69. Addy ⚠
Chapter sixty-nine
Addy ?
I slide the key into the lock with trembling fingers, easing the front door open just wide enough to slip through. The moment I'm inside I press my back against the door, closing it with a silent click, and take a few steadying breaths.
Cheryl's probably lurking somewhere, her hawk-like senses tuned for any sign of my presence. I need to be a ghost, in and out without a trace.
I tiptoe across the marble foyer, each step deliberate, avoiding the creaky board near the staircase. I make it to the base of the stairs and hesitate, listening for any sound that might betray Cheryl's location. Silence greets me, and I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe she's out, or maybe she's busy with one of her charities, pretending at benevolence.
Slowly, I ascend the staircase, keeping to the edge where the steps are less likely to betray me. When I reach the top, I pause again, ears straining. Still nothing. A sliver of sunlight spills across the hall from a window, casting long shadows that seem to reach for me like skeletal fingers. I shake off the eerie feeling and inch towards my bedroom door. Safety lies just beyond, a few seconds away.
Before my hand can touch the knob, pain explodes on my scalp. Someone yanks hard, dragging me backward then shoving forward. My face collides with the wood of the door, a burst of stars clouding my vision. A familiar, venomous voice hisses in my ear, "Look what we have here. The prodigal daughter returns." Cheryl.
"Have those heathens tired of you yet?" she spits out the words as if they're poison, her disdain wrapping around me like a shroud.
"Cheryl," I gasp, the name a plea, a curse. She doesn't relent, her grip ironclad, every word a lash against my already scarred psyche. I brace myself against the door, trying to find purchase, to find some semblance of strength in this unexpected confrontation. How much more I can withstand before I break?
"Let go of me," I grit out, but the command comes as more of a whimper. Cheryl's grip is unyielding as she wrenches open my bedroom door with her free hand. Her strength is uncanny, fueled by whatever twisted satisfaction she derives from this torment. With an effortless tug, she rips the backpack from my shoulders, and in one swift, cruel motion, shoves me into the room.
I stumble forward, catching the edge of my bed with my hip before crumbling to the floor. The dull ache in my head throbs with each heartbeat, a stark reminder of the brutality that just welcomed me home, compounded by the blinding pain in my hip. My eyes dart around, searching for the familiar—anything to ground me—but it’s the unfamiliar chill of isolation that wraps around my heart.
"You dare show your face here again?" Cheryl sneers, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.
Ignoring her, I focus on my immediate need. My phone. I pat my jacket pockets. Panic coils in my gut as I realize it’s in my backpack, now in Cheryl's clutches. I scramble on all fours, a sudden desperation clawing at my chest. I can't be cut off. Not completely.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
I spin around, my gaze locking onto Cheryl. "Give it back," I demand, my voice steadier than I feel. She stands there, leering down at me, my backpack hanging limply in her hand. I meet her cold stare, trying to muster any semblance of defiance I have left. But inside, I'm frantically assessing my options, the walls feeling like they're closing in on me.
The shadow in the doorway coalesces into a figure I know all too well. William, his sneer barely distinguishable from his usual expression of disdain, steps into the light. "Look what the cat dragged in," he drawls, the words dripping with venom.
"William," I say, my voice a low hiss, trying to shield myself with bravado I don't feel.
"Still think you're something special, Adelaide?" He advances, the mockery in his eyes now replaced with a darker glee. "Whoring yourself out to those boys like some disgusting little prostitute. What are they promising you? Hm?"
I flinch at his words as if they are physical blows. The term 'whore' hangs heavy in the air, a noxious cloud of judgment. I want to scream, deny it, but the lump in my throat is like concrete, and my voice fails me.
"Thought you could be their little slut and not face consequences?" Cheryl joins in, her tone a sharp contrast to her husband's mocking lilt. "You'll never see those boys again."
The room seems to tilt as the two close in on me. I'm trapped between the bed and their looming figures. My heart races, a frantic drumbeat echoing the fear coursing through my veins.
