15. Sonnet Ellison
SONNET ELLISON
Iwas back in the home.
The hallway smelled like bleach, old carpet, and whatever had burned in the kitchen that morning. Doors lined both sides of the hall. Every one of them was closed, and each room was filled with girls who had learned not to ask for anything unless they wanted to be reminded they weren’t wanted.
I stood barefoot near the office while one of the employees yelled at me. “You think you’re special because you’re smart?!”
Another woman laughed from behind the desk. “That little attitude is why nobody picked you.”
“I just asked if I could call my mother,” I pouted.
The first woman leaned closer. “That woman doesn’t want you. Nobody does. The sooner you understand that the easier you’ll be to deal with.”
The office door slammed in my face.
I grabbed the knob, but it wouldn’t turn.
Then the hallway changed.
The walls narrowed. The ceiling lowered. Every bedroom door locked at once.
I ran toward the exit, but the end of the hallway stretched farther away with every step.
“Let me out!” I screamed.
But nobody answered.
I pounded on the doors until my hands hurt. “Please! Let me out!”
Then suddenly the lights went out.
I woke with a gasp and shot upright.
For several seconds, I couldn’t catch my breath. I held it without meaning to, my lungs locked while the room slowly came back into focus around me.
I dragged both hands over my hair and knocked my bonnet loose. It fell somewhere behind me, but I didn’t care.
I needed out of that room. I had been unchained for a few days, but that wasn’t enough.
The captivity was bringing old fears back to the surface I had worked too hard to bury.
I had spent years convincing myself I was no longer the powerless little girl waiting for an adult to decide when I could eat, where I could go, and whether I deserved basic kindness.
Now, once again, somebody else controlled the door.
It didn’t matter that Vega brought me food, books, puzzles, or a laptop. It didn’t matter that the room was clean and comfortable.
A cage with nice furniture was still a cage.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Vega stepped inside. “You okay?”
I blinked, slowly taking him in, because that was the only way to take in such beauty.
He stood there wearing black basketball shorts and nothing else.
His eyes were low, as if he hadn’t been awake long, and his hair was slightly tousled like he had slept without wearing a durag.
A silver chain rested against his bare chest, surrounded by tattoos that stretched across thick muscles and disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts.
For a moment, I forgot about the nightmare.
Then I finally figured out something smart to say to ground myself. “Were you watching me?”
“When I woke up, I heard you talking in your sleep. Then I heard you gasp.”
My mind caught the detail immediately. “Then your room must be close to mine.”
Vega tilted his head and laughed quietly. “You still trying to figure shit out while you’re upset?”
I stared at him.
He stepped farther into the room. “Are you okay, nerd?”
“No.”
The amusement left his face.
“I need out of this room,” I groaned.
His expression hardened slightly.
“I’m not asking you to let me leave the house,” I clarified.
“I’m asking you to stop locking me inside one room.
” I swallowed, trying to control the tremor in my voice.
“I grew up trapped. I lived in places where adults controlled everything and didn’t care whether the kids were scared, hurt, or miserable.
We had no choices. We couldn’t leave. We couldn’t call anybody who would come get us. ”
He watched me closely.
“I worked hard to stop feeling like that little girl. I built a life where every decision belonged to me. I chose my apartment, my job, my clothes, what I ate, when I slept. Now I’m right back in a room waiting for someone else to unlock the door.
” My voice broke, and I hated it. “This is bringing everything back. I can’t keep waking up feeling like I’m still there.
I was a hostage, hostage to my situation, hostage to my trauma, hostage to the people that didn’t love me…
and now I’m hostage all over again to this room. ”
Vega stared at me so intensely that heat gathered beneath my skin. His gaze should’ve made me uncomfortable. Instead, my body reacted as if it wanted to disappear inside his.
“Promise me you won’t run,” he said.
“I won’t.”
His expression made it clear he didn’t believe me.
Vega reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it before approaching the bed.
The closer he came, the harder it became to breathe normally.
He was unfairly sexy without appearing to know it or care how he flaunted it.
His chest was broad and covered in ink, his stomach was tight with defined muscles, and every movement made those muscles shift beneath his toffee skin.
His beard looked slightly rougher than usual, and sleep still rested in his eyes.
He stopped beside me and held out the phone. “Look.”
The first photograph showed Donovan after they pulled him from the lake.
His skin had taken on a pale, grayish color and water still clung to his hair and beard.
His clothes were soaked and plastered against his body, while lake debris caught along the fabric near his shoulders.
His face looked swollen and his lips were discolored.
My stomach turned.
The next image focused on his chest. The gunshot wound sat exactly where I remembered it. I could still see the moment Roman raised the gun. I could still hear the shot crack through the loading area and watch Donovan’s body jerk before blood spread across his white shirt.
Seeing the wound up close made the memory feel fresh again.
I pulled my face away, frowning. “Why would you show me that?”
“Because this is what Roman did to his own son. I need you to understand what happens if Roman gets you.”
Nausea climbed into my throat as Vega lowered the phone.
“If you run, you won’t be running toward freedom. You’ll be running into whatever Roman has waiting.”
I looked at him, insisting, “I promise I won’t run.”
He studied me for another long moment. Then he nodded. “I’ll unlock the door. You can move around the house freely.”
Relief came so quickly that my eyes burned.
“The entrances and windows will stay secured,” he continued. “That’s for your protection, not punishment.”
I reached for my glasses on the nightstand and slid them onto my face. “Thank you.”
Staring down at me, his eyes slowly darkened. They moved over my face slowly before settling on my mouth. He licked his lips, and my breathing changed pace without my permission.
Vega noticed, then tore his eyes away.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat breakfast.”
He held out his hand. I placed mine in his, and he pulled me from the bed with enough ease to remind me how strong he was.
A ridiculous giddiness fluttered through me as I stood beside him.
I immediately checked myself, though. I was an assignment that had become a problem he needed to fix.
Nothing more. He was a kidnapper and an obvious killer, no matter how beautiful his eyes were, how cute those damn freckles were, or how safe his hand felt wrapped around mine.
My hormones and emotions needed to remember that.
I followed him through the house barefoot, wearing an oversized T-shirt and shorts that barely showed beneath it.
My bundles felt disheveled since I had never put the bonnet back on.
The floors were cool beneath my feet, and simply being able to move without waiting for permission made something inside me loosen.
“Can I cook?” I asked.
Vega glanced over his shoulder. “Can you cook?”
I frowned. “Yes, I can actually cook.”
“You sure? Who taught you?”
“I’ve been feeding myself for years, so I had to teach myself.”
He looked over his shoulder again, still not believing me.
I rolled my eyes. “I really miss eating my own breakfast. Can I please cook?”
He stopped walking and turned towards me. “A’ight,” he said with a shrug. “I’m starvin’, so you better show out.”
I smiled behind his back.
“If anything’s missing, tell me what you need. I’ll get it.”
Something about that softened the little girl inside me who had spent years learning not to ask for things because nobody cared enough to provide them. He said it like making sure I had what I needed wasn’t inconvenient, like taking care of me didn’t require negotiation.
I had to check myself again. I was too smart to sit there acting like I didn’t recognize the typical Stockholm bullshit happening in real time. My kidnapper offered to buy groceries, and suddenly the neglected child in me wanted to start assigning him emotional significance.
Absolutely not.