16. Josie
The metal didn’t move.
I tugged again, harder this time, my heel digging into the mattress as I pulled. The chain answered with a dragging sound. It slid an inch, maybe less, before going tight again with a clink that echoed loudly.
“…Okay,” I said, the word came out uncertain. I let out a small, shaky laugh that didn’t sound like mine, “Very funny.”
I gave it another pull, quicker this time, like maybe I’d done it wrong the first two times. The same result. The same sound. Cold metal biting into my skin.
“Alright. Ha. Got it,” my voice was louder now, bouncing off the high ceiling, “You can stop.”
Nothing answered me.
The room stayed completely still, the curtains didn’t move, the door didn’t open and there was no sound of footsteps, no quiet chuckle, nothing.
My fingers curled into the sheets.
“Tristan?” I called, a little sharper this time, “Okay, seriously. This isn’t—this isn’t funny.”
The words felt wrong the second they left my mouth because something about this didn’t feel like a joke.
Tristan wasn't someone who made jokes.
I shifted, trying to sit up properly, but the chain pulled again, dragging my leg back down. The metal scraped softly against the bed frame. I reached down, my hands hovering for a second before I forced myself to touch it.
“This is a joke,” I said again, like saying it with confidence would make it true, “It has to be.”
I looked toward the door, waiting. Expecting it to swing open any second. Expecting him to walk in, that dark look on his face, maybe a hint of amusement in his eyes but the door stayed shut.
A strange, creeping feeling began to crawl up my spine.
I shifted again, pulling the duvet closer around me, “Tristan,” I called again, “Enough. I get it. You scared me. Congratulations.”
Still nothing.
My fingers tightened in the fabric.
A thought slipped in, sudden and desperate.
“Aisling,” I said quickly, almost relieved to have a name to attach to this. I let out a breath that came out uneven, “Of course. This is—this is you, right?”
I nodded to myself, clinging to it.
“That’s not funny,” I added, my voice rising just a little. “Seriously, if this is some kind of—of prank—”
My words faltered.
Why would she have a key?
Why would she—
I shook my head quickly, like I could shake the questions out before they settled.
“She’s jealous,” I muttered, the explanation forming too fast, “That’s all. She—she saw me here, she didn’t like it, so she—”
My voice trailed off again because even as I said it, it didn’t fit. I pulled at the chain again, harder now. The links scraped loudly across the bed, the sound grating, ugly.
Slowly, carefully, I looked down at myself. The duvet had slipped without me noticing. It pooled around my waist, the silk cool against my skin.
I stilled completely. For a second, my mind refused to process what I was seeing. I was so busy panicking that I didn't even notice it. My shoulders were bare. My arms were bare. My stomach twisted as my gaze dropped lower, slower this time.
No shirt.
No soft fabric brushing against my thighs.
Just skin.
My heart gave a hard, painful thud against my ribs.
“No…” I whispered.
I grabbed the duvet with both hands and yanked it up, clutching it tight against my chest, like I could cover something that had already been exposed.
“I was—I was wearing—” my words stumbled over each other, “I had his shirt. I—I remember—”
I did.
I remembered the feel of it. The cool fabric. The way it fell too long on my body. I remembered falling asleep in it.
So where was it?
My pulse started to race.
“Okay,” I said quickly, “Okay, maybe—I took it off. In my sleep. That happens. People do that,” I nodded, even as my stomach churned, “Yes. That’s—it’s normal.”
My eyes flicked around the room, searching. The floor, the chair, the edge of the bed. Nothing. There was no shirt, there was no anything, just me. And the chain.
My grip on the duvet tightened until my knuckles ached. A sharp, sudden panic surged up my chest, stealing my breath.
“Tristan!” I shouted, “Let me out of this!”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my mind racing in circles that didn’t make sense.
This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t—
I shook my head again, faster this time, like I could force the world back into place.
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” I whispered, the words rushed, uneven. “He—he must’ve—there’s a reason. There has to be a reason.”
My eyes dropped back to the chain.
It wasn’t a joke.
That thought came in quiet and soft.
And then it hit harder.
This isn’t a joke.
My stomach twisted so violently I had to press my hand against it. A cold, crawling feeling spread through my body, slipping into my chest, my throat, my head.
