I lay still for a long time, trying to convince my body it was safe to move. I felt detached from myself. Somehow, my brain thought that if I didn't acknowledge the ache, maybe it wouldn't be real.
Eventually, the silence stretched long enough that I knew he had to be asleep.
I forced myself to sit up.
It took more effort than I expected. My balance wavered, and for a second, I thought I might fall straight backdown. My arms throbbed, and my shoulders protested the movement, pulled tight by the way my wrists were bound behind me.
My fingers found the buckle and felt along the strap, but the leather was stiff and dug into my wrists. I tried to ignore the pain as I twisted against the belt. It wouldn't give.
The fucking thing wasn't tied. It was actually buckled. I couldn't slip out of it.
Panic flared in my chest and spread fast. I couldn't be here when Marcus woke up. I didn't know what he might do if he got his hands on me again, and I didn't want to find out, either.
I braced myself and began to twist, dragging my knees up and slouching as far as I could. The position strained my already sore muscles. Getting my arms under and around my legs wouldn't be easy. It was going to hurt.
But I didn't have another option.
I gritted my teeth and started to move.
The stretch yanked at my shoulders. Pain shot straight down my arms, sharp enough to make my breath hitch. My wrists twisted against the belt, the skin raw and tender from the friction. I had to go slow enough not to make noise, but fast enough not to lose my nerve.
Bit by bit, I curled inward and dragged my arms down. Every inch felt like it took an eternity. The pull in my shoulders burned. I thought I might be sick from the pain alone.
But then I broke through.
My bound hands slid down to rest in my lap, and I exhaled a hard, shaky breath.
Relief surged through me. Shallow and temporary, but real. I sat hunched forward, letting the ache pulse through my muscles while I forced myself to stay quiet. I couldn't stop yet. Not until I was out of here.
I looked down at my hands and froze.
Even in the darkness, I could see how deep the belt had cut in. Angry red lines circled both wrists, and one had broken the skin. A thin smear of blood had already started to dry. My fingers flexed instinctively, but the sting was immediate. I winced and twisted to see if I could reach the buckle with my fingers, but I couldn't. The angle was all wrong, and every time I strained for it, the leather bit in deeper.
I brought the buckle to my mouth, teeth searching for the prong, and started to work it free. The taste of metal and sweat turned my stomach, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. The belt creaked faintly with each tug. My jaw ached. My breath caught with every scrape, every slip that pulled too hard and made me flinch.
At last, something gave. The buckle slipped just enough for the leather to loosen, and I yanked my hands free.
I rubbed at the deep marks on my wrists, my fingers trembling as I worked feeling back into them. My limbs felt heavy and clumsy, but I didn't give myself time to dwell on it. I felt along the nightstand in search of my glasses. When my fingers finally closed around them, I shoved them onto my face without checking if they were smudged.
I pushed to my feet, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. My legs were shaky, but they held. I moved toward the door and stopped just short of touching it. I held my breath and listened.
Nothing. No footsteps. No shuffling. Just silence.
Slowly, I twisted the knob and nudged the door. It gave with a soft click and a low groan from the hinge. I froze again. Still no movement. I eased it open enough to slip through and stepped into the hallway.
The flat was dark and still. No sign of Marcus. I didn't bother closing the door behind me. I wasn't risking the noise. I just kept moving until I made it to the front door and reached for my bag where I left it.
It wasn't there.
My chest tightened. I checked again, crouched down, ran my hand along the floor around the table in case it was just hidden in the darkness. Nothing.
My phone was in that bag. My wallet, my keys. Everything.
He'd hidden it. He planned this.
A cold knot formed in my gut, but I couldn't waste time looking. If Marcus had hidden my things, he'd expect me to come back for them. But he wasn't going to lure me in again. When I came back, it'd be with the police to collect every last fucking thing I had here.
I hurried to the door. My fingers barely brushed the knob as I twisted it and slipped out of the flat and out of the building in my bare feet.
