Chapter 7 #2
All that mattered was that they not be prepared for her to make her move.
Dying in this place at the hands of these men wasn't on her bingo card, and if she was going to die, it was going to be at her own hand.
Rose was prepared to throw herself off a roof, or slit her own wrists, whatever it took.
The only thing she wasn't prepared to do was remain as Mr. Bedroom Man and his friends’ plaything.
If they wanted to play, they needed to find a new toy.
Praying this worked, with her next flip, Rose aimed at the door. The handle was small, but thankfully so were her feet, and she only needed to use it as a springboard, nothing more.
Pushing herself higher than she felt she needed to go, she tried to make her aim as accurate as she could and was rewarded a moment later with the feeling of the cool metal under her bare feet.
Using the door handle to launch herself, Rose threw everything she had into the flip and was grateful the room was as small as it was, otherwise, she doubted she’d stand a chance at getting to the vent.
For a moment, it felt like she was flying.
Ever since she could remember, she’d been obsessed with flying.
All her childhood dreams had centered around having wings so she could soar across the great expanse of sky and find her way to freedom.
It didn’t matter what the flying thing was, a plane, a bird, a butterfly, a bee …
a ladybug … if it had wings of some kind, it captured her attention.
No wings grew from her back, but still it felt as though she was flying as she crossed the room, her arms stretched out, fingers ready to grab hold of the cover blocking the vent.
When they connected, she hissed in a pained breath. Now not only was her backside aching, protesting all the flipping, but she was sure she’d just ripped at least a couple of nails.
Oh well, at least nails grew back, and skin healed, but if she stayed there, her life would be over.
Swinging her body from side to side, creating her own momentum, she was rewarded with a small creak before she fell.
Ha! Take that, Mr. Bedroom Man.
To minimize any damage the fall might cause, Rose tucked her body and rolled with the landing, coming up on her feet.
Because she knew that someone might not have gotten bored watching her tumble, she didn't allow herself even a second to catch her breath. Instead, she lined up with the door once again, and then took off for it.
Repeating the same moves that had gotten her up to the vent before, Rose sailed effortlessly up to the vent, grabbing hold of it, and once again using her body’s momentum, only this time to swing her legs up so she could crawl into the vent.
Feeling as though eyes were on her, she turned and looked at the camera, giving a little wave.
Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me I'm the ladybug girl.
If she was being watched, she didn't have long to make this work. Already, Mr. Bedroom Man and his buddies would be figuring out how to catch her, and she had no intention of letting them.
Shifting her weight so she could squeeze through the vent that was barely big enough to fit her body, and thankfully way too small to fit any of her captors, Rose heard an ominous creak.
The ceiling seemed to creak and shift beneath her.
Damn, girl, how do you have the world’s worst luck?
That was her last thought before she was once again falling toward the hard concrete ground, only this time she wasn't alone.
An entire concrete ceiling seemed to be coming down with her.
How the hell was she supposed to survive this?
It wasn't the fall that would kill her, break an arm or a leg possibly, but nothing more serious than that, she just wasn't high enough. But the concrete that was plummeting alongside her could easily crush her like the bug Mr. Bedroom Man kept calling her.
Unsure what her best move was, and with only split seconds before she hit the ground, it had to have been some sort of instinct that had her turning so she’d land on her front.
That way, she could curl into a ball and try to do her best to protect her head and vital organs from the worst of the fall.
It wasn’t likely to change anything.
Especially since the universe seemed to hate her.
But at least it was something.
Pain ricocheted up her wrists and knees as they took the brunt of the fall. There was no time to worry about it, because already the concrete was raining down around her.
In the end, Rose had no idea if she managed to roll up in a ball and try to protect her body, because something connected with her head, and it was lights out for her.
With a groan, she swam back to consciousness sometime later.
Why aren't I dead?
That was her first thought, and she wasn't proud of it, but who could really blame her for wishing for death over being a plaything to a bunch of psycho men who were stupid enough to believe her brother would ever care about anyone but himself?
They’d plucked her from the quiet, safe little life she’d carved out for herself, and thrown her back into a hell she’d barely survived once before.
A hell she didn't want to battle through again.
No one could blame her for that, right? She was so exhausted from fighting every day just to survive, only to end up with nothing to show for it.
Nobody was going to miss her, her clients would just be angry, thinking she ghosted them, her community, which she stayed on the fringes of, would brand her a scammer.
She wasn't even leaving behind a pet that would mourn her.
Nothing.
Rose wasn't sure if it was the pain swamping her body, the growing sense of claustrophobia, or her own frustration with herself and her choices that had nausea swelling in her stomach.
Bile burned her throat as her stomach determined it must empty itself, and she was eternally grateful that nothing much was in there to come up.
Coughing and gagging until her stomach cramped, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, when it finally stopped, she tried to turn her head the other way, away from the bile she’d just vomited up, but there was nowhere to go.
She couldn’t even turn her head.
Slowly, she became more aware of the pressure against her entire body. The entire ceiling had come down with her, and now it was pinning her in place.
Burying her alive.
Choking on a sob, Rose frantically looked around, but there was nothing to see but complete and utter darkness. She’d been trapped before, locked into small spaces, but she’d always been able to move, at least a little.
Now she couldn’t even turn her head.
Completely stuck.
There was no way she could even attempt to dig herself out, and even if Mr. Bedroom Man and his friends did the honors, they weren't going to let her go. They might just kill her outright, or maybe they’d toy with her a little longer, the cat playing with the mouse before it gobbled it up.
Maybe they’d even ship her broken body back to her brother.
As far as she was concerned, she’d rather die at the hands of her captors than her brother. She didn't want to give Ridge the satisfaction of ending her life.
Didn't want to give these men that satisfaction either, but trapped as she was, she couldn’t even grab a rock and bash her own skull in. Something she absolutely would have considered if she’d had the use of her arms.
But like always, she was stuck.
Stuck in her childhood, unable to escape.
Stuck in her own head, unable to let go of her childhood.
Stuck in this cell, her childhood coming back to torment her once more.
Always stuck.
Frustration bubbled up inside her, rage that her life had been so unfair, fury that she was partly to blame for her own circumstances because she used her past as a crutch, a reason not to have to step outside her comfort zone.
A bitter laugh escaped, filling the deafening silence. “Maybe if you’d just stop fighting so hard, you could finally get where you want to be.”
Peace. That’s what she wanted, what she craved. So, dragging in huge mouthfuls of air, she could only hope she used up the remaining oxygen trapped with her as quickly as possible so she could finally get her peace.