𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

07 || Comfort Crowd

Lana Del Rey - Doin' Time

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

I'm going to die, might as well die trying.

It's the mantra I chant to myself as I push open the creaky door, crawl down the ladder and use a match I'd found in a matchbox to light my way through what I now knew to be a series of hidden passageways. They were nothing but dark, covered in cobwebs and confusing as fuck to navigate through.

In the time I spent exploring, I'd only managed to find one single door. With my curiosity brimming and my frustrations high, I'd slipped into the room only to come face to face with shelves of cleaning supplies.

Not an exit, not a hallway that led to an exit, but the broom closet I'd once hid in. Only now the unconscious boy is gone and replaced with low music that spills from the other side of the door, accompanied by the sound of light chatter.

The way I see it, I have three options. One - risk a lung virus by continuing to explore the narrow passageways. Two- go back to the hell in the tower and hope I die of boredom. Or three- make use of my shitty situation.

I glance at the door, my mind on what lies behind it and the opportunity it presents. While I'd hoped said party would be a useful distraction in my plotted escape, it now sat as my only viable option to gain an upper hand.

This initiation was important and crashing said party would be suicide. It's reckless and outright stupid. And all for what? A chance to piss off the man I was growing an immense hatred for?

Was it really worth it?

No.

Was I going to do it anyways?

Yes.

With a newfound determination, I slip back into the opening behind the far shelf and navigate my way through the narrow passageways. It's not long before I'm back in my room, searching through the mess I'd created in an attempt to find my carry-on bag.

However, when I do locate it, I dig through the clutter until I've found my emergency pumps - a sleek black pair of Valentino's. To my displeasure, the only formal wear I'd packed was a black dress, long enough to reach mid calf with a square neckline.

It'd been purchased with the intent of being versatile, for any situation that would need a dress last minute- a.k.a, boring as fuck. The only interesting part of the dress was the way it clung to my tight figure.

I make up for the dull outfit with my makeup that I locate with ease. I conceal the cuts on my face, dabble on mascara, eyeliner and of course a bold lipstick.

Finally, when I'm satisfied in my appearance, I slide back the large painting, slip through the door but not before making sure the painting is slid back in place,  concealing the passageway to anyone who could possibly enter the room.

It isn't long before I've pushed my way into the broom closet, taking a few moments to wipe the cobwebs from my hair and dress. When I'm sure I've done a throughout job, I reach for the door handle and pause when it swings open by a uniformed man.

Shit.

He's already reaching for a roll of paper towels by the time he spots me and when he does, he stops in his tracks. "What are you doing in here?"