Page 101

Slowly, I strip out of my hoodie and toss it to the side. The t-shirt beneath it is torn and stained; dried blood crusts it to my skin in the places where shards of the broken window I’d escaped through cut into my skin.

Being as careful as possible so I don’t hurt myself further, I pry the t-shirt from my body and set it on top of the sink, then study my abdomen in the mirror.

Bruises line the left side of my ribcage. Nasty purple and yellow splotches that ache whenever I move. The horrifying memories play out in real time as I stare at the handiwork my captor left. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my hands begin to tremble.

The “R” that was carved into the tender skin of my stomach. A horrific reminder that whoever took me considered me his. Owned. Possessed. Like a toy you’d label with your name.

My chest constricts, breathing turning ragged as everything I’ve buried comes flooding to the surface.

Dad always told me to react in the present and panic later.

Now, tucked away in this apartment, secured behind an alarm system, I feel that panic surge forward.

I can feel the monster’s breath on my neck.

The weight of his fists.

His boots.

I drop to my knees, the cries I’d been so afraid to let out escaping freely now.

God, I know You are still there and You are still good. But please help me. I don’t understand. And I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t want to spend my life running, and I am too terrified to do anything else. Please, Lord. Please.

Warmth bathes against the skin of my face, and I yawn. For a brief moment, I can simply enjoy the feel of soft sheets against my body. But then I stretch, and pain is a stark reminder of everything I’ve been through.

I open my eyes to see a ceiling fan whirring slowly over my head.

Today, I will have to leave this place and find somewhere else to hide until I can learn who to trust. Going to the police the first time didn’t help—in fact, it only escalated things.

I’m not a woman with endless resources or the knowledge of people who help you disappear, so my only choice is to run. Tears burn the corners of my eyes at the thought of leaving this place.

This comfortable bed.

The warm shower.

My stomach burns with hunger since that pizza is the only thing I’ve eaten in two days.

Come on, Sadie. Get up, girl. Keep moving.

So, even as I want to stay here forever, I know that I can’t. Staying in one place too long could mean he’ll catch me. Running is the difference between life and death, so running it is.

I push the sheets off me, then sit up, swinging my heavy legs over the edge of the bed.

The sweats he loaned to me last night swallow up my legs and feet, but they’re the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn. Or maybe that’s just because I’ve been living in the same pair of jeans for longer than I can even count.

When I stand, his shirt falls to just past my hips, but it doesn’t hit my injuries, and for that, I am endlessly grateful.

I start toward the bathroom, but a piece of paper on the ground catches my attention.

My hands begin to tremble.

This is how it started.

Little notes.

Easy, Sadie. If it were him, you wouldn’t have woken in a soft bed alone. You would have been dragged from this place and thrown back into a cold, damp, dark cellar.

Shoving the fear aside—for now—I move forward and kneel to lift the sheet of notebook paper.