boxes, so I feel around on the shelf itself. After several minutes, I find an edge of metal on a shelf at thigh level that’s not perfectly smooth. It’s hardly what I would call sharp, but tape can be cut pretty easily.
So I crouch down enough to rub the tape on my wrists against the metal edge.
I accidently scrape my skin against the edge, but nothing much happens to the tape. I rub even harder, praying that it will start to break.
If only he hadn’t wrapped the tape around my wrists so many times. It’s really thick.
But I’m not going to just sit around and wait for Code to come back. I’m going to get out of here.
Code might think I’m a helpless girl, but I’m not.
Twelve
Code
I cannot believe the level of low that I’ve sunk to.
What kind of person does the things that I just did to a person like Wren? I mean, sure, maybe I’m partly doing it to protect her, but I kind of got a thrill out of it too. Like I wouldn’t have minded if we were someplace else and I could have tied her to a bed, all spread out for me, and fucked her senseless.
So. Not. The. Time.
When did I even get this way?
So here’s the thing about me. I was a quiet, nerdy kid growing up. I did whatever was expected of me, and I never argued with anyone. Ever. And then I grew up and realized that I had so much rage in me that I would spend hours, days even, thinking of ways to fucking get even with all of the people in my life.
Not that I really blame them. They’re all pretty much like some fucking Stepford family. They were always so concerned about appearances that they have no clue how to act like real people. No one ever abused me or even raised their voices to me. Honestly, I don’t think they ever paid much notice to my existence except when there were other people around.
I can still remember the blank look on both my parents’ faces when I finally unleashed. They didn’t have a fucking clue—no idea what to say or how to respond. I remember laughing like some sort of deranged lunatic.
Which I kinda was.
I had a privileged life. We pretty much lived in a mansion. I was born with that fucking proverbial silver-spoon in my mouth. People might think that money can buy you happiness, but they’re wrong. In my case, it only seemed to make everyone around me—including me—miserable. We were a miserable family who really didn’t like each other…and we were fucking loaded.
We had a live-in housekeeper. Can you believe it? She made the best damn fried chicken I’d ever had in my life. What kind of asshole walks away from that kind of life? How fucked up do you have to be to think that this…this fucking nightmare that I’m living is the better alternative to something out of rich-ass reality shows?
My stomach grumbles loudly, and I remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Getting food so that we can eat and get some sleep and then figure out how the hell we’re going to get out of the damn mall.
I know how to pick the lock, and it doesn’t take any time before I’m in the kitchen of the pizzeria and walking toward their big walk-in refrigerator. We may not be having hot food for dinner, but at least it’s food.
I’d kill for some fucking fried chicken right about now.
Food. Focus on the food, dumbass.
This is just another aspect of my life that I can’t believe I’m living. I’m stealing food. Back in my old life, I never had to think about food. It was always there. I didn’t have to think about how to get anywhere. I had several cars at my disposal.
Hell, right now, there’s even a trust fund that matured last year with my name on it.
That was my plan before fucking Deke. Just do what I had to—just survive—until the trust fund matured, and then I could go away and live by my own rules.
I was just too damn stupid to figure out that I had gotten conned into living by someone else’s rules. Again.
When this is over, when I’m free of this shit (and I still have no clue how
So I crouch down enough to rub the tape on my wrists against the metal edge.
I accidently scrape my skin against the edge, but nothing much happens to the tape. I rub even harder, praying that it will start to break.
If only he hadn’t wrapped the tape around my wrists so many times. It’s really thick.
But I’m not going to just sit around and wait for Code to come back. I’m going to get out of here.
Code might think I’m a helpless girl, but I’m not.
Twelve
Code
I cannot believe the level of low that I’ve sunk to.
What kind of person does the things that I just did to a person like Wren? I mean, sure, maybe I’m partly doing it to protect her, but I kind of got a thrill out of it too. Like I wouldn’t have minded if we were someplace else and I could have tied her to a bed, all spread out for me, and fucked her senseless.
So. Not. The. Time.
When did I even get this way?
So here’s the thing about me. I was a quiet, nerdy kid growing up. I did whatever was expected of me, and I never argued with anyone. Ever. And then I grew up and realized that I had so much rage in me that I would spend hours, days even, thinking of ways to fucking get even with all of the people in my life.
Not that I really blame them. They’re all pretty much like some fucking Stepford family. They were always so concerned about appearances that they have no clue how to act like real people. No one ever abused me or even raised their voices to me. Honestly, I don’t think they ever paid much notice to my existence except when there were other people around.
I can still remember the blank look on both my parents’ faces when I finally unleashed. They didn’t have a fucking clue—no idea what to say or how to respond. I remember laughing like some sort of deranged lunatic.
Which I kinda was.
I had a privileged life. We pretty much lived in a mansion. I was born with that fucking proverbial silver-spoon in my mouth. People might think that money can buy you happiness, but they’re wrong. In my case, it only seemed to make everyone around me—including me—miserable. We were a miserable family who really didn’t like each other…and we were fucking loaded.
We had a live-in housekeeper. Can you believe it? She made the best damn fried chicken I’d ever had in my life. What kind of asshole walks away from that kind of life? How fucked up do you have to be to think that this…this fucking nightmare that I’m living is the better alternative to something out of rich-ass reality shows?
My stomach grumbles loudly, and I remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Getting food so that we can eat and get some sleep and then figure out how the hell we’re going to get out of the damn mall.
I know how to pick the lock, and it doesn’t take any time before I’m in the kitchen of the pizzeria and walking toward their big walk-in refrigerator. We may not be having hot food for dinner, but at least it’s food.
I’d kill for some fucking fried chicken right about now.
Food. Focus on the food, dumbass.
This is just another aspect of my life that I can’t believe I’m living. I’m stealing food. Back in my old life, I never had to think about food. It was always there. I didn’t have to think about how to get anywhere. I had several cars at my disposal.
Hell, right now, there’s even a trust fund that matured last year with my name on it.
That was my plan before fucking Deke. Just do what I had to—just survive—until the trust fund matured, and then I could go away and live by my own rules.
I was just too damn stupid to figure out that I had gotten conned into living by someone else’s rules. Again.
When this is over, when I’m free of this shit (and I still have no clue how
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