"Pathetic," William spits out, reaching down to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so that tears spring to my eyes. "Look at you. All dolled up for them, but underneath, you're nothing. Worthless."
Cheryl's hands are just as unforgiving, clawing at my shirt, twisting the fabric. "We'll find you a purpose," she snarls, her breath hot against my cheek. "Something that suits your... talents."
My scalp burns, my skin crawls, but it's the promise in their words that sends a fresh wave of terror through me. A better use. What did that mean? I struggle under their grip, knowing that whatever plans they have for me, I need to escape them.
"Let go," I manage to choke out, my defiance as thin as paper, but it's all I have left. It's all I can do to hold onto the frayed edges of my courage, to keep fighting even when every part of me screams that it's hopeless.
The door slams shut with a finality that seals my fate. They lock it from the outside, the click of the mechanism louder than it's ever been. I'm alone, save for the stinging cuts scattered across my arms and face where their nails broke skin. My breaths come in short, ragged gasps, and I can taste the copper tang of blood on my lip.
I stumble to the window, desperation giving me strength. But it's futile; the window is sealed shut, glued and nailed beyond any hope of opening. Panic claws at my insides as I bang my fists against the unyielding glass, but it's as if I'm striking at solid stone. I can see the security personnel roaming the groomed lawns—guards who will do nothing to aid me.
"Help!" I shout, knowing my voice won't carry past these suffocating walls. "Somebody, please!"
My pleas echo back at me, mocking my helplessness. I turn away from the window, scanning the room for anything to defend myself with. Books, trinkets, memories—I hurl them aside in a frantic search for a weapon. A heavy textbook thuds against the wall, a stuffed bear I've had since childhood lands with a soft plop. Nothing. There's nothing in this gilded cage that could protect me.
Time blurs, slipping through my fingers like sand. The hunger gnaws at me relentlessly, a persistent ache that twists my stomach into knots. They don't bring me food, seemingly content to let starvation do their dirty work. Yet, I find solace in the bathroom sink, the water running cold and clear when I twist the taps. It's little comfort, but I cup my hands, drinking greedily, trying to quell the emptiness inside.
The mirror reflects a ghost of myself—pale, haunted, with green eyes that have lost their fire. This isn't me, not the Addy who survived the foster system, who thought she knew what resilience meant. I lean against the sink, the cool porcelain a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my skin.
"Chess," I whisper, invoking the name of one of the boys who once claimed to care. The irony isn't lost on me; they're part of the reason I'm here, trapped by the very people who were supposed to be family. Yet, despite everything, some stubborn part of me clings to the hope that they might still come.
"Stay strong, Addy," I murmur to my reflection. "Survive. For yourself."
And so, I wait, curled up on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. Each creak of the house sends my heart racing, each shadow makes me flinch. I'm a wounded animal in a snare, but I'm not broken. Not yet. They want to use me, to break me—but I won't let them. I can't.
"Come on, Addy," I coax myself, drawing on reserves I didn't know I had. "You're smarter than this. You're stronger than this."
But as the hours—or is it days?—drag on, even the ironclad walls of my resolve begin to rust. I'm painfully hungry, every cell in my body crying out for sustenance. And though my spirit screams defiance, my flesh is weak.
"Someone will notice I'm gone," I tell the empty room, not sure if I believe my own words. "They have to."
The silence is my only answer, a heavy blanket smothering the last embers of hope. But I won't give in. I can't. Because if there's one thing Adelaide Winthrop knows how to do, it's fight—even when the odds are stacked against her.
The faucet groans under my grip, my knuckles white as I twist it back and forth. But it's no use. Not a single drop of water seeps out. "No, no, no," I whisper, desperation clawing at my throat. The cool relief that the water provided is now just a memory, one that taunts me with what I took for granted.
