"I'd rather die."
"That's not one of your options." He stood. "I'll be back in a few hours. Think about your situation. Think about how hopeless it is. Think about how there's no escape. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
He left. The door closed. Locked with an audible click.
I sat alone in the basement and tried not to panic.
Time passed. I didn't know how much. No windows to judge daylight. No clock. Just darkness and silence and growing dread.
I tested the restraints again. Still tight. Still professional. No give.
I looked around the room for anything useful. Nothing. Just concrete walls and a bolted chair and that one high window showing darkness.
My mind raced. Trying to plan. Trying to figure out escape options.
But there weren't any. Dante was right. I was trapped. Completely helpless.
Memories kept surfacing. Unwanted. Intrusive. Flashbacks to when I was sixteen.
Dante's hands on me. His weight pinning me down. His voice sayingyou're mine, you've always been mine, stop fighting.
Fighting back. Desperate. Terrified. Using anything I could reach. A lamp. My fists. My teeth. Pure survival instinct taking over.
His blood. My father's rage afterward.You put him in the hospital. Humiliated the family. This is your fault.
Being sent away to "calm down." Being blamed for defending myself against assault.
Starting to plan my escape that day. Five years of planning. Leading to this.
Running from Dante only to end up back in his hands anyway.
No. No, that's not how this ends. I didn't survive sixteen to die at twenty-one. Didn't run across three states to give up now.
Elio was looking for me. I knew he was. He'd mobilize everything. Everyone. Tear the city apart until he found me.
I just had to survive until then. Had to stay strong. Had to keep fighting.
The door opened again.
Dante returned. Different clothes now. More casual. Like this was just a normal evening.
"Have you thought about your situation?" he asked.
"Yeah. I've thought about how you're going to die when Elio finds you."
He sighed. "Still defiant. That's disappointing. I was hoping you'd be more reasonable after some time to reflect."
He moved behind the chair again. I tensed. Waiting for pain. For violence.
Instead he started cutting my jacket off. Scissors slicing through fabric.
"Don't—"
"Shh. I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet. Just getting you more comfortable. We're going to be here a while. Might as well relax."
The jacket fell away. He moved to my shirt. Started unbuttoning it.
Panic surged through me. Real panic. Not controlled. Not manageable. Pure terror.
