Sonnet Ellison
As soon as the lock clicked behind him, I groaned aloud and stared at the puzzle pieces covering the desk. For one second, I wanted to sweep every piece onto the floor. I wanted to kick the chair over, throw the laptop against the wall, and scream until my throat gave out.
But he was watching. Even if I couldn’t see every camera, I knew they were there. I refused to give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble after he walked away with that smugness in his eyes.
I had been locked inside his house for over a week, studying his movements, arguing with him, and trying to understand why a man who had snatched me from my home could also make me feel so much longing.
Now I was lusting after my captor, and I felt like a fool.
I didn’t know his name, nor had I seen his face, and my body still reacted to him.
I was intelligent enough to recognize the pattern.
A captive became dependent on the person controlling her food, safety, and access to the outside world.
Fear became confusion and even basic kindness felt like more than what it was, since cruelty is always expected.
It was Stockholm syndrome, and though I knew it was a possibility, it still didn’t stop my body from responding whenever Vega stood too close.
He claimed Roman wanted me dead and that kidnapping me had been the only way to protect me.
But I couldn’t know whether any of that was true.
Vega could still be working with Roman. The protection story could have been another method of control, designed to keep me cooperative until Roman decided how to cut my body into pieces and drop me into the lake too.
I had to get out of here. That was why I had really asked for the laptop. I had been listening to Vega’s routine since the first night. He usually left around the same time after dark, probably to murder people and kidnap other women. Then he returned sometime close to sunrise.
I waited at the desk, organizing the puzzle. Eventually, the sounds came in the order I had memorized; his footsteps becoming fainter, the front door opening, the heavier click of the exterior lock, the alarm chiming as it armed, then the faint rumble of an engine.
I remained still until the sound of his car faded.
After that, I shut down the laptop and took it into the bathroom, where I assumed there were no cameras, since there weren’t any windows.
I flipped it over and worked at the casing until my fingertips hurt.
The machine hadn’t been designed to come apart without proper tools, but desperation made me patient.
Eventually, a narrow piece of metal came free. It wasn’t much. Just a thin strip from the inside of the laptop casing, sharp on one edge and slightly bent at the tip. But it was metal, and metal could do more than my fingernails ever could.
My heart started beating harder with hope and anticipation. I pulled my ankle closer and turned the steel cuff until I could see the small keyhole. My hands shook so badly that the first few times I tried to slide the strip inside, I missed completely.
“Come on,” I urged in a whisper.
I forced myself to breathe, then angled the metal piece again. This time, it slipped into the lock.
I froze.
For a second, I was too scared to move.
Then I twisted it carefully.
Nothing happened.
I swallowed back the urge to cry and tried again, shifting the strip up, then down, feeling for anything inside the cuff that might give. The metal scraped softly. Each tiny sound made me glance toward the door like he might hear it from wherever he was watching me.
My ankle ached from the weight of the chain. Sweat gathered along my hairline even though the room wasn’t hot.
I twisted again, and the cuff clicked.
I stopped breathing. I was in disbelief, but I pulled gently, and the steel cuff opened.
For a full second, I only stared at it, too stunned that this had really worked. The chain slid from my ankle and dropped onto the floor with a loud but beautiful clank.
A laugh almost escaped me. It sounded broken and too close to a sob. I slapped my free hand over my mouth before it could get out.
Then I looked at the bedroom door. I ran out of the bathroom and towards it. Then I lowered myself beside the lock. My hands shook as I worked.
The first attempt failed, and so did the next several. I forced myself to slow down, listen, and feel for movement inside the mechanism rather than fighting it blindly.
Finally, a small click sounded.
I froze, both excited and scared.
Then I pulled, and the lock opened.
For half a second, I stared at it in disbelief. Then I ran. I didn’t stop for shoes. I didn’t have money, a phone, or any idea where the house was located. But none of that mattered. I needed distance from the man who was making it harder to tell the difference between fear and desire.
The hallway opened into a larger section of the house, and I stopped.
I had no idea where the front door was. He had brought me there unconscious, so everything beyond the bedroom was unfamiliar.
I rushed past closed doors, turned down one hallway, then doubled back when it led toward a staircase and another dark corridor.
My breathing grew more frantic as every doorway revealed another room instead of an exit.
I tried to remember the sounds I had heard from inside the bedroom, which direction his footsteps usually came from, and where the engine had sounded strongest when he left. But none of it helped.
Then I spotted a door at the end of a hall and ran toward it, praying it led outside.
I grabbed the handle, but before I could pull the door open, a hand closed around my arm.
I screamed and spun around. He stood behind me. The mask covered his face, but fury sharpened his eyes as he pulled me away from the door.
Panic took over. I struck at his chest and tried to wrench my arm free. He caught my other wrist, turned me, and pressed my back against the wall.
“Let me go!” I kicked at his legs and twisted until he captured both wrists in one hand and lifted them above my head.
His body blocked mine against the wall.
“I want to get out of here!” I screamed. “I want to get away from you! You enjoy this.”
His eyes narrowed, and he finally spoke, “Enjoy what?”
“Me being helpless. Knowing I can’t get away from you.”
Admiration flowed through his stare. “Helpless women don’t give me war wounds.” His free hand touched the healing scratch near his throat. “They don’t make me reconsider every decision I once thought made me weak ass nigga either.”
I stopped struggling.
Our faces were inches apart.
I could smell the clean spice of his cologne mixed with the outside air. His chest moved against mine with each controlled breath, and the strength holding my wrists remained firm without becoming painful.
My body noticed everything my mind wanted to deny; his towering height, his ability to manhandle me, despite my size, his heat, and the solid pressure of him keeping me in place.
He could have overpowered me more violently, but he didn’t.
That restraint frightened me because it left room for other feelings.
His gaze moved over my face and settled briefly on my mouth.
My breath caught, and he noticed.
Instead of closing the distance, Vega released me abruptly and stepped back.
The absence of his body left me cold.
“Go back to your room.”
I lowered my aching arms, glaring at him. “Fuck you!”
I pushed away from the wall and stormed past him. My bare feet struck the floor hard enough to hurt, but I welcomed the pain. It was easier to understand than the part of me that had wanted him to stay close.