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “No, no, no—”
The word started repeating on its own. My fingers tightened in the duvet before I shoved it off me completely.
“I’m not—this isn’t—”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The chain dropped with a heavy clank. I froze for half a second and then I stood up. The metal dragged after me, the links scraping across the floor as I took a step.
Another.
It didn’t stop me. I blinked and took a quicker step this time, testing it, my heart pounding harder. The chain followed. It stretched behind me, snaking across the floor, but it didn’t pull tight.
I could move, a shaky breath rushed out of me.
“Okay… okay,” I whispered, grabbing onto that small piece of relief like it meant something, “It’s fine. It’s fine, I can—I can move.”
My feet were already carrying me forward before I could think too much.
Closet.
I needed clothes, something to cover myself. I hurried across the room, the chain dragging louder now as my steps picked up, clinking and scraping behind me like it was chasing me.
“Tristan?” I called again, breathless, as I reached the closet door, “If this is some kind of—of sick joke, I swear—”
I pushed the door open, it swung wide and I stopped. Everything inside me stopped. The space was… empty. Completely empty like no one has ever lived there.
The long rows where his shirts had been... gone.
The dark suits, the crisp white ones...
gone.
The shelves... bare.
Not even a single hanger remained like no one had ever used it. My mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
I stepped inside slowly, my bare feet cold against the floor, my eyes scanning left, then right, like maybe I was missing something obvious.
“No…” I whispered.
I reached out, touching the empty rod where his clothes were hanging just last night. My fingers curled around it, gripping tight.
“This isn’t—” My voice broke.
My chest started to hurt. A sharp, squeezing pain that made it hard to breathe. I spun around quickly, stumbling back out of the closet, the chain clattering loudly behind me as it caught and dragged.
“No, no, no—”
My head shook faster, my thoughts slipping, falling over each other.
“Bathroom,” I muttered, almost choking on the word. “He’s—he’s probably—”
I didn’t finish the sentence. I just ran. The chain followed, loud and ugly, echoing through the room as I rushed into the bathroom.
“Tristan!” I shouted as I pushed the door open. “This is enough—”
Empty.
The counter was clear, the sink was spotless, no toothbrush, no razor, no bottles, just nothing. My stomach dropped so fast it made me dizzy.
“No…” I whispered, shaking my head, backing up a step. “No, he was—he was here. He was just—”
I turned in a slow circle, my gaze frantic now, searching for anything. A towel. A shirt. A sign that someone else existed in this space.
There was nothing.
A broken sound tore out of me before I could stop it, “Tristan!” I screamed, louder this time, “Tristan, stop this! Please!”
The word please slipped out without permission.
It echoed.
And echoed.
And then… nothing.
My vision blurred suddenly, tears spilling over before I could blink them back.
“This isn’t real,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently now, “This isn’t real, this isn’t real—”
But it felt real.
The cold floor under my feet.
The weight on my ankle.
The emptiness everywhere.
I caught myself on the edge of the sink, my fingers gripping so tight they hurt. A sob ripped through my chest, breaking something open inside me.
“Tristan!” I cried again, “Where are you?!”
My words bounced back at me, thinner each time, like the room was swallowing them whole. I shook my head hard, tears blurring everything now.
“Please—” I choked, my breath hitching. “Please don’t—don’t do this—”
My shoulders started to shake. The sound of my own crying filled the bathroom, too loud, echoing off the empty walls.
I don’t know how long I stood there crying before I forced myself to stop.
I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, dragging in a shaky breath that didn’t settle anything inside me.
“Think,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Just… think.”
I couldn’t just stand here. I couldn’t just— My eyes snapped toward the bedroom.
Doors.
Windows.
There had to be something. I turned and ran. The chain followed, loud and dragging, hitting against the floor with every step. It slowed me down just enough to make me stumble once, catching at my ankle, but I didn’t stop.
I burst back into the bedroom, my chest heaving, my eyes scanning everything like I was seeing it for the first time.
“Okay—okay—” I muttered under my breath, moving fast, too fast. “There’s—there’s the windows—”
I rushed toward the floor-to-ceiling glass panels at the far end of the room. I grabbed the handle and twisted it... Nothing. My grip tightened. I twisted harder, jerking it down with all the strength I had.
It didn’t move.
