Do we truly know those we consider as our family?
This is the last year before the beginning of the rest of Cara and Mia lives!
Mia Carter still has one more year to spend on Angel Island before leaving, with her best friend, for Montreal to pursue...
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Chapter 22 - We all go a little crazy sometimes
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Mia - ????
My nose is on fire. Literally. My nostrils are bleeding, and the taste of metal is everywhere in my mouth. My eyes burn, and I can't help but shed a tear as I open them. I'm still in this musty room. It feels like my body has survived a hot sandstorm in the middle of the desert.
I'm so thirsty. I turn my head towards Cara, who is still there, sitting against the wall, her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, Mia," she sobs and trembles.
"I didn't mean to get you involved in this. I'm sorry..."
"It's going to be okay, Cara. I'll get us out of here," I try to convince her as much as I try to convince myself. I assess the situation and my options. I lower my gaze to the floor, and my eyes are drawn to a sharp object a few meters away from me. A piece of wood, a victim of Ethan's excessive anger.
Bingo.
I need to free myself from this chair. I pray that the self-defense videos are right, and I forcefully tip my chair backward. The impact is harsh and takes my breath away. I hear something crack, and I lower my eyes to the chair's broken legs on the floor. "Cara, look," she lifts her eyes towards me. "Are you okay?"
"Yep, all good. Check this out," I grab the piece with my foot and slide it towards my still bound hand. I feel the object between my fingers and start cutting the rope as best as I can, cutting myself several times in the process. I grimace in pain, but I remember the words of my PE teacher in middle school after I broke my ankle: "It's all in your head." I focus all my energy on the rope, and I feel it weaken.
"I'm almost there, Cara!"
I feel one hand slowly freeing, but at the same moment, a loud sound of a slamming door interrupts me abruptly. I catch the rope before it falls and tighten my grip on it. Ethan must think I still have my hands tied. It's my only chance of survival. I mentally prepare myself to fight for my life as the door opens. It's not Ethan standing in the doorway.
"Heather?" She waves at us but doesn't move.
"Damn, come and help us! Ethan did all of this, Heather, help us," my throat burns, and my voice is unrecognizable, so broken.
"Mia..." Cara forces me to turn my gaze towards her.
"She won't help us."
Why?...
Heather bursts into laughter, and I look at her in astonishment. She approaches me slowly, a knife in her hand. "babe, can't you even stay on a chair now? Or did it just not support your fat ass?" No sound comes out of my mouth. Nor my brain, for that matter. I'm experiencing a complete short-circuit.
