Page 2 of My Three Enemies

I fumble around in the dark, feeling the wall by the door hoping to find a light switch.

“Come on—wait a second,” I say with slight excitement in my chest. My fingers graze over the cold plastic of a switch and I'm relieved as I flip it on, surrounded by soft, warm lighting. “Let there be light...”

Finally able to see the cabin, and it is much more charming than I would have thought.

I'm standing in a small entryway with a few knobs nailed into the wall by the door for coats, but it's completely empty.

The entryway opens to the living room, which is filled with comfortable looking couches and chairs, with a handmade wooden coffee table in front of them.

I'm almost surprised to see a TV with what looks to be a small collection of DVDs stacked in the console below it.

Along the wall are the mounted heads of deer and other creatures that I imagine the owner of the cabin hunted themselves.

“Hello?” I call out, standing motionless by the door. I don't want to take another step forward if someone might come barging down the hall with a gun in-hand.

When I don't hear anyone, I slowly make my way over to the kitchen, crossing through an open wooden door at the other end of the living room. I stand in the doorway for a brief moment before running over to the sink and tilting my head by the faucet to drink as much water as I possibly can. You’d be surprised by how dehydrated you are after spending two whole days on the run.

I straighten up from the sink and lean against it, breathing heavily as I wipe water off of my chin.

My hands and feet are burning as they practically thaw out in the warmth of the cabin.

I feel like I could cry, and then I am. For the first time in ages, there's hope for me.

I might actually get away from my father.

After taking a moment to wipe away the tears spilling out of my eyes, I turn my attention to the cabinets. I nearly gasp when I see how well stocked they are. The fridge is full as well, and I reach inside for a package of sliced turkey to start assembling myself a sandwich.

I've always admired people who know how to cook.

I was never allowed to prepare my own food—it was yet another way my father could control me.

Only allowing me to eat when he deemed it appropriate.

Looking at everything in this fridge now, I can only imagine the different recipes the person living in the cabin could make.

I slowly bite into the sandwich, making sure I don't eat so fast I get sick.

While I work on it, I make my way through the rest of the cabin to investigate.

My initial thought is this must be someone's winter cabin.

Some people like to go to the Bahamas to avoid the cold, and some choose to isolate themselves in the woods and enjoy nature.

I don't see any family photos or mail indicating who it is that lives here.

A hallway connecting to the living room reveals three other bedrooms, each with their own bathroom.

All of the rooms are much larger than I expect, considering the outside of the cabin.

For the most part, they have very similar styles as well.

They're rustic and there doesn't seem to be any cohesive design elements.

Except that all of the rooms have a bed, a dresser, and a pair of matching bedside tables.

After about ten minutes of looking around, I make my way back to the living room and take a seat on the couch.

I'm well aware of the fact that the owner could come home any minute and find me trespassing.

They would be well within their rights to scream at me and call the authorities, or worse shoot me.

I hope they will at least listen to me before doing something rash.

I lean back on the couch and wait, turning my attention toward the door.

After a few hours, no one enters. I figured that someone must live here, and they must be planning on coming back soon.

The kitchen is too well stocked, they even had bread and cheese that had to have been purchased recently.

On top of that, there isn't a single particle of dust or cobweb in this cabin that would tell me it's been abandoned.

A clock on the wall shows it's nearing midnight, and I have no idea when the owner is returning. Regardless, I can hardly keep my eyes open. To say my last two days have been exhausting would be an understatement.

I start nodding off, bobbing my head up and down as I try to force myself to stay awake.

It's no use, my body is about ready to shut down—I'm so tired.

I give up on trying and make my way over to the first bedroom, the smallest of the three, and climb under the covers.

Mere moments after my head hits the pillow, I'm a sleep.

For a while, it's the best sleep I've ever had. After everything I've been through, finally being able to relax in warmth is like heaven.

But then my body jolts awake as fingers grip my throat, holding me close as my eyes dart open.

I search through the darkness for any sign of who it is.

I forget where I am and everything that happened and I'm suddenly back in my room, and the hand around my throat is my father's.

I'm waiting for him to chastise me about trying to run away, but it doesn't come.

“Who are you?” a voice inches away says in a low, gravelly, masculine tone that makes the back of my neck tingle.

“My-my name is Emma,” I stammer, gulping against the tight grip of his hand. I blink rapidly, hoping that my eyes will adjust so I can make out the features of the man holding me.

“Why are you here?” a different man’s voice says, this time coming from the door nearby. I try to turn to look in the direction, but the grip on my throat is restraining me too much.

“My car broke down and I was looking for help,” I croak out, reaching my hands to the one around my throat hoping to pry it off of me.

It's no use, the hand is almost as big as my entire head, and the man next to me is far too strong.

“I tried knocking but nobody answered the door. Please, I just needed some help.”

“Is anyone with you?” a third man’s voice asks from the opposite corner of the room, near the window. I hear his footsteps coming closer as he waits for my answer.

How many of them are there?

“It's just me,” I say, immediately realizing how dangerous an answer like that is for a woman.

A moment passes without any of them saying anything. Then, the hand around my neck tightens, and a gasp creeps out of my throat. The man lowers himself to me, leaning close enough to my ear that I can feel his breath fanning across my face.

“I know you're not telling us the whole truth,” he whispers, more shivers creeping over my body. “But you smell too good to kill.”

His fingers slip from around my neck and reach for my hair, sliding through the back of my head. Before I know what's happening, his lips press against my skin, and it feels like the room is swirling around me.

In the twenty years I've been alive, I've never been kissed.

Kind of hard to find a boyfriend when you're trapped inside.

I've always had a suspicion why my father kept me hidden away the way he did.

With how he acted with his associates, and the extremely obvious attempts to introduce me to them.

He wanted me to be pure for whoever I ended up with.

Now, with this stranger's lips brushing against my neck, his tongue slipping between his lips and grazing my skin, my body reacts in a way I never would have anticipated.

I'm extremely confused by the turn of events, but my body is more than interested in seeing where this leads.

My breath quickens as I feel his lips spread wider and wider, like a vampire ready to sink his teeth into me.

The lights snaps on and I’m completely blinded, bringing my hands to my eyes to shield them as the man’s mouth pulls away from me.