Page 16 of Say You're Mine

But then I see it - a flicker of something in her eyes. Understanding. Compassion. And beneath that... a hint of rebellion.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, hardly daring to hope.

Sarah glances over her shoulder, checking that the hallway is clear. Then she turns back to me, her expression intense.

"I've seen your file, Mr. Deveaux. I know why you're here. And I... I don't think it's right."

My heart rate picks up, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through me. "Go on," I urge, taking a step closer.

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "I've worked here for years, and I've seen a lot of patients come and go. But you... you're different. You don't belong here."

The words are like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. I grasp onto them, desperate for any shred of hope.

"You're right," I say, my voice low and urgent. "I don't belong here. I need to get out. I need to get back to her."

Sarah nods, a look of determination settling over her features. "I want to help you, Mr. Deveaux. But it won't be easy. The security here is tight, and Dr. Faulkner... he's not someone you want to cross."

I feel a feral grin spread across my face, a glimpse of the predator lurking beneath the surface. "I'm not afraid of Faulkner. Or anyone else who stands in my way."

For a moment, Sarah looks taken aback by the intensity in my eyes. But then she nods, a hint of admiration in her gaze.

"Alright then. Let's talk strategy."

Over the next hour, as Sarah goes about her rounds, we whisper back and forth, piecing together a plan. It's risky, fraught with potential pitfalls. But it's the best shot I've got.

As she prepares to leave, Sarah pauses at the door. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Deveaux? Once we set this in motion, there's no going back."

I think of Cara, of the life growing inside her. Of the future we should be building together.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I say, my voice hard with conviction.

She nods, a mix of respect and concern in her eyes. "Alright then. We'll start tomorrow night. Be ready."

As the door clicks shut behind her, I smile and for the first time since I've been locked in this godforsaken place, I feel truly alive.

I close my eyes, conjuring Cara's image in my mind. The soft curve of her cheek, the storm-grey of her eyes, the way her lips part on a gasp when I touch her just right.

"I'm coming, baby," I whisper into the darkness. "Hold on just a little longer."

The next twenty-four hours pass in a blur of anticipation and carefully concealed preparations. I go through the motions of my daily routine – therapy sessions, meals, supervised recreation time – all the while acutely aware of the ticking clock, counting down to our moment of truth.

When night falls, I'm coiled tight as a spring, every nerve ending alive with electric anticipation. I've memorized the guard rotations, the blind spots in the security cameras. I know exactly how long it takes for the night staff to respond to an emergency call.

At precisely 2:37 AM, right in the middle of the graveyard shift when alertness is at its lowest, Sarah appears at my door.

"It's time," she whispers, her face pale but determined.

I nod, adrenaline surging through my veins. This is it. Do or die.

Sarah pulls out a syringe, her hands steady as she prepares to inject me with a carefully measured dose of medication. Just enough to mimic the symptoms of a severe allergic reaction, but not enough to cause any lasting damage.

As the needle pierces my skin, I close my eyes, thinking of Cara. Of her smile, her laugh, the way she fits so perfectly in my arms. The memory of her is a talisman, a shield against the fear and doubt that threaten to overwhelm me.

The effects hit fast. My throat tightens, my breathing becoming labored. Hives erupt across my skin, angry and red. It's uncomfortable as hell, but it's nothing compared to the agony of being separated from Cara.

Sarah hits the emergency call button, her voice pitched high with convincing panic. "Code Blue in Room 237! Patient in anaphylactic shock!"

The response is immediate. Alarms blare, footsteps thunder down the hallway. In the chaos that ensues, no one notices Sarah slipping me a small key, pressed into my palm with a whispered, "Godspeed."

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