Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
"Do you understand me?" he says, with that ultra-fixation that’s making me squirm. It was nice when he was focused on asking questions, but now that he's correcting me, I feel as if I'm withering under the laser stare. Yes, yes, fine.
“Fine," I breathe. "I guess I'm a prisoner and all that." I turn my head away from him so I don't have to look at him. Something tightens in my throat when I realize that this is part of what my family is. This is what they do.
“Off we go,” he says with a grip on my arm as he marches me outside.
Okay, so the outhouse is one of the most disgusting concepts ever. It's a literal tiny shack in the middle of the woods with a hole where I’m supposed to—no, wait, we’re both supposed to do our business?
Gross. I don’t even use public restrooms if it can be helped.
Something tells me things are going to get a lot grosser before they get better, if they ever do.
How do the Survivor people do it? No one ever talks about peeing or… worse… in the woods and having to use like leaves to wipe your ass. What about shaving your legs? There's no way he's giving me a razor. I shudder. I shave every day and feel like little trees are growing from my stubble if I go longer than twenty-four hours without shaving.
And then I realize with a cold sort of fear… this is part of my punishment.
I've been stripped of all the comfort that I was raised with, every luxury my family could afford. I have no one to drive me anywhere, no house cleaner to make my bed, no personal chef to give me my platter of food or make me a side salad. No mother to give me an allowance, or older brother to bail me out if I get in trouble. No luxury car to drive me to the city to meet my friends, and I am definitely not getting a manicure anytime soon.
Why do people like situations like this? I shiver and open the door to the gross outhouse. I scream. Dario’s two paces behind me so when I scream, he’s right there.
"What is it?" I don't realize at first that he has a gun drawn.
I point a shaking finger to a disgusting spider with the longest legs I've ever seen.
"It’s—it’s—it's a spider." I manage to stammer. He laughs, actually laughs at me, the asshole.
“Arachnophobia’s a real thing,” I mutter.
He reaches down and picks up the spider by a leg. My heart’s racing so fast I feel like I'm gonna pass out. I turn away, woozy, trying to calm my racing nerves and he has the audacity to look amused.
"This isn’t even a spider, it’s a daddy longlegs. Looks like a spider, kinda, but just an insect with really long legs. It’s completely harmless." I want to tell him to skip the science lesson, but I can’t talk.
He throws it back into the woods, then sobers, his voice hardening. “Now get in there before I bring you in there myself."
Even in the dark, kind of smelly outhouse, I take a minute to appreciate the fact that I'm alone for the first time.
This is my… luxury. I need to think about how I can get away. This story doesn't end well in my current predicament. He'll interrogate me, probably violate me somewhere, and report back to my family. My family will probably turn on me, or at their most merciful marry me off to someone I've never met. There is no freedom at the end of any of these roads.
I need to find a way to get out of here. It has to be the pinnacle of my focus: my escape. If I’m already dead to them, the only risk with me escaping is that I’ll be found out and killed.
What do I have to lose?
Is living a life orchestrated by someone else any different than dying anyway?
But Dario won’t be easy to fool. The only time I'll probably be able to escape is when he's sleeping. He barely even lets me pee alone. But knowing him, he'll probably cuff me to the bed and then hold me while we sleep. That isn't gonna work.
I can find a weapon, or at least observe a way to escape when we're out of the cabin, maybe if we take a casual stroll in the woods. I can't outrun him, that much I know for a fact, because he's definitely athletic and taller than I am, and if I tried that I think that I would really end up regretting it. He would capture me, and punish me, and neither one of those things sound like a good option.
I circle back to the weapon idea.
“You’re taking a long time for someone who just wants to pee,” he says right outside the door. I roll my eyes.