I don't turn around. Don't acknowledge it.
But when I get back to my room, I look.
Three books on the nightstand I didn't notice before.
Rebeccaby Daphne du Maurier.Wuthering Heights.The Handmaid's Tale.
He chose them. Deliberately.
I pick upRebecca. Open to the first page.
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.
I sit on the bed and start reading.
Lose myself in someone else's story.
Because it's easier than facing my own.
Three days pass.
I fall into a routine I hate.
Morning: wake up, shower, dress in clothes from the closet I don't want to accept.
Go down for breakfast.
Eat in silence while Vaughn reads the newspaper or answers emails on his phone.
Return to my room.
Afternoon: read.
Sometimes in the library.
Sometimes in my room.
Avoid Vaughn.
Evening: dinner.
Same as breakfast.
Silence. Tension. Return to my room.
Night: don't sleep. Listen to the silence. Plan escapes I can't execute.
Vaughn never touches me.
Never even tries.
He watches. Studies. Asks questions I don't answer.
But he doesn't touch.
It should be a relief.
It's not.