“Come on—” I hissed, yanking it again. “Open!”
The handle stayed locked in place like it wasn’t even meant to move. My breath came out in short bursts now, panic rising again, faster this time. I slammed my palm against the glass.
“Please…” I whispered, my forehead almost touching the glass, “Please just—”
I pulled back suddenly, shaking my head hard.
No.
No, no, no.
Other windows.
I turned and ran along the wall, the chain scraping loudly behind me, following as I moved from one panel to the next.
Handle.
Twist.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
My hands started to shake.
“Why aren’t you opening?” I snapped, “What is wrong with you?!”
I hit the glass again, harder this time. Pain shot up my hand, I didn’t care. I hit it again.
“Open!” I screamed.
The window didn’t even tremble.
I stumbled back, my chest tight, my lungs burning like I couldn’t get enough air in.
“Okay—okay—doors,” I choked out, spinning around too quickly, the room tilting for a second before settling again.
The bedroom door.
I ran to it, my feet slapping against the floor, the chain clinking wildly behind me. I grabbed the handle and yanked. I twisted it again, harder, throwing my weight into it.
“Open!” I shouted, pulling again and again, the handle digging into my palm.
I slammed my shoulder against the door. Pain exploded through my arm, but the door didn’t even shake.
“Tristan!” I screamed, pounding my fist against the wood now. “Open the door! This isn’t funny! I know you can hear me!”
My hand slid slowly down the door, my strength slipping with it.
“No…” I whispered, shaking my head again, faster now, “No, no—there has to be something—”
I hit the floor hard, the impact jarring through my body, but I barely felt it.
My hands pressed against the ground as I bent forward, sobs ripping through me, uncontrollable now.
My hands flew to my head, gripping my hair, pulling slightly like I could ground myself.
“Please…” I choked, my voice breaking over and over. “Please, please, please—”
The sun had long since dipped below the trees, leaving the room in a suffocating blackness. My stomach felt like it was folding in on itself, a gnawing pain that made me feel sick.
I had screamed until my throat was a desert, until my voice was nothing but a dry, pathetic rattle. I had begged the empty walls for a glass of water, for a person, for anything.
No one came.
Exhaustion finally broke me. I dragged myself back onto the bed, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead.
I pulled the grey silk sheets around my bare body, wrapping them tight until.
I huddled in the center of the mattress, the heavy iron chain draped over my legs, and cried until my eyes were swollen shut.
Click.
The sound of the door lock echoed in my head. I bolted upright, the sheets slipping down my shoulders as the door finally swung open. A bright sliver of light from the hallway cut through the dark, stinging my eyes.
Tristan walked in.
He looked perfectly calm, looking like he just came back from work, his hair was neatly pushed back. He didn't look at my face. He didn't look at the red skin around my ankle or the tears dried on my cheeks. He held a small ceramic bowl in his hands, steam rising from it.
He walked to the nightstand and set the bowl down. The smell of chicken and salty broth hit me, making my mouth water even as my blood began to boil. He straightened up, his face as blank as a stone wall, and turned to leave without saying a single word.
"Tristan!" I screamed.
I scrambled to the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets to my chest with white-knuckled hands. The chain rattled violently.
"What is this? Tristan, look at me!"
He stopped but didn't turn around. His shoulders were broad, blocking out the light from the door.
"Why am I tied up? Why are my clothes gone? Answer me!" I was shaking so hard the bed frame was vibrating. "You can't do this! If this is a joke, you've gone too far! You let me go right now!"
I reached out, my fingers clawing at the air toward him. I wanted to hit him, to scratch that cold look off his face. I grabbed the bowl of soup, the ceramic hot against my palms, and threw it at his back with a sob of rage.
The bowl missed his head by inches, slamming into the doorframe and shattering into a hundred wet pieces. The soup splashed across the floor.
Tristan slowly turned around, but his eyes were dark and empty.
He had never looked at me like that before, even if he was annoyed with me.
He looked at the mess on the floor, then up at me.
His calmness was more terrifying than anything.
He walked back to the bed, his boots crunching on the broken ceramic.
He didn't say a word to explain what was happening. He reached into the bag he had been carrying in his other hand, a small brown paper bag and tossed it onto my lap. It landed with a dull thud against my bare stomach.
"Eat," he said.
