Chapter 42
SUNDAY
Once again, I’m locked in my room, with only my thoughts for company.
It suits me. I’m guessing Santiago is counting on breaking me. That can be the only reason he keeps me locked in here. He will bring me to my knees, so I’ll agree to anything just to get out of this hellhole. He is wrong. I will never agree to anything he asks.
I am counting down the hours until our ‘date’ tonight. If it means I’m leaving this mansion, I’m good with that. There is no way in hell I’ll return with him if I get one second’s chance to escape, and my mind is buzzing with plans to make that happen.
Around midday, the door opens, the sound of the key in the lock my only heads up.
I shiver as the silent woman heads into the room carrying a tray of water and bread, my usual lunchtime treat.
I observe her silently, my gaze unwavering, wondering how she can be so cruel. She never looks at me, merely carries out her duties like a robot, and I wonder if Santiago is torturing her too, in his usual demonic way.
“Thank you.”
For the first time, I inject some warmth into my voice, and it catches her out a little as she tenses.
I say softly, “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for any of this. I’ve known Santiago a long time and understand how persuasive he can be.”
She still says nothing, but her movements are slower, almost as if she is hanging on to my words.
I take my chance.
“If he is keeping you here against your will, there are people out there who can help you. I accept my fate, but you have more freedom that me. You can save yourself if I tell you who to call.”
Her shoulders tense, and she straightens up, her movements slower than usual, telling me she’s listening at least.
“I want to help you, but I don’t know your name. That’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but you must seek help. There is no knowing what Santiago will do when he gets bored with the situation. You have seen his madness firsthand, and I would hate to see it unleashed on you.”
She nods, the first indication I have that she understands me, and she turns, her gaze loaded with turbulence, hatred flashing from her eyes.
I hold my breath, praying that hatred is not directed at me, and she glances toward the door, a nervous flicker in the pulse in her jawline.
“I wish I could help you, Josephine.”
I stiffen in surprise because her accent is foreign with deep, thick tones that shape around unusual vowels. She heads toward the door, checking outside, and I frantically strain to see what’s out there, the handcuff rattling against the iron bed post.
She sighs heavily and lowers her voice.
“There is nothing I can do, we can do.”
“I disagree.”
My tone is soft, disguising the desperation inside me.
“There is always a way out of madness when you are one step ahead.”
She shakes her head, her shoulders slumped.
“He is too powerful; you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
I hold my breath, and she glances at her wristwatch and sighs.
“I have taken too long.”
Before I can reply, she strides out of the room, the door slamming behind her, the key turning in the lock. In her haste, she forgot to unchain me, and I gaze with desperation at the water on the table, my stomach growling as it begs for food, and tears of failure cloud my vision.
I made it worse. I must wait until he returns before I can move. That was a disaster and the worst thing is, I need to use that fucking bucket so badly.
I doubt I will be able to hold it in for hours. My humiliation will be complete, and I bite my lip, the tears flowing freely as I face the fact I just made a bad situation worse.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep because the sound of the lock turning causes me to wake with a start.
My bladder is almost bursting at this point, and as the door opens, I stare in confusion as the woman heads inside, a grim expression on her face.
She moves to the bed and unfastens my wrist and pulls me roughly to my feet, my knees buckling under the pressure on my legs.
I’m in a daze as she pulls me from the room and moves fast down a corridor, reaching a door at the end that she opens in haste.
I blink in surprise as it reveals a bathroom, and I note the tub filled with water, and I swear my soul dances with joy. A bath. A warm bath, judging by the steam, and without saying a word, she lifts my cotton nightdress from my weakened body and pushes me toward the tub.
“You have five minutes to bathe and wash your hair. Mr. Santiago has instructed that you must be clean, styled, and dressed exactly to his specifications.”
I say nothing because I need to clean up so badly, and as she leaves the room, my first stop is the toilet.
It’s pure bliss using proper facilities, and I hate how grateful I am for such simple pleasures.
He has done a good job of breaking me because I am doing nothing to interfere with cleaning up and enjoy the freedom of a simple bath without his cruel hands scrubbing at my body with a stiff brush.
I don’t waste any time and sink low in the water, savoring the hot steam, loving how my muscles relax on impact, my mind buzzing with possibilities.
I will escape or die trying. This will not be my life. I refuse to accept that, and my mind works hard to formulate a plan because this is my opportunity, and I will seize it with both hands.
I am not going to accept my fate without putting up a damn good fight.