Talk To Me

Chapter Fourteen

February thirteen

The bulky man loomed in the doorway, blocking out the dim hallway light. Leah's breath hitched as she watched Tiny close the door to the other room. He lingered there for a moment, the faint jingling of metal breaking the silence. Instinctively, she rose onto her tiptoes, straining to see. Though the door obscured her view, she knew what he was doing—locking Lily in.

A shiver rippled down Leah's spine, her gray eyes widening as the bulky man's voice rumbled through the stillness. "Get comfortable," he said, lifting his chin. His smirk twisted at the edges. "This is your home for the next three days."

The words settled over her like a weight. He stepped inside, and with a harsh thud, the door shut behind him. The muffled clatter of keys followed, sealing her fate. A gasp escaped her lips, the warmth of her breath curling into the cold air. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her palms against her sleeves, trying to chase away the creeping numbness.

Turning slowly, she scanned the room. It was bare, vast in its emptiness. A single bed sat against the far wall, its thin mattress sinking under the weight of time. A tiny cupboard leaned against the left side of the bed, its wood warped and splintered.

Leah's gaze darted around, searching for something—anything—useful. The floorboards were chipped and worn, mirroring the state of the living room. A small, stained window barely allowed a light inside. She moved toward it, tugging the sleeve of her sweater over her fist before rubbing at the grimy glass. The effort was futile; the outside world remained a murky blur, metal grates making jagged shadows across the room.

Squatting down, she tilted her head, angling for a view of the sky. Tall pines swayed beyond the glass, their dark silhouettes shifting with the wind. The sun was nowhere to be seen. Leah exhaled sharply, standing again and pressing her forehead against the cold windowpane. The ground below was littered with snow, brown leaves and brittle twigs. She rapped her knuckles against the plastic glass—once, twice. The sound barely registered, weak and insignificant.

A noise from the hallway snapped her attention back to the door. Low murmurs seeped through the cracks, growing louder until the door creaked open. Tiny entered, his heavy boots dragging across the floor. In his left hand, he held a crumpled rag, grayish and stiff with filth. His gaze settled on her, cold and detached.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered.

Leah's spine stiffened. Her brows knitted together as she locked eyes with him. "No."

Tiny exhaled through his nose, tilting his head as if she were an inconvenience. "Look, I don't enjoy beating up girls—"

"Sure you don't," Leah muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm.

He ignored her. "—but I will if you don't listen." He stepped closer, extending the rag toward her. "Take off your clothes and put this on."

Leah's fingers curled into fists. "I'll freeze. Do you even notice how cold it is? Of course, you don't—you have a damn coat." She glared up at him, her gray eyes burning with defiance.

Tiny lifted his chin toward the bed. "Don't worry. Diesel's working on the fireplace. You can get under the covers in the meantime."

"Or," Leah drawled, crossing her arms, "I could just stay in my clothes."

Tiny's smirk vanished. "Look, bitch," he said, his voice darkening. He threw the rag at her, and she caught it mid-air. "Either you put it on yourself, or I do it for you. And trust me, that won't be fun for you."

Leah's breath caught in her throat. Lily's advice. Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs as she turned her back to him, her mind racing through the limited options. Taking a steadying breath, she pulled off her sweater and yanked the gray shirt over her head. The fabric was stiff and ice-cold against her skin, the moldy stench clinging to her nose.