Page 47 of Love You To Pieces

Please don’t open the door.

Please—

I let out a breath of relief when the footsteps keep going. By the sound of them, it was Fox, still in his boots, outside my door. Out of the two of them, I figure he’s the one more likely to come in, probably with the excuse of checking on me.

It’s another twenty minutes before a lighter set of steps climbs the stairs, and Deacon doesn’t even pause in front of my door. Not that I expected him to. But I still hold my breath as he walks by, not exhaling until I hear the door at the end of the hallway creak closed.

But I know my waiting game isn’t done. Not yet. Even if they intend to just sleep, I have to give them some time. Thirty minutes. Another hour, maybe.

In the end, I wait almost another two hours. The old, red-lit digital clock on the nightstand reads 1:14 AM before I finally force myself to sit up, the knife still in my hand and warm from how hard I’ve been gripping it. I can feel myself trembling, fearful, and I go through my list of options, as if there’s any other route I can take to get out of here.

But there isn’t. The doors are locked. There are cameras. I don’t know how to get out of here, even if I make it out the front door. I need a phone and keys.

I need leverage, and a way to avoid being caught again. More than that, I can’t keep sitting here doing nothing. I can’t keep existing in a state of limbo, neither dead nor truly living and not knowing what’s going to happen to me.

I hate the unknown.

I hate this.

The wooden floor of the hallway creaks under my feet, and I stop, eyes closing again. My heart races in my chest, and all I can think about is how the wood feels in the daytime, when it’s sun-warmed, and the lace curtains are billowing gently in the Texas summer breeze.

I could be happy here under much different circumstances. With a dog or six, and chickens, with horses like I always wanted as a child.

I could be happy.

With people who aren’t cannibals. Who don’t butcher people and feed their offal to pigs owned by down on their luck neighbors.

Waste not, want not.

The words echo unpleasantly in my head, and I have to take a moment to readjust my grip on the knife. I can’t let myself think about it for too long. Not when I know their words will start to make sense if I let them.

I know the economy sucks. I know people are poor and starving. In rural areas like this, I know how hard it is, especially in the agriculture industry.

I know all this, but from a safe, cushioned distance.

Fox and Deacon, however, live the reality of it.

And fuck. If I let them, those words will make way too much sense and resonate in dangerous ways.

So I can’t let them. Not if I’m going to do this.

My steps are careful and quiet as I continue down the hallway. Their bedroom lights are out, so all I can use is the moonlight filtering in from the windows at the other end of the L-shaped hall. The floors glow a cold silver, almost warning me away from their bedroom door, but I keep going until I’m standing in front of the heavy wood with my hand on the cool, brass knob.

I don’t have a choice.

It’s me or them, I remind myself.

And I will always, no matter what, choose me.

Very slowly, so fucking slowly that it feels almost like I’m not moving, I push open the door. It feels like it’s been oiled within an inch of its life, because it doesn’t make a sound, thank God. It just swings open so smoothly, almost like an invitation.

The windows on the far wall are open, and for the first time, I get a look at the inside of the room. It’s not quite as big as the closed-off, forgotten bedroom by the stairs, and it looks like it only has a walk-in closet instead of a bathroom, but it’s still bigger than the bedroom I’d been staying in.

The bed sits against the wall, its headboard large and almost looking hand-carved. Lit by moonlight, I can see one shape stretched out, and it takes a moment to recognize that it’s Fox there, face up, one hand thrown over his head on the pillow as he breathes in and out evenly.

But there’s no Deacon.

The realization terrifies me, and I glance around the room, seeing nothing. The closet door is closed, the horizontal slats dark, and I know there’s no way he’s in there unless he knew I was coming.