Page 24 of Trust

As soon as the key turns, after a mumbled “Goodnight,” I lie down and draw the blanket close.

I’m angry and trapped. I’ve lost some battles today, but the war isn’t over.

In the end, I’ll win.

◆◆◆

Time unravels as I run.

Branches claw at my arms and whip across my face. I don’t slow down. I can’t. The thicket’s dense, grabbing at my legs like it wants to drag me under the forest floor and bury me. I push through, dodging low-hanging limbs and deadfall.

The adrenaline’s gone. The rush from the escape, from the scramble through the window, from hitting the ground, forcing my shoes on, and running. It’s gone. What’s left is bone-deep exhaustion. My water bottle’s been empty for who knows how long. My body’s done, but stopping is admitting defeat, and I refuse to give up.

There’s no road beneath me, no path ahead. Out here, it’s only me, the cold, and the constant panic rattling my ribs.

I try to remember what I learned about the sun, shadows, moss. Any survival tip I once half-heard. But even if there was any sunlight, which direction should I choose? This endless green labyrinth is a living, breathing trap suffocating me more the longer I stay in it. I should’ve known. Somehow, I did know.

This morning, I played nice. Pretended I could live with his rules. The way Chris looked at me after I “behaved” made me gag. All self-satisfied and content, like giving me a moment of privacy in the bathroom was some grand reward I’d earned.

Fuck him.

Plan A was simple: learn the layout, earn his trust, find a way out of my cell. Get a shot at that phone again. I’d only need one call to that pushy journalist who kept contacting me so often I memorized her number. Future governor has his daughter kidnapped would make a wild headline. After such a scandal, he’d lose everything, especially the power he holds over me. No one would expect me to stay with him after that.

Mom’s trust fund was supposed to be mine at twenty-one, but under these circumstances? Pretty sure a court would see reason. That amount of money would be enough to get away from him for good.

Now I’m on Plan B, and it’s draining me more than I was ready for.

On the way here, we stopped in the middle of the road, not far before we turned onto the bumpy forest trail. I heard a train nearby. The van vibrated when it passed. Where there are trains, there are stations. And where there are stations, there are people. And phones. One call is all I need.

Every step hurts. My feet are numb slabs, soaking wet since I slipped those sneakers back on without any socks. I didn’t have time to put them on after I came out of the bathroom barefoot and saw the window in Chris’s bedroom. It wasn’t locked, which I took as my invitation to climb out onto the canopy and down to the porch. The idea of being caged like some animal, never knowing when I’d eat again or when he’d finally let me out, made me snap. I wouldn’t be able to survive that kind of control, and I panicked.

I didn’t take the road we came in on or the trail near the lake. He’d check there first. I went straight through the tree line on the far side of the clearing.

And here I am.

My heels are raw, rubbed nearly bloody from the wet canvas grinding into my skin. My leggings are shredded by thornbushes. Tiny cuts sting my shins with every step. My hair’s a sticky mess plastered to my face, drenched in sweat, cooling the second it seeps from my pores.

This is hell.

I’m bleeding, sweating, freezing. Still, I don’t give in. The terrain fights me. Pain claws at every movement. The thought creeps in that the cabin might have been an easier hell to survive.

The forest is alive, trying to close around me, but I don’t want to give it the satisfaction. I think about turning around. Finding the way back. Taking the hit and living with the failure.

Wouldn’t be the first time. I always get over it.

One long exhale and a glance over my shoulder later, a shape catches my eye.

Through the branches, an unnatural line interrupts the green. Metal tracks.

The sight sends a flare of hope through me.

They carve through the trees like some forgotten relic from another time. Rusted and overgrown in places. No train’s been through here in ages, but I don’t care. Tracks go somewhere. And somewhere is better than circling the same ten acres of pine. Backtracking is out of the question.

I follow them, dragging my feet step by step. That’s all I can do now. I watch myself move, detached. As if my body keeps going without me, but at least it hasn’t completely given up yet.

I push through the underbrush, following the rusted rails until the forest suddenly falls away. For one breathless second, I think I’ve found it. Civilization. Salvation. Anything.

On the right side of the tracks, a building stands, its steep roof and narrow windows forming a shape that defies the wild. My pulse leaps. A station. Maybe people. Maybe help.