26. Kim
26
KIM
Kim
I slam the door behind me, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. The lock clicks, sealing me in this gilded cage. My legs give out, and I slide down the smooth wood, landing hard on the plush carpet.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter, banging my head against the door with each word. The pain is dull compared to the ache in my chest.
I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them close. How could I have been so naive? So... desperate? The memory of Sam's touch burns on my skin, and I scrub at my arms, trying to erase it.
"You really thought he cared about you?" I scoff at myself, my voice echoing in the empty room. "Wake up, Kim. You're just another toy to him."
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won't cry. Not for him. Not for this mess I've made of my life.
I stand up, pacing the room like a caged animal. Each step on the expensive rug reminds me of where I am, who I'm with. The opulence that once seemed magical now feels suffocating.
"You slept with your kidnapper," I say out loud, tasting the bitterness of the words. "What kind of fucked up Stockholm Syndrome is this?"
My reflection catches my eye in the ornate mirror across the room. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Her eyes are wild, her hair a mess. She looks lost, broken.
"Is this who you want to be?" I ask my reflection. "Some rich asshole's plaything?"
The silence that follows is deafening. I turn away, unable to face myself any longer.
The nights I've spent with Sam, the way he made me feel so perfect, so special, it all plays out in my mind. My stomach churns. How could something that felt so right in the moment now feel so devastatingly wrong?
"You're smarter than this," I whisper, clenching my fists. "You're stronger than this."
But am I? If I were truly strong, would I be here at all? Would I have let myself fall for Sam's act?
The walls seem to close in around me, a physical manifestation of the trap I've willingly walked into. I need to get out. I need to breathe. But there's nowhere to go.
I'm trapped. By Sam. By my own foolish heart. By the circumstances that led me here in the first place.
"What now, Kim?" I ask the empty room. "What the hell do you do now?"
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Alexi's words echo in my head, cutting through the fog of infatuation I've been living in.
Listen to yourself, Kim. You're defending a man who took you against your will. Who keeps you isolated from your friends and family. How is that okay?
Kim, honey, this isn't normal. This isn't healthy. You need to see that.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it's no use. The truth stings like a slap to the face.
"I care about him," I whisper to the empty room, my voice cracking. "God help me, I do."
But caring isn't enough, is it? Not when I'm locked in this gilded cage, my freedom snatched away by the very man who claims to love me.
"You need to leave," I tell myself firmly. "Get your head straight. Figure out what you really want."
But how? Sam's locked me in, his possessiveness reaching new heights. Do I beg? Plead? The thought makes my stomach churn.
I could wait for his mother's next visit, appeal to her. But the memory of her cold eyes and thinly veiled contempt makes me shudder. No ally there.
Maybe if I wait, he'll offer to let me go again. But can I trust that? Or will it be another mind game, another test of my loyalty?
"Fuck," I mutter, running my hands through my hair. "What a mess."
I collapse back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. I'd hoped we could talk, work things out like adults. That I could make him see reason, show him that true love isn't about possession.
"I just needed some time," I say to the air. "Some space to breathe, to think."
But now, locked in this room, those dreams feel like wisps of smoke, impossible to grasp. The weight of reality settles on my chest, heavy and suffocating.
I roll onto my side, curling into myself. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won't cry. Not now. Not for this.
"You're stronger than this, Kim," I whisper fiercely. "You'll figure it out. You have to."
But as the silence of the room presses in around me, I'm not so sure anymore. The path forward is murky, fraught with danger and uncertainty. And for the first time since this whole ordeal began, I'm truly afraid of what the future might hold.
I sit up abruptly, my decision crystallizing like ice in my veins. This isn't love. It's a twisted game, and I refuse to play anymore.
"Enough," I mutter, swinging my legs off the bed. "Time to get the hell out of here."
My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything I can use. The window's too high, the door's locked tight. But there's always a way out. You just gotta get creative.
I run my hands along the walls, feeling for any weakness. Nothing. Figures. Sam doesn't do things halfway.
I pace the room, my mind racing faster than my feet. The walls feel like they're closing in, but I force myself to focus. There's gotta be a way out of this gilded cage.
My eyes land on the air vent near the ceiling. It's small, but so am I. I drag a chair over, wincing at the scraping sound. Standing on tiptoes, I peer inside. It's dusty, but it looks big enough. Maybe.
"Well, well, little dancer," I mutter to myself, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Time to put those flexibility skills to use."
I hop down, grabbing a pen from the desk. The screws are tight, but I manage to loosen them. One by one, they clatter to the floor.
The grate comes off with a soft groan. I stick my head inside, squinting in the darkness. It's a tight fit, but I've squeezed through tighter spots back in Capitol Heights.
"Okay, Kim," I whisper, mapping out the plan in my head. "Wait till night. Pack light. Use the sheets as a rope to get down once you're out."
I pause, listening for any sound of Sam. Nothing. Good.
"You got this," I tell myself, clenching my fists.
But this isn't Capitol Heights. This is Sam's world, and he's got eyes everywhere. I'll need to be smart, fast, and silent.
I start gathering supplies, hiding them under the mattress. A water bottle, some snacks, a change of clothes. My hands shake, but I steady them.
"One shot," I murmur, staring at the vent. "Make it count."