Meg
Soft snores filter under the door into the tiny bathroom, Wyatt having finally fallen asleep. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what he was up to thanks to the paper-thin walls and series of grunts he was making, but it’s good to know Wyatt isn’t too far gone to be tempted like any other red-blooded male. Watching him eat that pizza was pure torture, the smell alone enough to kill my resolve, but damn was it worth it. Now I know I can affect him so easily, it gives me something to work with that makes me invincible – power over him. The weirdest part was when he began whispering ‘goodnight’ and ‘see you tomorrow,’ and I seriously hope he wasn’t talking to his dick.
I twist to face the wall behind me, a set of four silver screws holding the shower railing I’m tied to firmly in place. I feel for any other poor sap that finds themselves trapped in a situation like this, through sex or force, because this place was built with the average sex fiend or serial killer in mind. But luckily for me, I’m always prepared.
So many things make sense now I know the truth, especially the way my mom made sure I was able to endure in any situation. I had thought she was being over-protective, always conscious of the troubled minds in the world through her therapy, but now it all makes sense. And secretly giving me the tools to survive has made me love her more. I’ve always taken for granted her constant presence, all the nights I went home in a bad mood and locked myself in my room, never allowing her to counsel me. Maybe if I’d been more open, she might have been too.
Stretching my back and rolling my neck, I limber up as much as possible in my tight confines of the shower cubicle. Well, cubicle might be a tad generous for the two-inch lip on the tiled floor and filthy once-white curtain against the opposite wall. Counting down from three in my mind, I high kick my leg up onto the wall so I’m doing a vertical split, silently cheering myself for my sporty outfit choice. Shifting my foot closer to my restrained hands, my fingers close over the laces of my sneaker and fully unthread them. Freeing the final cross, the tiny silver pick my mom insists I conceal in all my shoes becomes visible.
Grinning, I pull it free and drop the lace at the same time as my foot lands back onto the floor. Ordinary children may have attended camps or gone on vacations, but I spent more than a few summers learning survival hacks growing up. Mom insisted before I left for college, I could hold my breath underwater for an incredible length of time, build a fire from two pieces of flint, had the knowledge to reset bones or preform makeshift first aid, and the one I need now - how to pick locks. Pushing the tiny tool into the cuff’s lock, my tongue sticks out as I listen intently for the miniscule clicks to release the lock piece by piece. My arms burn from being raised, the near end to my suffering causing my body to cramp in anticipation. With a final firm wiggle, the right cuff unlocks, and I gasp as my arms fall to my sides too quickly.
I hold my wrists to my chest for a moment, rubbing the raised sores that will surely blister. Not wanting to waste a second, I quickly grab my discarded shoelace and stuff it into my waistband, leaving the other cuff in place as I hop up onto the toilet seat. The rectangular window with obscured glass might be a tight squeeze, but it’s the only option I have. Readying to pick the lock again, I’m surprised to find the handle lifts easily and hope that’s not my good luck wasted on something I could have sorted myself.
My foot slips on the toilet seat, my shin connecting with the tank which clangs against the wall. Stilling, my skin pricks with goose bumps as I listen for the snores that continue beyond the door, a relieved sigh leaving me. Pushing the window wide open, I heave myself up onto the ledge and begin to shuffle through. There’s a decent drop on the other side, nothing but a concrete pathway to break my fall. Bending my hands so they remain on the windowsill, I dangle myself further out until my hips make it through the tight gap. As slowly as my core can manage, I roll my body into a gradual flip before releasing the window and landing in a crouch on my feet.
Keeping my back to the building, adrenaline urges me onward until I approach the far corner. Peering round, my eyes land on the sedan. My only real chance to escape without leaving a way for Wyatt to follow. A group are huddled at the far end of the carpark, only their outlines and occasional flare up of multiple cigarettes visible under a cloud-heavy sky. Birdsong has already begun in most of the trees dotted randomly around the building, sunrise imminent.
Not having time to waste, I bend to pick up a chunky rock in my still cuffed hand before hiding it behind my back and casually strolling towards the car as if I’m not about to hot wire it. Fuck, my mom is the best. It’s a good thing I didn’t use all of the tricks she taught me to become a criminal
