DIRTY BULLETS

chapter twelve

IT WAS LATE, from what I could tell. The soft moonlight glowed onto the grey carpet of my room and my eyes admired it as I sat on the edge of my bed. I hadn't heard any noise from outside my door for the past twenty minutes that I'd counted, and typically that would be unusual, for no one to be in the hallway. But from what I'd heard earlier on, it made sense.

Now was the time.

After Harry forced me to make that phone call yesterday, it had shoved me to the end of my tether. It had subconsciously been growing throughout my stay here, with every dangerous threat, every barbarous intimidation, every fucking encounter I had had with that twisted man, and that phone call was the point of unravel. I was sick of feeling helpless and trapped. I despised the feeling of having no freedom, no privacy, of being watched constantly. I couldn't take another moment in this place, but I hadn't tried anything to change that, to get out. But today was the day that I finally felt I had enough strength to do something about it.

I couldn't just run at this all guns blazing without a plan though. There were obstacles that I would surely face but I needed to figure out what they were before I could even begin to plan how to overcome them. If I was going to escape it was going to be calculated, with no room for mistake. Simply climbing out the window wasn't an option seeing as it was barred and would barely fit a cat through it so that left me to escape from the inside. And if I was going to start somewhere, it was to gather my bearings.

I was going to scope it out, just the floor that I was on. Baby steps and that.

Earlier this morning after waking from my bed, I had been sitting by my door for a short while, listening out for any informative conversations, for any sort of clues as to my whereabout or what the hell was going, and it was a voice mentioning that a few men were 'going out to celebrate' that caught my attention. To celebrate what, I had no idea and frankly couldn't give two fucks. Instead it was that that pushed me to take the opportunity that had become available to leave my room and figure out the lay out tonight.

And I had spent the rest of the day setting it up.

Will had arrived at my room in the early afternoon, the usual knock at the door before he unlocked it and gave me my first meal of the day. It was all routine, with everything being the exact same, just as it had been for days now. I despised that this was becoming my new normal. It was fucked up and only fuelled my need to leave.

But I needed that door open tonight if I held any chance of that happening.

And this was my chance to drop the first hints I could. Will had walked in with his somewhat friendly demeanour and placed my plate – my meals had been upgraded to jam sandwiches, lucky me - along with a glass of water on my bedside drawer. He had made his usual small talk, 'how are you?' and 'how did you sleep?', which I normally replied with either politeness or shrugs depending on how I felt. But today I didn't bother responding at all, merely giving him a sideways glance before curling more onto my bed that I had positioned myself on. Will hadn't pushed me for an explanation, figuring I was perhaps just feeling homesick and distant. But then when he came back a few hours later, that's when he asked what was up.

I played into the stereotypical signs, the mood swings, the groaning, the bending over in pain. It was all so he wouldn't be so surprised when I asked him my request and perhaps he would feel more lenient to agreeing.

"What's going on? Are you hurt? Do you feel alright?" Will had questioned, taking in the way I was sat on the edge of my bed, my hands grabbing at my waist as I doubled over with heavy breaths. He had stood awkwardly in front of me, not really knowing what to do, because by the looks of things I seemed healthy. There were no cuts, no exposed bones, no blood. I should be fine, to him.