Page 89 of His To Erase

Ani

Iwake up like I’ve been hit by a truck. A velvet-lined, custom-upholstered, probably-stolen truck. But a truck, nonetheless.

This is why I don’t drink, I tell myself.

My mouth is dry. My back aches. My eyes feel raw—swollen and crusted, like my body finally tapped out from crying sometime during the night.

Which… yeah. That tracks.

I’m on day... what? Four? Five? It's hard to say what day it is when there are no windows, no clocks, and no one acknowledging your existence unless it’s time to play dress-up and eat under surveillance. Dinner’s the only time anyone remembers I’m still breathing.

Until then, I sit. I wait. I rot. Repeat.

It’s not bad really, I’m just a little more cracked than yesterday, a little quieter, and a little less me.

Five stars. Would recommend.

I close my eyes and my chest tightens like I’m being vacuum-sealed into my own ribcage.

I remember walking back in here, and by walking back here, I mean being escorted by sir-speaks-a-lot. Then I remember closing the door, and breaking. Completely. Silently. Crying myself to sleep seems to be part of my self-care routine at this point.

Some part of me must still think I can outsmart monsters. That if I’m funny enough, strong enough, or stubborn enough—I’ll stay safe.

Jokes on me, I’m not safe. Not even close. Nothing feels real anymore, and as much as I want to believe I’m strong enough, I find myself slipping, wondering if I’ll actually make it out of this.

My hands curl into the bedding as my fists tighten, like that’s going to help. I should get up. Move. Scream. Set something on fire. I’m going insane.

Instead, I just lay here, staring at the ceiling like it might crack open and drop me into the void. A silent tear slips down my cheek.

The fact that he thinks I should be grateful for the things he does makes me want to throw up and find the nearest sharp object to stab him with. He found my knife, so now I get searched before and after I leave the room.

I almost want him to do whatever it is he keeps threatening, just so I know where the bottom is. At least then I can stop falling.

No.

Stop it.

You’re Ani. You have teeth. You have fire. You have—

Nothing.

No phone. No allies. No plan.

Just a closet full of silk and a man who carved my freedom into a contract I’ve never seen.

I drag myself into a sitting position and the robe clings to my skin. I glance around the room, noting how nothing is different. Except for me.

This is the first morning I don’t wake up with a plan. No escape route. No snide comebacks. No fantasy of stabbing him with a dessert fork and sprinting barefoot into the woods.

Just… silence.

I fold my arms over my stomach. Is today going to be the day I break? I sit there for a long time. Long enough to watch the light change across the floor. Long enough to start counting the scratches in the wood paneling under the window.

Sixteen.

At least none of them are mine.

I wonder if Sarah’s sent out a search party yet. Sloane would probably assume I finally snapped and quit without telling anyone. She’d roll her eyes, call me a disaster, and cover my shift anyway.

Would anyone even call? Check my apartment? And what the fuck is happening to Steven? Oh my God. Bern.

The thought hits so fast I can’t brace for it. My chest caves in as my throat tightens. I blink hard, once. Then again. And suddenly my eyes are burning.

Not now.

Not fucking now.

That slow, ugly swell of panic rises in my throat. Steven’s gone and Bern’s probably pacing the cabin, waiting for a door that won’t open. Oh my god, her last owners left her there. She’s probably traumatized. Another tear slips out.

No one’s coming.

My hands shake as I press my palms to my eyes, willing the tears to stop. If I start crying again, I don’t know if I’ll stop this time.

I climb off the bed, which takes more effort than it should. My legs feel like they’re filled with sand, and my stomach growls so loud I flinch.

You’d think a psychopath trying to court you with violence and wine would at least remember to feed you every day, but no.

Apparently, starvation is now part of the vibe.

I walk to the door and press my palm to it like it might suddenly open with the power of loneliness and carbs.

I knock once, then again.

“Heeey Silent Bob,” I call out. “Any chance I could get a bagel and a therapy session? Maybe a cookie if you’re feeling generous?”

Nothing.

Dick.

I crouch down and look through the crack of the door, and see a pair of shiny, black boots.

“Hey, Bootsy,” I whisper. “Are you alive out there? Tap twice if you’ve got a conscience.”

Still nothing.

I lean my head against the doorframe and sigh. I thought for sure I could break him by now, but no matter how much I try, he never even cracks a smile.

“God, you’re not even going to pretend I’m a person, huh? Just… a body to lock up and parade around when he’s feeling romantic.”

