That answer doesn’t surprise me. My lips purse before I ask carefully, “Since I’m trapped with you, can you at least tell me your name?”
He chuckles. “Tonkitgrol, but you can call me Kit.”
“Kit,” I say, mulling over his name. “Okay, well, Kit, so we’re clear, I hate you.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
five
. . .
I leanagainst the window and watch the world, the world that should be mine, pass by. Someone else is living my life, and all I can do is stand here. My fingers clutch against what appears as glass, the only divider between my utter helplessness and the outside world. I don’t know whether it’s better or worse that he’s letting me watch.
I stare at my hand, still donned in fingerless gloves. Is this a permanent accessory in here—like a fixed part of my being in the way that the clothes of a person in a picture are? I slip my fingers under the glove on my left hand, tracing up my palm to pull it off. I toss the freed glove away from me, and it disappears from existence. This action gets repeated with the glove on my right hand. That little task cements that I have an ounce of freewill in here that I refuse to let wither away. I’m going to grasp it firmly and keep it close to my heart.
One way to do that is to not let Kit forget I’m here.
I tap my pointer finger on the glass twice. “Demon man?”
His voice drops in, “Yes, Lacy?”
“How long have you been inside of me?”
He snorts. “What a strange and sexually suggestive way to ask that question.”
A small growl emanates from my throat.
He checks his phone—ahem,myphone. It’s four thirty p.m. “A little over twelve hours.”
Twelve hours. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not long, but it’s twelvehoursI’ve lost. Twelve hours of my life that I will never get back—twelve hours to add to however many hours, days, months I’ll be held prisoner.
As we stroll the path in the forest, time feels both endless and nonexistent. I gnaw my lip. “Is that all?”
“Yup.” His mouth pops on the P. “You woke up pretty much immediately. Very annoying.”
My jaw hitches. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you leave me alone?”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he says seriously.
“I have to work tomorrow,” I protest.
“Now you don’t.”
I try again. “I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up.”
“And?
“Ineedthat job.” Earnings from my videos may pay some bills, but my day job is my main form of socialization beyond my sister and deceased people. No response. “Kit.”
Nothing.
Whatever. I keep the window open but move to sit, slidingdown the smooth wall and pressing the back of my head to the cool surface. I don’t want to give up, but pestering him is not working. If I want him to let me go, if I want to escape, I need a better plan.
My head goes back between my knees. This beyond sucks. I hate to keep complaining, but I have nothing else to do.
Suddenly, I hear my voice. Not coming from me. I mean,thisme. I pull myself back up and peep through the window to see my phone on an active call.Megs?I think hopefully.
“Yeah,” I’m saying, somber and serious. “Sorry for the last-minute notice, my brother is just…I don’t know that he’s going to be okay.”