"I won't eat anything from you!" I shoved the bag off my lap, sending it tumbling to the floor. "Tell me why I'm here! Tell me what you're doing! This isn't funny!"
Tristan stepped closer, leaning over me until his shadow swallowed me whole. He picked the bag up off the floor and shoved it back into my lap, his hand pressing down hard against my thighs through the sheets.
"Listen to me carefully," he whispered, his face inches from mine, "Food is a privilege I grant you. It is not a right. If you waste my resources again, I will let you sit in the dark and starve for twenty-four hours. Do you understand, Josephine? Or do I need to make the lesson harder?"
I stared at him, my breath coming in jagged hitches. I wanted to spit in his face, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn't joking. He wasn't playing a game anymore. He meant every word.
He pulled his hand away and stood up straight, adjusting his cuffs.
"I'll be back in the morning," he muttered. "Try to be more grateful by then."
He turned and walked towards the door. I didn't stay on the bed. I couldn't, this was my only chance. I lunged off the mattress, the sheets trailing behind me. The chain hit its limit with a violent clank, jerking my ankle, but I didn't stop.
I threw myself at him. I didn't have a weapon, so I used my body. I slammed my fists into his back, hitting the hard muscle of his shoulders over and over. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the terror that was drowning me.
"Let me go! Let me go right now!"
I reached up and raked my nails down his cheek. I felt the skin give way, leaving four red lines that immediately began to bead with blood. He finally reacted. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrists in a grip so tight I thought the bones would turn to powder.
He twisted my arms behind my back, hoisting them up until my chest arched forward, and shoved me back against the heavy bedpost.
"Stop," he hissed. He leaned in, his bloody cheek inches from mine, his eyes narrowing into dark, frozen slits, "You are fighting for a life that doesn't belong to you anymore. You are mine to keep, and mine to break. Don't make me enjoy the breaking part too much."
I thrashed in his grip, my wrists burning under the strength of his fingers. I tried to twist away, my heels scraping fruitlessly against the floor, but he held me like I was made of straw.
Suddenly, he let go.
The sudden release sent me stumbling back against the mattress.
I didn't stop to breathe. I saw the brown bag sitting on the edge of the bed, the food he thought would make me happy.
With a scream of pure, hot rage, I snatched it up.
I didn't care about the hunger gnawing at my stomach.
I wound my arm back and hurled the bag with every bit of strength I had left.
It soared through the air, right past his head, and landed out in the middle of the lit hallway. The contents spilled across the floor... a sandwich sliding out of its wrapper and rolling onto the floor.
Tristan didn't look back at the mess. Instead, he looked at me. A slow, thin smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, a cold, terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes.
It was the look of a man who had just won a bet he knew he’d win.
"You have a very short memory, Josephine," he said, "I told you what would happen. You just made the next twenty-four hours very difficult for yourself."
He took a step back, then another and another until he crossed the threshold into the hall.
"Wait!" My eyes widened, the rage instantly turning into a cold spike of terror, "No! Tristan, wait!"
He didn't listen. He reached for the handle of the door.
I scrambled off the bed, my bare feet slapping against the wood. I ran as fast as I could, gripping the sheets, my hand reaching out for his shirt, for the door, for anything that wasn't this room.
Clank.
The iron band snapped tight around my ankle. The chain reached its full length just as I was inches from the doorway. My leg was jerked out from under me, and I went flying forward. I didn't hit the floor, I slammed into the wood of the door just as it swung shut.
Thud.
The impact vibrated through my skull. My shoulder hit the paneling hard, and I slid down the wood until I was crumpled on the floor.
The sound of the lock turning was the sound of the world being taken away.
"Tristan!" I shrieked, hammering my palms against the door. "Tristan, please! I'm sorry! Don't leave me in the dark! Please!"
I pressed my ear to the wood, listening. I heard the fading sound of his boots walking away down the hall.
I sank to my knees, my forehead resting against the cold wood. A loud, broken sob ripped out of my chest, followed by another, until I was shaking so hard I couldn't breathe.
I looked back at the empty, dark room and the long, black chain that led back to the bed.
Why was he doing this? What mistake had I made? I searched my memory, desperate to find the moment I had earned this cruelty, but I found nothing but the chain pulling me back into the dark.