"Think, Addy," I urge myself, but panic tinges every word. "There has to be something you're missing." My gaze darts around the bathroom, searching for any overlooked detail, but there's nothing. They're in control, even of the water I drink.
"Damn it!" The cry rips from me, raw and hoarse. Tears blur my vision, hot against my skin. It's not just the thirst; it's the helplessness that suffocates me. I'm trapped, cut off from the world, from life itself.
I slide to the cold tile floor, pulling my knees to my chest. "They would come," I murmur, trying to convince myself more than anything. "If they knew..." The boys—my boys—they wouldn't have let this happen. My heart aches with the thought of them.
But how could they know? The last words we exchanged were shards of glass, cutting deep and leaving us bleeding. How could I expect them to come for someone who walked away?
"Stupid," I chide myself, pressing my palms to my eyes. "You left them, remember? They probably think you want to be alone." The logic is sound, yet it stings like salt on an open wound. No matter how fiercely I wish for it, my reality is clear: no one is coming.
"Pull yourself together, Adelaide," I say, voice cracking. Silence is my relentless companion, and I hate it. I hate feeling so insignificant, so forgotten. But I refuse to let it consume me.
"Survive," I repeat, a mantra against the darkness creeping into my spirit. I will not break. I will not give up. Even if I have to claw my way out of this hell, I will not stop fighting. Because that's who I am. Adelaide Winthrop does not surrender. Not now, not ever.
"Adelaide!" The door slams open, rattling against the wall as if echoing the quake in my heart. My eyes snap open, fear slicing through the haze of misery. They stand there, silhouettes of rage, their presence suffocating.
"No... please..." My voice trembles, barely a thread of sound, but they pounce on it like predators.
"Look what we found," William snarls, thrusting a sleek device towards me. The phone—the faux lifeline Chess gave me—gleams mockingly under the harsh light.
"What's this, huh?" Cheryl's face contorts with scorn. "This isn't the phone we provided for you!" Her words are daggers, and I flinch, as if they could inflict physical wounds.
I struggle to sit up, leaning against the wall for support. "It's just a phone," I mumble, but even I don't believe the words.
"Unlock it," William commands, his eyes fixed on the screen with an alarming intensity.
My fingers tremble as they brush over the device, swiping up to reveal the keypad. I punch in the code, my only act of compliance, and the home screen springs to life. It's out of my hands before I have a chance to click anything else.
Their eyes narrow, taking in the array of apps, each locked behind another layer of security. Chess, my brilliant, protective Chess, he made sure of it.
He set it up so it was completely private for me. A bitter laugh escapes me. Well, not from them obviously. But from anyone else.
"What are all these? Why won't they open?" William demands, shaking the phone in front of me.
"Can't." I shrug helplessly. "You need credentials for each one."
"Credentials?" Mom scoffs. "More like secrets. What are you hiding, Adelaide? Who are you hiding from us?"
"Nothing," I lie, because the truth is too dangerous to admit. Even now, trapped in this room, I cling to the secrets of my heart—my love for those boys, even if none of it was real.
"Open. Them."
There's no time to waste—no time for tears or fears. Every second is a thief, stealing my chance at escape.
"Come on, come on," I mutter under my breath, the screen's glow a beacon in the dim room. I flip through the apps, bypassing games and social media until I find what I'm looking for—a nondescript icon, a tiny chess piece that represents so much more. The emergency app Chess programmed just for moments like this.
I press it, holding my breath. A simple interface pops up asking for my fingerprint. My heart pounds against my ribs as I press my thumb to the screen. It's a gamble, trusting this silent alarm will work, but it worked last time.
"Pathetic," William mutters, snatching the phone back. "We'll deal with this later."
They storm out, their anger hanging in the air like a toxic fog. I'm left alone, curled up on the floor with the phone—the last vestige of connection to a world I'm no longer part of—just out of reach.
The second they're gone, I curl back into myself on the floor, a wounded animal playing dead, even as inside, a fierce spark of hope ignites. Hold on, Addy. Just hold on.