Little Lamb

28 ❦ cry dollface

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Later that day, I lie in my tent, the air heavy with the remnants of what Riggs and I did earlier.

The book in my hands feels like an excuse, a distraction I'm pretending to care about while my mind drifts back to him. No matter how hard I try to focus on the words, they blur into meaninglessness, slipping through my fingers like water.

It's impossible to ignore what's simmering beneath my skin, the memory of his body over mine, his grip, his heat. I can still feel the weight of him, the way he held me down, used me until I was a mess beneath him.

I shake my head, frustrated with myself for letting him take up so much space in my mind. I should be thinking about escape. About getting out of here while I still can. But I'm not, and that's the problem. Instead, I'm letting myself fall into this twisted pull he has over me, as if that's safer, easier than fighting him.

I turn a page, not really reading, and that's when I see it, something small darting in the corner of my eye. I freeze, heart lurching into my throat as I spot the mouse scurrying across the floor of the tent.

Instinctively, my body tightens, muscles locking up with the kind of fear that's sharp and irrational. I hate them. Every part of me crawls at the sight of the tiny thing, like it could overtake me just by being here.

But something else catches my attention. The mouse didn't come through the entrance of the tent.

My eyes narrow, following its path until I spot it, a small hole in the fabric, just near the floor. It's almost imperceptible, but there it is, an opening to the outside world. My breath catches as I crouch down, fingertips tracing the edge of it.

It's small. Probably only big enough for a mouse, but maybe, if I worked at it, I could make it bigger. Big enough to slip through, big enough to crawl out and vanish into the woods. The thought hits me like a jolt of cold water.

This could be it, my way out. The escape that's been waiting for me all this time.

But I don't move. I just stare at the hole, my hand lingering on the ground as I think about what it would mean. I could run, leave all of this behind. But the thought doesn't fill me with the urgency it should. Instead, it feels distant, hazy, like something I can't quite reach.

Because the truth is, I don't want to leave. Not yet.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the absurdity of it. I should be clawing at that hole, desperate to get away from this nightmare. But I'm not. I'm still thinking about Riggs. About the way he made me feel. It's stupid, and I know it, but there's something about him that keeps me rooted here, like I'm stuck in his orbit, unable to break free.

The worst part? I don't want to disappoint him. How twisted is that? He's my captor, the one keeping me here, and yet the thought of him finding out I tried to escape, it makes my stomach twist with something like guilt. Or fear. Or maybe both.

I straighten up, pulling my hand away from the hole, a shiver running through me as the cool air brushes against my skin.

Maybe I'm not ready yet. Maybe this isn't the time. But when it is, when the moment is right, I'll take my chance. I'll get out of here. I have to. But not now. Not with everything so tangled up inside me.

After I pull away from the hole, feeling a strange mix of confusion and frustration over my own hesitation, the tent flap rustles. I glance up, my stomach instantly tightening when I see him, Burns. One of Riggs' men. The one who had a mouth on him.

Burns steps inside, his bulky frame blocking the light from outside as he looks me over with that same infuriating smirk.

"Well, well, if it isn't our little princess," he sneers.