I step back, flipping him off through the door.

“Cool. Super empowering.”

I turn toward the window, and something catches my eye. I can see Frank walking over to his car. He’s talking to someone but his posture is all business. He gets in the back seat, and the car pulls away.

I wait five minutes.

Then ten.

He doesn’t come back.

I move to the closet, stripping out of the black dress like it’s trying to eat me alive. I toss it into the corner without looking back and head for the bathroom.

He’s gone. Which means it’s finally safe to shower without imagining him standing just outside the door, about to burst in. There’s no way in hell I’m getting naked while he’s home. I’d rather marinate in my own anxiety.

Steam rises thick around me until I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I just stand there, letting the water hit me hard enough to sting. Maybe if I let it burn long enough, it’ll scald the part of me that’s starting to give up.

I tilt my head back and let the water pound against me until my fingers go numb and my skin turns blotchy. I need to figure out how to get out of here. I need a new plan. I don’t know what he’s going to do with me, and I really don’t want to find out.

By the time I step out, the mirror is completely fogged. My skin’s flushed pink and my hair’s a mess, but I do feel a little better.

Honestly, right now, that counts as a win.

I wrap myself in a towel and pad back into the room, only to find something on the floor. It’s not food, unfortunately. But it’s a little piece of paper.

My pulse spikes.

I move quickly to go grab it, like if I don’t hurry, it’ll vanish.

It’s just a piece of folded notebook paper. But the second I open it, the world shifts.

You’re not alone.

I stare at it so long they start to blur from tears. Something I haven’t let myself feel in days slips in.

Hope.

It’s just a single sentence scratched on shitty paper, but it hits harder than every slap, every threat, or every hour of silence in this place.

This means someone sees me. Or it could be a trap, or worse, a joke. Maybe it’s the final mindfuck from the man who makes me want to claw his eyes out.

Or it could be real.

I don’t know which option scares me more.

My first instinct is to tear it up. Burn it. Pretend I never saw it. Hope is a luxury I can’t afford right now, and I don’t like the way it flutters in my chest like it’s just been waiting for a reason to rise.

I glance at the camera, but it’s not blinking right now. Holy fuck.

My heart’s doing that staccato thing again as I walk to the corner of the room, crouching beside the desk. I pull a book to the side, and slide the note under the drawer. Just in case.

I don’t want to think about what would happen if Frank found it.

The door slams open so violently it cracks against the wall. I jolt upright, heart lurching, as adrenaline floods my veins so fast I see white.

Frank stands in the doorway—looking wild and unhinged. His hair’s a mess and his shirt’s only half-buttoned. But it’s his face that stops me cold. He looks… scared.

He storms toward me. “What did you do?”

I scoot back so fast, my spine hits the headboard.

“What—what are you talking about—?”

But he’s not listening. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I’m scared.

“Don’t play stupid,” he spits.

My stomach drops because I have no clue what he’s talking about. Unless he watched the cameras and found my little note? I could’ve sworn they weren’t on. I run through every possible scenario that I think he might be talking about.

Fuck.

What did I do?

Frank grabs my arm—hard—rips me upright like I weigh nothing, and my towel slips to the floor and I’m suddenly naked in front of him.

He freezes for half a second and the look he gives me isn’t just lust, it’s hunger laced with loathing. Almost like he wants me and hates himself for it.

His hand slides to my throat and I freeze. Every muscle goes still because I don’t know why he’s here, unless it’s time for dinner?

“You think I don’t see it?” he growls. “The way you look at me. You think you’re untouchable.”

I try to move—just an inch, just enough to breathe—but he slams me back against the wall so hard my teeth rattle. And beneath the rage in his eyes, there’s something else. Something darker.

“You know what I should do?” he whispers.

His eyes drag down my body, slowly. He smiles. “I should let my men have you.”

The blood drains from my face.

He leans in close enough that his nose brushes mine, and my stomach twists. He can’t be serious. No. No. No.

“See how much of a mouth you’ve got after the guards take their turn. A reward for having to put up with you.”

He shrugs off a laugh. “Maybe then you’ll remember your fucking place.”

Tears sting my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. I glare up at him. If he wants to see fear, he’ll have to earn it.

He steps back, letting go of my throat—only to yank a fistful of my hair, dragging me forward.

“You’ve got five minutes to get dressed,” he snaps. “Or you’re getting on the plane like this.”