Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
But perhaps, from his point of view, it’s mercy. Or maybe he’s trying to give me time to escape.
He doesn’t know the door and windows are made of three-inch-thick hickory. And if I were him, a man—a big, strong one, at that—I probably could kick my way through it.
Long story short, I think he’s hedging.
He wants me to escape.
He just doesn’t want to be responsible if I do.
It’s not much—hell, it might not even be true—but it’s all I’ve got.
An idea begins to form in my head. And a little while later, I think I’ve actually got myself a plan. But it will only work if he comes back.
And I’m just not sure he will.
Many, many hours pass before I finally hear footsteps above me.
I get to my feet, tired—exhausted, actually—and bleary-eyed. But also ready. This is my last chance. Whatever reason he has for coming back doesn’t matter. I need for him to let me out. And I only know one way I can get him to do that.
When the trapdoor opens, I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs. I look right into his eyes, trying to not think about how kinda handsome he is—though that was my deciding ‘pro’ in the mental ‘pros and cons’ I was listing in my head for actually talking myself into what I’m about to do.
If he were ugly, it wouldn’t be impossible, but it would be harder to endure.
“Hi,” I say, giving him a smile.
“One more bathroom break? I won’t be here much longer, so I figured I’d ask.”
“Yes. Please.” I nod my head enthusiastically and smile bigger.
“Come up, then.” He takes a step back as I begin to climb. When I get to the top, he pans his hand to the hallway.
When I reach the bathroom, I go inside, leaving the door open like every other time.
But he closes it and doesn’t even say anything.
I relieve myself, cursing under my breath because he’s lost interest. The time to make this proposal was two days ago. It’s too late now.
But I can’t think that way. If I do, I’ll end up back in that prison cell and that’s where I will die. So when I come out of the bathroom—which is just a powder room, actually—I look him straight in the eyes. “How about that shower?”
His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What?”
“Can… can I take a shower? Before you leave? It’s been days. If you’re gonna leave me here to die, at least let me have one last shower.”
He shakes his head, ready to say no.
But before he can blurt out his negativity, I say, “With you, of course. A shower with you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
He frowns. Not an angry frown, either. But a pity frown. “It’s not gonna work, Clover. I don’t even know you. I don’t even like you. Taking a shower with you would be like taking a shower with a whore. Something owed. Something meaningless. Something to be forgotten.”
I nearly recoil at this insult, but control myself just in time. Then I smile and lift up one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “So? What do I care? I’ll be dead in… two weeks? Maybe sooner? Why not go out with a bang, ya know?” I chuckle at my pun, but he doesn’t.
It’s not working. And the moment I realize this, I frown. Then, before I can stop it, my chin is quivering and I’m on the verge of tears.
“Fine,” he says. “Take a shower. What do I care?” Then he pans his hand down the hallway.
There are two bathrooms on the first floor, but they are both power rooms. So we have to go upstairs. I’m halfway between the first and second floors when I smell the shampoo.
He’s already taken a shower today.
When we reach the top of the stairs, he motions to the bathroom. “Go ahead.” Then he backs up to the wall and slides down it.
“You don’t want to join me?” I ask, hope in my voice.
“Nah. But don’t let me stop you from enjoying it.” Then he turns his head and looks down the hallway.
Why? Why, why, why didn’t I enact this plan from the start? We could’ve been friends by now if I hadn’t been so difficult. Instead, I’m left looking like a desperate fool.
I go into the bathroom and close the door.
The water is barely hot, the only towel is still damp from when he used it, and there’s no shampoo, just a bar of industrial soap left over from the workmen, no doubt, that no woman in her right mind would use.
So I don’t even get clean.
I simply let the water run down my body for a couple minutes, then get out, towel off, and put my filthy dress back on.
The dress I got fired in.
The dress I got kidnapped in.