The far right is where the camera was all those years ago. I make a full circle, the sound of my feet shuffling across the floor accompanies me as I search for cameras in the room. But there are none.