Better Off

27

I don't know how long I sit in this stupid chair after Franco leaves. I'd say hours, but it might just feel that way. My parents have to be worried sick by now. Frankly, I am too. I don't know if I'm going to make it out of this alive, and that's the scariest thing of all. As much as I don't want Thorne to go to his father and steal his money, I'm almost wishing that he would. I don't want to be here any more. I'm tired and sore and hungry and weak, and I just want someone to save me already.

That's when it hits me that that's not the mindset I should be in right now. If I want someone to save me, why don't I do it myself?

I don't know how long it takes for me to wrap just one of my fingers around the end of the rope that's holding me hostage, as it's on the back of the chair. From there, it takes a while to slowly—but surely—begin to untie the rope that keeps me bound to this uncomfortable chair. After what feels like an eternity, I'm finally out of the stupid chair. I kick it as hard as I can when I'm finally free, wincing as soon as my foot begins to throb.

Watching the chair crash to the ground so hard one of the legs splinters makes the pain worth it, though.

Getting out of the chair was the easy part, as hard as that is to believe. There's not a single window in this Godforsaken room, and the door blends in with the wall. I can't remember exactly which direction Franco exited from, so I have to run my hand over the walls until I finally come in contact with something cold and metal feeling—the door that's painted the same shade as the walls. There's no knob on the door from the inside, and I can feel my heart sinking in my chest. I'm too small to break open a metal door. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I hurl myself at it, or toss the chair at the entrance, the door doesn't budge.

It's locked from the outside. Once someone is trapped inside of this room, they are never supposed to get out. My own white-covered prison, where I am to be held for God knows how long.

I guess that's when I start to lose hope. I slump to the ground in a daze, realizing that this is it. This is really it. Unless Thorne appears with that money soon, I'm done for. And he probably doesn't even know I'm here. And even if he does know where I am, why should he care? I can't exactly blame him if he chooses not to go to the trouble of getting me out of this hellhole.

That's when the tears start to fall. I'm sobbing, choking on air as I gasp for breath, leaning against the door and wondering how I even got into this mess. I bury my head into my arms, sobbing into my skin. I want this to be over already. I've never felt so hopeless in my life.

I spend the next few minutes/hours (time moves like eternity when you're alone with absolutely nothing to occupy you) crying and acting out in rage. I slam my hands against the door, even though I know it's useless. I stupidly punch the wall, which only makes my hand start to throb in rhythm with my head and my foot.

I know I should just calm down and be quiet, because all I'm doing is causing a ruckus. If Franco didn't know I'd managed to untie myself from that stupid chair before, he does now. Unless this room is soundproof, anyone within fifty feet can probably hear me succumb to a psychotic mess.