Fear

28 • Muted

I stared up at the ceiling and groaned in frustration, which caught Sam's attention. He'd been hovering nearby, his gentle presence a small comfort. The sterile white walls felt suffocating, but I remained undeterred about my escape plan. Lying in the hospital gave me time to mull it all over in my head.

Sam came to me hourly, reminding me to get some sleep and to rest, but my mind was too active and sleep was elusive. The events of the past few days replayed in my mind like a broken record.

How had things escalated to this point? I thought of Tyler's eyes, filled with anger as he held the knife to my tongue. The memory sent a shiver down my spine and I winced again at the throbbing pain in my mouth.

-

On the second day, the door creaked open, and Tyler stepped in. His eyes were filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher-regret, perhaps? Guilt? He approached my bed, his movements hesitant. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands fidgeted.

"Emily," he began, his voice low. "I... wanted to apologise."

I rolled my eyes and turned my head away, the anger boiling inside me making it impossible to meet his gaze. He sighed.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he continued. "You moved your head and the knife slipped. You do understand it was an accident, right?"

But I couldn't say anything back to him. My tongue, still raw and healing, silenced any response I might have had. I glanced at Sam, who gave me a quick smile, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn't getting involved.

"Fine. I'm sorry," he said, giving up. When he finally left the room, his footsteps echoed down the corridor and I relaxed my shoulders, melting further into the bed with a sigh.

-

Later the same day, the door opened again, but this time it was Tom. He moved cautiously, looking more haggard than ever. His face was a canvas of fresh bruises, and his eyes were dark with lack of sleep. He approached me cautiously, casting a nervous glance at the door where Sam had just left.

"Emily," he whispered, his voice shaky. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

I shook my head and reached for the whiteboard Sam had given me.
"It's not your fault at all," I scribbled quickly, my hand trembling slightly. The look of relief in Tom's eyes was immediate.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

I pointed to my tongue, wincing slightly. Tom's eyes widened in horror. "Tyler did this?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

I nodded, then quickly wrote on the whiteboard: "Act. He accidentally cut my tongue."

Tom's face tightened with anger. "That bastard," he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

I reached out and touched his arm, shifting the conversation. I wrote, "What about you? You look worse than before."

He looked away, ashamed. "Dylan's getting... worse. He's more violent... unpredictable."

I squeezed his arm gently and he continued, "I've been thinking about what you said before..." he paused, looking at the door to make sure Sam wasn't walking back in, "about finding an escape route."

I nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"I came to find you because I've thought about it. I'm desperate, Emily. I don't think I can survive much longer... He'll end up killing me."

"I'm glad you've agreed to it. I've been planning, I wrote. I've been gaining Tyler's trust. I have more freedom now. We can use that to our advantage."

Tom's eyes lit up as he watched me write it, but then he frowned, and a shadow of doubt crossed his damaged features. "But how? He watches me all the time. And if he suspects anything..."

"Where is he now? He's not watching you now. We'll find a way, I promise! I wrote.
I'll look for opportunities and relay them to you. We'll take it slow. No risks until we're sure."

Tom nodded, though his fear was still evident. "I'm scared, Emily," he admitted, his voice breaking. "But I'll try. For you. I trust you."

I squeezed his hand, trying to convey my determination through my eyes. We sat there in silence for a moment, each lost in our thoughts.

As I looked at him, I couldn't help but notice the deep lines of stress etched into his face. Every bruise, every scar told a story of suffering. I wished I could take away his pain, but all I could do was offer my support.

"Emily," he said quietly after a long pause, "Why did you kiss me?" There was a mix of confusion and sorrow in his eyes as he fiddled with the ripped hem of his t-shirt.

I gazed up at him for a minute, before writing, "The dining room door opened as we were stood there. Someone was watching us in the corridor. I had to create a distraction so that they wouldn't know we were talking about escaping. The consequences of them finding out about it would be dire."

He watched as I scribbled away on the whiteboard, his focused eyes narrow. Then he slowly nodded, understanding what I meant.
"Okay."

Finally, Tom stood, looking reluctant to leave. "I should go before Dylan realises I'm missing," he said quietly.

I nodded, writing quickly: "I promise we'll get through this."
He gave me a small, sad smile as he left.

As the door closed behind him, I settled back into the bed, my thoughts racing. How had it come to this? The once stark lines between captor and captive were blurring, leaving me in a confusing, emotional maze.

With one last sigh, I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over me. The fight was far from over, but for now, I needed to gather my strength. Tyler's twisted acts, Dylan's brutality, Tom's suffering-all of it weighed heavily on me, for all our sakes.

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