Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Food.
My stomach growls angrily. I sit upright, wishing all this were a dream, but I’m met with the same prison bedroom and a pounding headache.
And my socks are gone.
I cry out because the fact another piece of my clothing is gone without my realizing is too terrifying to comprehend. Have I been drugged again? That would explain the sluggishness in my veins and lingering headache.
I hate these monsters.
With tears flooding my eyes, I note that I’m once again in a queen-sized bed. The room size is exactly the same as is the paint color. I can’t smell the laundry detergent on the bedding because the food smell overpowers it. Slowly, I slip out of bed, the cold assaulting my feet the second they’re on the floor.
First, I rush over to the curtains.
No window.
I leap past a silk robe lying in a heap and shudder. The other two were chenille. This whole situation is really starting to freak me out. I next run into the bathroom and there’s no loofa or washcloth or any shampoo or conditioner or bodywash. The fixtures aren’t nickel but instead a cream-colored porcelain.
Crushing overwhelmingness nearly makes my knees buckle. I brace my bruised shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom to catch my breath and stave off the waves of dizziness.
They’re doing this to you to make you feel crazy, Romy.
I stagger over to the bedroom door and try the knob. Locked. A choked sob rattles through me. Weakly, I pound on the door.
No one comes.
Then something brushes over my toes. I stifle a scream, thinking it’s a mouse, but it’s just a notecard. Bending over, I pluck it up and read the manly writing.
Eat, Romy. You’ll need your strength.
The notecard even smells like him. Caius. I mean, it could be from Orion or one of the other men, but I find it easier to associate it with him for some reason. Choosing one person to blame feels a lot more manageable than taking my fight to the entire Crowne family.
I crumple the note in my hand and skim my gaze over to the nightstand. There, calling like a beacon of hope, sits a plate of food. My cold feet practically run toward the colorful spread.
Scrambled eggs, flaky croissant, blackberries, strawberries, and two pieces of crisp bacon. Beside it is a glass of orange juice and two red ibuprofen tablets.
I’ve never been so happy to see food in all my life.
I swipe at the tears now rolling down my cheeks as I dive into the food like the starved captive I am. Everything tastes sweeter and more savory than I could have imagined. After gulping down the orange juice and taking the pain medicine, I then pick up the plate to lick off any crumbs or croissant flakes left behind.
Already, I feel a thousand times better.
Since I have no one to talk to and absolutely nothing to do, I crawl back into bed. But rather than lying down, I cover my chilled feet and sit against the headboard.
Think.
How am I going to get out of here?
Since they keep coming after me while I sleep, it’s obvious I need to do whatever it takes to stay awake. I’m not sure how to do that, but sitting in the bed seems like I’m already failing that mission. I yawn heavily and then wonder if my food was drugged.
Stupid!
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. My entire body shakes and my teeth chatter. The isolation is killing me.
My mind drifts back to class with Megan. I remember when we were trying to choose our conspiracy theory topic. We’d been interested in most of them, to be honest. The topics varied from satanic elite pedovore—a disgusting, and hopefully complete fiction, combination of a pedophile and carnivore who eats the flesh of kids—families who subsist on adrenochrome to intelligent aliens walking among us, to MK Ultra mind control to people living in a matrix, to underground tunnels used to traffic children, to flat Earth theories, to the Illuminati, to human cloning and so on. Our professor said they were either made up or they were all a part of a huge government coverup, but it was up to us to investigate and report back.
If only I could go back in time. I could have paid better attention to Megan. Maybe I could have prevented our kidnappings in some way.
When I start to nod off, I jolt and my heart races. Falling asleep again will only lead to another scenery change. I’m not sure my brain can handle another one without explanation.
I need something to ground me.
Some semblance of control.
The fork on the plate catches my eye. I reach over and snag it. Then I slide it into my hoodie pocket. If anything, it could be a useful weapon. Though I try desperately to stay awake, sleep drags me under anyway.