Chapter 7
Naya
Freedom—a bitter term,better left unspoken because it has no reality in my life. It’s a word I don’t dare pronounce, as if it could cast a curse upon me. Isolation is something much safer, a shield against the horrors this world drowns me in.
Instead of venturing outside, we’ve stayed cocooned in the sanctuary of our motel room for the past five days. We only dared leave to the receptionist where there’s a vending machine, even when none of us could manage to eat. Sometimes, we go outside to the parking lot, if only to feel slightly less trapped within the confines of our room. But no matter where we go, isolation still clings to us like a tangible threat—a shadow impossible to shake off.
The outside world is a place I’d rather never enter again, but with our supplies dwindling, the need to leave our sanctuary has become important.
”Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask Grey, my voice slightly wavering from apprehension.
”We don’t have another choice. It’s only a little while left.” His nod is resolute as he drags me along, seemingly knowing the way.
How was it he knew where to go in this abandoned place?
We’ve been walking for what must be thirty minutes, following the receptionist’s directions toward the grocery store. Every shred of my sanity feels like it’s about to snap, as if I might crumble like a fragile wall at any moment, and then all my resolve will be swept away with the wind.
“Look,” Grey says, with a nod toward a building across theroad.
We’re in the forest, having stuck to the smaller roads, and now we need to cross the road to reach the grocery store—a building smaller than what I expected, marked by a large sign outside. The late hour means there are only a few people around, which was our intention when we decided to leave the motel. We can’t risk people milling around when there’s a probable target on our backs.
A prickling sensation takes over me, making me swallow harshly the closer to the store we get. My throat clogs with a lingering sense of unease, and I try to keep it in control—gods,do I try—but it’s as if my mouth is parched, and the ever-growing sense of panic tries to squeeze my heart.
“We’ll get the cheapest and easiest groceries we can get, and then get the hell out of here,” Grey mutters, his voice unsteady with the nerves that must hit him, too.
It’s been so many months, even years, since we both functioned as normal people. It’s odd and terrifyingly unnerving.
The interior light is dim, revealing a middle-aged man sitting behind the cashier’s counter. Outside, a poster draws my attention—its depiction of a beautifully illustrated old building eerily reminiscent of Grimhill Manor. The title,Redeemed, piques my curiosity, though I can’t quite place why it’s so compelling. We have more pressing things to focus on than a mere poster.
I breathe through my nose, ignoring the fucked-up situation and self-hatred I feel at being this pathetic for not being able to exist in a public space. Grey’s grip on my hand doesn’t lessen, not even when he’s paying for the groceries and quickly packing them down in a plastic bag without so much as giving the cashier a glance.
Just as we’re about to leave, a group of at least ten peopleenters the store, their loud voices booming around me like taunting echoes. Some bump into me as they try passing by into the aisles behind, triggering a frantic flutter in my chest, as if a bird resides there.
Breathe, Naya. Fucking breathe.
But I can’t breathe, and my palms grow sweaty, making Grey’s grip slip from mine. I stop dead in my tracks, the surroundings swirling around me as memories assault me. Memories of times long forgotten, of the master crowding me into a corner, much like I am right now when the people pass me. Of all the innocent humans we left behind to die back at the dollhouse.
I freeze, prompting Grey to turn back, his concern evident in his sapphire eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I feel trapped, much like I was before, with horror seizing me.I’m so fucked up. I don’t deserve to live. I should end it all right now.
In an instant, he stands before me—I didn’t even notice when he moved position—while clasping my hand in his, gauging for a reaction. Then he guides me outside and into an isolated alley.
It’s still and quiet here at night—eerily so—and it feels almost tangible, like an invisible blanket pressing down on me, amplifying the anxiety that coils within.
Grey drags me away from any prying eyes, pushing me against the wall of the alleyway with enough force to bring me back to reality. He doesn’t relent as he holds me there, compelling me to meet his gaze despite the harshness in them. He’s an unresolved force staring me down, demanding that I steady myself.
Sensing my continued distress, Grey’s touch shifts, hand reaching from my throat. He applies pressure, squeezing my pulse point to restrict my airways and any chance of moving. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he has me trapped in his grip with no means of getting free.
“Calm down,” he hisses, noticing I’m not relenting. “Calm thefuck down, little doll. You’re safe.”
His fingers squeeze even tighter until I’m gasping for the oxygen my lungs so desperately crave, but it keeps me grounded. Focusing on his sapphire eyes locked on me, on the way he is slowly suffocating me—easily able to end my life if he so wished to—slowly brings me back to reality and the horrors awaiting.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper when he finally eases the grip and I can draw in lungfuls of air.
“Talk to me,” he whispers. With one hand still on my throat, his grip has lessened, and his other hand strokes away a strand from my eye.
I swallow, hating myself for being this pathetic. A worthless human being, who doesn’t deserve to be free, hasn’tearnedit.You’re a murderer.The thoughts in my head go violent as I try to keep afloat.
