Page 73 of Caged

Darkness surrounds the terror of my thoughts. A voice. My voice? Familiarity descends. I know this room. I sat in that desk chair last night until two a.m., finishing the problem set due today. The bookshelf, the small refrigerator, the metal dog cage in the corner…

I lie frozen and listen. Gentle breathing sounds. Kieren is in bed with me. The door of his bedroom is closed, locked, I’m sure.

Nothing has changed in the few hours I’ve been asleep, yet a paralyzing terror has seized my body. I wait, unsure if it is safe to move, but also unsure why it wouldn’t be.

I play a game with myself – the kind where I tell myself when I reach the number ten, I’m going to get up. I’m going to move. But it’s a tortuous crawl. I get to ten and start over.

On my fifth attempt, I tell myself this time I will really commit. I won’t chicken out. It’s all in my head.

It’s all… in… my… head.

Five.

Come on, come on, come on.

Six.

You can do this.

Seven.

Do it.

Eight.

DO IT.

Nine.

Fucking suck it the fuck up Monroe and GET UP.

Ten.

I press into my palm, rising, and silently swing my legs over the bed. Heat chokes my neck.

Now go,I tell myself.

I stand, my feet planted firmly on the floor, and look around.

Where am I going?

With feather-light footsteps, I tiptoe to the door, praying the floorboards don’t creak this time, but then I look at the floor and remember it’s not wood, it’s concrete. Why did I think the floor was made of wood?

My hand lifts, extends, and encircles the metal knob. Twisting slowly…

Immediately, I drop my hand when I feel resistance, panicking that my attempt to test the lock was heard.

I swivel around without moving my feet.

Still asleep.

I pad with equal vigilance to the en suite bathroom and close the door, wincing as the old hinges squeal. The latch clicks into place once the door is fully shut, and I allow my lungs to fill to capacity.

Last night, after Kieren passed out underneath me, I formulated a semblance of a plan.

I’ll ask Harrison to drive me to my apartment. My tampons are there,which isn’t a lie, and I’m getting my period,also not a lie.I start the shower, hoping the ambient background noise will rouse Kieren so I don’t have to do it myself.

Details crystallize as droplets of water pebble around my feet. My aunt Nikki lives in Queens. If I can make it to New York City by bus, I can take the metro to Forest Hills and take a taxi the rest of the way. I’ll have to leave my laptop and belongings so as not to raise suspicion. It’s fine. I can figure out the money to buy new things. Next week is spring break, so I’ll have time to sort through loose ends. Kieren’s driving home to Connecticut tonight, so he’ll be preoccupied with family matters next week. He never confirmed whether I was going with him, which makes me think I’m not, so this plan might actually work. Soap suds swirl around the shower drain as I rinse them away, revealing pink patches of skin from where I’ve inadvertently scrubbed myself raw.