Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 55445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I go to try the front door, but the instant my hand is on the door knob, the driver's voice bellows out, "No." That single word is all the warning he offers. It's because it's all he has to say. I’m not about to try and bust through that door. I saw the muscles on him. He was nice to me, but still…he’s a tough stranger in charge of keeping me in here. Posted at the door. That’s kind of insane.
Well, fuck. I'm not alone. But as long as I'm on this side of the door and he's on that one, I'm okay with that. I go back to my room and sit on the bed, letting my mind run wild with possibilities of how to escape.
6
Sarah
Over the next few days, Damien settles me into the odd reality of living with him. I think, for the first two days, about all of the schoolwork I should be doing. About how college means having a thousand things to read…and I’ll be behind.
Something sinks into my stomach the third day, between the regular time when I have dinner—whether he is there or only his chef—and before I go back to my room for the night.
I no longer think about school or think I’m going back. How could I accept so soon that I don’t have control of my life anymore?
It sickens me to admit it. But I know that I’m accepting this new life because in a twisted way, I’m living better than I ever did. In some way, I’m happier than I ever was.
Even when work takes Damien away for the day, a chef prepares my meals. An unseen maid cleans my clothes. The bath products and wardrobe he supplies, well they cost more than a semester’s tuition of the school I no longer miss. I don’t know how I can possibly feel this way. I should be horrified. Missing school. Missing my life.
I certainly don’t miss my parents, and I don’t have a problem with that. From what I’ve managed to piece together after long hours in thought and reflection, they owed Damien a large sum of ill-gotten money. But they had already spent it. So they sold me off to Damien like I was a chair or a desk. So what if they didn’t realize I wanted to get away and this was more an escape from them for me as much as I was a ticket to debt release for them?
The fact of the matter is that whether or not I—dare I say—prefer my life right now has no bearing on how wrong it was for them to give me away like they did.
Of course, I like this time because right now, nothing is happening. Damien gives me looks that are pure hunger when he thinks I’m not watching. I obey what he says and I say nothing. The first day, I was too nervous to realize we never said anything to each other. The next day, I was intentionally waiting for him to say something. I don’t know what to do at this point. I don’t want to escape the seemingly safe bubble of whatever transition period we are currently in. I don’t want to find out what comes next.
After getting used to this idea that he leaves…well, I know that I have to do something. I know my brain is catching up with this strange reality. I have to find out what his plans are for me. I have to find a way out.
There’s only one way to do that. I have to work with what’s around me. The only asset I have in this situation is that Damien leaves me alone. The chef comes and goes. There’s no chance of me escaping because the driver—or some guard—stays posted at the door. Damien doesn’t tell me his schedule, but if I can just do my snooping meticulously and quickly, I will be able to get away with it.
That’s right, snooping.
What? I’m still a woman, aren’t I?
At first, digging through Damien’s penthouse is utterly terrifying. I spend a ridiculous hour walking around and trying to look nonchalant while I try to figure out if cameras are watching me. If there are cameras, I don’t recognize any. I pick a single thing—a document tray in the foyer with a few envelopes, papers, stubs, and such things inside. I look at the entire stack as it is before I touch it. I memorize the placement. I remove one piece at a time, looking at it and then taking mental note of how to replace it at its exact angle. I start so close to the door that my only warning I am about to get caught will be that door opening and seeing me. My heart doesn’t calm down for hours after I finish snooping in that one spot, and I lie in bed that night having half-awake nightmares about being caught snooping.