We say our goodbyes and hang up, and the relief that floods through me is instantaneous. I sag back against the pillows, stunned that I just got that call and this might actually be happening.
I might actually be getting out of here.
For a second, I just sit there in a suspended state of disbelief, unable to fully wrap my head around it. This isn’t a game ora trick, it’sreal, and the prospect of leaving this hell is so overwhelming that I can barely even breathe.
My pulse races with adrenaline and anxiety, spiking with fear that something could go wrong and derail this whole plan. The walls close in around me, and I’m suddenly so claustrophobic and desperate to get out that I jump up from the bed and start tearing through the room like a madwoman, throwing clothes into my suitcase haphazardly, not caring that I’m making a mess.
I’m leaving.It doesn’t matter how much time I have to pack, because I don’t need to take much with me. Just essentials. Just enough to get out. As soon as that car pulls up, I’ll be ready to go. There’ll be no looking back, no chance for any of the Kings to try and stop me or change my mind.
Terror gnaws at the edges of my hope, whispering that something is bound to go wrong. They’ll find out. They’ll do something to prevent my escape. They’ll catch me and drag me back here like cavemen, kicking and screaming. As I continue packing, my movements become more frantic and rushed, like I’m trying to outrun all the bad things that are just waiting to happen. My hands shake as I toss more clothes into my suitcase, pivoting to head for my other dresser.
I get halfway across the room and then freeze in place, head whipping toward the door with sudden paranoia.It’s locked. I’m sure it’s locked.But I need to check, just in case. Rushing over, I test the handle, and it doesn’t budge.
Shit, I’m losing it.I’m getting out of this place just in time, it seems, before my mind’s gone completely.
Satisfied that the door isn’t going to fly open at any moment, I dash over to the dresser and start rifling through it, hands moving fast and jerky. Everything’s just a blur of movement, the sheer momentum keeping me going even as doubt creeps in to sabotage my hopes.
They’ll catch you. Punish you. Make you regret trying to leave.
The negative voice in my head is almost enough to break me, almost enough to convince me that it’s not worth even trying.
Almost.
I shut it out with the rhythmic zip of the suitcase, the heavy thud of it landing on the floor.
Nothing will stop me from escaping these monsters.
* * *
My suitcase thumps against every step on the way down, the sound echoing through the stairwell. I wince each time, sure the sound is going to wake someone and I’ll be caught. The Kings were asleep in their beds when I slipped out of the apartment, and I didn’t say goodbye or leave a note. I left them with exactly what they deserve–nothing.
The corridors of Sutton Hall are quiet, and I feel like an intruder in the silence as I make my way through them toward the front of the building. Even as I inch closer to my freedom, I’m continually pummelled by doubt, paralyzed with fear that this is all an illusion. That as soon as I get my hopes up, the other shoe will drop and I’ll get caught. That this is some kind of sick trick that Raf brought his dad in on just to break me more. That this is stupid, that it can’t work, but I can’t stop. Can’t turn back now. I’m on a crash course with destruction, and all I can do is pray that it won’t be my own.
I yank the handle of my suitcase when it catches on a transition strip in the flooring, gritting my teeth at the thumping sound it makes when it jerks free. I whip my head back and forth, holding my breath, searching for any sign that I’ve been heard. Bracing myself for the inevitable, I listen for thunder of the Kings’ boots on the stairs, but all is still quiet.
Picking up my pace, I turn a corner and see the front doors of the building. Through the window, I can see a black towncar idling at the curb, and victory sings through my veins in a farewell tune. Nobody stops me when I push through the doors and stagger outside with my suitcase, no alarms sound as I drag it to the curb and hand it over to the driver.
The cool morning air washes over me, clearing my head and replacing the last of my doubt with resolve. Something almost like triumph swells in my chest as I reach for the door handle, pulling it open.
“Ava,” Gideon greets from the back seat, as suave and impeccably dressed as always.
“Gideon,” I breathe, sliding in and closing the door behind me. I blink as I look past him, finding there’s nobody else in the car. “Where’s Mom?”
“Still jetlagged,” he sighs, rolling his eyes with a smile. “You’d think she’d take my advice and try to sleep on the plane, but it never works.”
“The air’s too loud,” I say with a laugh, recalling the excuse she always gives.
Gideon chuckles along with me, his driver climbing behind the wheel and glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. With a single nod, we’re off, my stomach swooping as the car pulls away from the curb.
I did it.
A rush of emotions hits me at once, the realization that this is finally over truly settling in. And even through the relief, the resentment, the rage, something unexpected surfaces. A tiny speck of loss. A tinge of sadness for how this ended, and a sickening awareness that some part of me might miss them once I’m gone.
“I suggested ear plugs, but she said silence is even worse,” Gideon chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Your mother is one of a kind.”
“Definitely,” I agree, my smile turning brittle.
This easy back and forth with my stepfather feels too comfortable, too familiar. He’s acting like nothing’s changed and everything’s perfectly fine. I suppose to him, it is– because while I’ve been stuck here, subjected to unspeakable horrors at the hands of his son and his friends, he’s been onvacation.
