They were best friends for years, sharing every secret except one. When Felix finally confesses his feelings, Josephine lets him down with a gentle lie: she's not interested in men. Heartbroken but determined to keep their friendship, Felix tries to...
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A sharp, chemical tang burned in Josephine's nostrils as she opened her eyes. Daylight filtered through the narrow foggy window, casting streaks of light across the basement. Her head pounded—each pulse a reminder of the blows Felix had delivered. She blinked against the aching, bleary haze, pulling at the ropes that bound her wrists behind her back and her ankles tightly together.
The air reeked of bleach. It made her stomach churn. She couldn't scream again. The first time had been fruitless, her voice swallowed by the isolation of the basement. This time, she needed to focus. Think. Survive.
Her gaze darted around, cataloging the space. Concrete walls. Tools. A workbench. And on the edge of that workbench—a saw. Her pulse quickened. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Josephine wriggled, scooting her body closer to the bench. The rough edges of the rope scraped her skin raw as she maneuvered. She swung her body forward, knocking the edge of the bench with her shoulder. It rocked slightly, then again, before finally tipping enough for the saw to clatter onto the ground with a metallic thud.
Biting back tears of frustration, Josephine stretched her legs. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain. Hooking her foot beneath the saw's handle, she pulled it closer. Her old cheerleading flexibility saved her; she wedged the saw between her feet.
It was slow work. The blade gnawed at the thick rope, her arms growing numb from the awkward angle. Sweat dripped down her temple as the fibers frayed and snapped one by one. Thirty agonizing minutes later, the rope fell away. A wave of relief washed over her as she yanked the restraints off her wrists.
Josephine stood shakily, stretching her stiff limbs. Every movement was painful, her muscles sore from hours of confinement. Her eyes darted toward the stairs. The door. She limped toward it, her breathing shallow. She twisted the door knob and realized it was locked. Of course.
Josephine thought for a couple of minutes and realized she still had a Bobby pin in her hair from the funeral. Josephine never picked locks herself, but she had watched her dad pick their house locks enough when they got locked out. Josephine took the Bobby pin out of her hair and put it into the door knob. She didn't want to make too much noise either because she didn't know where Felix was, but she had to be quick.
After about what seemed like forever of picking the lock, the door unlocked.
Josephine's breathing slowed as she leaned against the doorframe, her heart thundering in her chest. The scene in front of her was surreal. Felix stood in the kitchen, an apron tied neatly around his waist, his back turned to her. He hummed a cheerful tune, one she vaguely recognized, as he worked over the stove. The sound of sizzling bacon and the clatter of a spatula filled the air, clashing violently with the horrors she had endured only hours before.
