Chapter 22 Kit
KIT
The house is quiet tonight, not even the whir of the heating or the distant sound of a television disturbs me.
I’m glad. My head is pounding, mocking the peace and silence that engulfs me.
I keep my eyes shut tight, afraid that if I crack them open just a bit, I’ll welcome in the migraine biding its time in my periphery.
All I want is to fall back to sleep. My mind grows foggy, my thoughts rolling leisurely and nonsensically until I feel the lure of that warm, safe, unconscious realm inviting me back.
Cooooooo.
What the fuck was that?
It sounds again. Cooooooooo. The distinct sound of wildlife warbles through my window.
An owl. That’s a fucking owl.
My eyes fly open, adrenaline flooding my system as I bolt upright in my bed.
No, not my bed. The mattress is too firm, and the sheets are too scratchy. There’s even a faint smell of cardboard packaging clinging to the fibres.
I rub my forehead, trying like hell to fight the haziness that clouds me as I bring my surroundings into focus.
The last thing I remember is a call from Damian. He was frantic. I screw my eyes shut and try to remember what he was telling me.
“You have to get out of there. Don’t let anyone see you. Not your mum, not my dad, no one. Just go.”
And I did. I ran, didn’t I? I remember tearing down the stairs, running as fast as I could towards the front door, and then…
I remember Lucien. I remember a snide smile and a sharp pain in my neck.
“Night-night, Kit. Sweet dreams.”
No!
Shit, where the fuck am I?
Terror clears the last of my stupor, and I leap from the bed and race to a thick, wooden door to my left.
It has to be the one that will lead me out, since the only other door in the room is already ajar, revealing a basic en suite.
I grab the handle and pull, but the door doesn’t budge.
Its warped oak and heavy bronze hinges promise that nothing is getting past without permission.
I collapse against the unforgiving wood, my breath coming in forced pants as I claw at the grain. The thick varnish chips off beneath my nails.
No, no, no!
I clench my fists and pound at the door, banging and punching until my hands throb and the air is filled with my strangled cries. “Let me out,” I plead. “Lucien, please, let me out!”
I’m met with silence. Tears flow down my cheeks as my heart breaks in my chest. I cry out for Damian, tormented by the sounds of his desperate screams as I tried to flee our home. Fuck, he’s going to be so worried.
I fall to my knees and curl myself into the tightest ball I can. Maybe if I stay behind the door, I’ll block anyone from coming in? I’ll be safe, free to waste away in peace rather than face whatever awaits me in this room.
No, come on, Kit, pull yourself together. This isn’t the time to fall apart.
Right. I have to get out of here. Escaping and getting back to Damian are the only things that matter.
He’s going to be looking for me, I know it.
The least I can do is try to get free. I suck in a deep breath and take stock of my surroundings.
There has to be something in here I can use to my advantage.
The room is smaller than my own, but it has the same soft, cream walls and delicate lighting. The bed is so big that it takes up the majority of the space, and I have enough silky cushions to build a fort.
At a glance, you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s cosy here, but the whole place is wrong.
Warm light flickers from old brass sconces dotted along the walls, which would be cute if the only window to the outside world wasn’t completely blacked out.
And while the bed is a gaudy, cream and gold monstrosity, the only other furniture is a small, rickety bedside cabinet, and a sleek mounted television.
Out of interest, I flick it on, but nothing plays except a blue ‘no signal’ screen.
Which isn’t surprising. I mean, I heard a fucking owl.
I could be halfway up a mountain for all I know.
I walk around the room, or rather, I skirt around the perimeter of the bed, but I don’t find anything else of interest. The bathroom is completely empty. It’s just a shower, toilet, basin, and a toothbrush. That’s it. No hairbrush, no creams, not even a towel.
Perhaps there’s something in the nightstand?
I edge my way back around the bed, stubbing my toe on the corner as I scoot past, and open the one drawer in my new room…
And immediately wish I hadn’t. I pull my arm back, clutching it to my chest as if burned by the horror that greets me. At first, all I can do is stare dumbfounded, trying to make sense of why a completely uninhabited room would boast such debauched items.
Then I realise, it’s by design.
The drawer holds an array of large sex toys, each more intimidating than the last. Dildos the size of cola cans, plugs bejewelled in every colour, anal beads, nipple clamps, and even what I suspect are sounds.
It makes my collection at home look like a beginner’s guide.
I gather my courage and nudge at the weighty contents.
The toys roll to the bottom of the drawer as I angle it down and inch it open further to reveal a healthy stash of condoms.
My stomach revolts, and I just make it to the bathroom in time to lose what little I’d eaten at dinner.
Fuck, this is bad, this is really, really bad.
I don’t know why I’m here, but it sure as shit can’t be for anything good. Nothing in this room is going to work out well for me.
I need out. I need out. I need out, now!
I fall against the heavy door, my back sliding down the notched wood until I find the cold, merciless floor.
Damian, please, please come find me.
I need you, please, please.
Come and get me, Damian.
Come get me, come get me.
“Damian,” I sob, and sob, and sob some more until the world turns back to black.