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I huff and sit up on the bed. I’m not at all bothered by the bright light or the three-dimensional portrait of the Virgin Mary.
What would happen if I started to scream? I dart my eyes around the room, then, for the umpteenth time, I stand from the bed, fasten the sash of my robe tightly, and go over to the window to peep through the fog.
I can’t say if it’s spray paint or some technology at work, but it’s impossible to see anything through the window. And the most annoying part is that it takes up one-third of this room.
Absolute darkness wherever I look.
Are there people walking on the other side? The building is a castle. Ornate in its right. Intimidating like the owner. And a little cold and withdrawn from civilization. It’s mesmerizing at first glance and somehow creates an illusion of safety.
Ronan made a house that depicts his personality.
I tap on the glass wall with my finger and nurse the thought of banging hard against it. But then I withdraw it.
He is doing this to keep me safe.
I believe him.
But I’m not used to being locked up and restricted.
I’m not used to doing nothing.
What I love about my frenetic life is waking up knowing I have my bakery to go to, that I have people to feed, and that I can make them happy with the food I make.
I puff, my brain melting like gelatin under heat as I retire to the queen-size bed where I spent the night twisting and turning.
I can’t even tell what time of the day it is, and there is nothing in here to keep my mind occupied.
Absolutely nothing.
No books, no television, no nothing.
Just me and this oversized, intimidating sprawl of a warm brown and daring white bedroom. Just me and the thoughts of my captor, my high school obsession.
Because no matter how much I want to think Ronan is doing this to protect me, I cannot, and must not, lose sight of the fact that I’m here against my will. That I’m a prisoner in his house until he sets me free.
I wonder what will happen when he finds no evidence.
I didn’t kill Barbara.
I plop back onto the bed, letting my back rest on the mattress as I stare at the glossy ceiling, my mind drifting back to my kiss with Ronan.
We kissed.
I clamp my legs and twist to the side as I feel myself getting wet from the mere thought of his lips on mine.
The Ronan effect. Ever scorching.
I take press a finger on my lower lip, letting my eyes close for a bit. I allow myself a moment of respite from fighting my thoughts and give in to what my body needs.
How far do I really think I can go?
I let my finger stroke my lips, and this time, I bite on it gently.
I am startled when the door of the bedroom sways open.
I sit up, not sure what I should feel.
I can immediately sense it’s not Ronan. What if someone got in and wants to kill me?
