Chapter 29 #2
Bryce shifted in his chair. I went completely still—panting as quietly as I could. My hand extended toward the table, my body halfway off the couch, ribs screaming. If he opened his eyes right now, he'd see me. He'd know.
Stay asleep. God, please stay asleep. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye, trailing across my temple before falling. The tiny splash it made against the hardwood seemed deafening as I hung suspended between couch and floor.
His breathing evened out again. The soft snore resumed. Focus. Just a few more inches.
I braced my other hand on the floor and pushed. The movement sent lightning through my entire torso. There was something very wrong with my shoulder. The single tear soon had followers—a steady stream of them rolling down my face, but I didn't stop.
My fingers brushed the edge of the coffee table's lower shelf. So close. I stretched further, my hand sliding under the shelf. Almost there. I could feel the cold metal against my fingertips. Then, my hand closed around the base.
Heavy. Fuck, it's heavier than I'd expected—a good and bad thing. The bronze was solid. Substantial. I pulled it slowly toward me, the bottom must be felted as it slid smoothly along the shelf.
Something else on the shelf shifted. The crystal bowl. I'd bumped it. It tipped, started to fall.
My other hand shot out—pure instinct—and caught it an inch from the floor. Pain exploded through every inch of my body with the sudden movement and I bit down on my cheek to keep from screaming.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Both hands occupied—one holding the sculpture, one holding the bowl. Frozen. All of this while I tried to balance my body and not collapse.
Bryce's snoring stopped. The chair creaked as he shifted.
I stayed perfectly still, holding both objects, not breathing. My arms were shaking. My one shoulder ready to give out entirely. Any second I was going to drop something or collapse or make a sound and it would all be over.
Bryce's lips moved, forming half-words that tumbled from his sleeping mouth. My name—or something close to it—slipped between his unconscious breaths.
Again, I heard the wood groan beneath his shifting weight. Then his breathing evened out. Deepened. The soft snore resumed. I almost cried—not from pain this time, but from relief.
I carefully—so carefully—set the crystal bowl on the floor. It made the tiniest sound against the hardwood but the heating vent was pretty loud—almost like white noise—and he didn't stir.
The sculpture was still in my other hand. Cold bronze. Sharp edges. Heavy enough to do real damage. Heavy enough to kill.
The thought didn't scare me. It should have. I'd never killed anyone. Never even imagined it. But as I clutched that bronze sculpture, feeling its weight, I knew with absolute certainty: if I got the chance, I was taking it.
No hesitation. No mercy. What he'd just done to me—all of it led to one certainty: if I didn't stop him, he'd do it again. He'd kill me. I couldn't take that chance. Not with my life. Not with my kids. This ended now. One way or another.
I pulled my lifeline closer, tucking it against my body under my side. The bronze was cold against my broken ribs but I barely felt it. The pain was background noise now. I had a weapon.
I couldn't get back onto the couch without making noise. So I stayed on the floor, pulling my legs down behind me as quietly as I could—positioning myself to look like I'd shifted in my sleep. Fallen. The blanket had slid down with me. My body angled slightly toward the coffee table.
If he noticed, he might think I was trying to escape. I’m not though—I’d never get far enough. So, let him think that.
The sculpture was hidden under my side, pressed between my body and the floor. Accessible. Ready. I tested my grip on it. Could I reach it quickly if I needed to? Yes. Even with broken ribs, even barely conscious, I could grab it and swing.
I just needed an opening. One chance. And I wouldn't miss. I took a moment to focus on breathing through the pain. Counted the seconds. Listened to the air blowing and Bryce's snoring and my own heartbeat.
Time passed. Minutes or hours, I couldn't tell. Pain had its own timeline. Bryce's breathing changed.
The snoring cut off mid-breath. A beat of silence followed, then the soft creak of leather as weight shifted forward in the chair. My pulse hammered in my throat as I heard the unmistakable sound of bare feet touching hardwood. He’s coming.
His footsteps whispered against the hardwood before I felt him hover over me. I kept my eyes closed, though. Kept my breathing even despite the agony it caused.
His hand on my shoulder, shaking me. Not gentle. I had to respond. If I didn't, he'd get suspicious.
My eye opened—the one that still worked. My brow furrowed and I looked around, parting my lips—as if confused. His face hovered above mine. Backlit by the dim light from the windows. I couldn't read his expression.
He noticed I'd moved. I could see it register—the way his eyes tracked from the couch to where I lay on the floor, wedged between the coffee table and the couch. He wouldn’t think of me having fallen.
He’d think it was an escape attempt. Any excuse to hurt me.
I knew this. I just knew it, so I braced for fallout.
One hand tightened on my shoulder. Not painful. Not yet. Just pressure. A reminder.
"Trying to go somewhere, were we?" His voice was soft. His other hand reached forward brushing hair out of my face. Everything about him was almost... gentle.
That made it worse somehow. I didn't answer. Couldn't. My jaw wouldn't cooperate and I didn't trust my voice. The heavy weight of my own way out of this nightmare was clutched against my ribs, hidden beneath me.
He didn't know. Didn't see it. Thought I was too broken to be a threat. His mistake. I stared up at him. I said nothing.
My vision wavered. My head spun. And I waited. I waited for him to act. For him to make his move. For my opening.