Page 29 of Broken Hearts

12

Celeste

Sighing,I surveyed the top of the smallest tiered planter in the greenhouse. The cold snap that affected the greenhouse for a while during the power outage the other week must’ve done more damage than I thought, because the herbs I’d planted from pots were all withering.

I felt like I was withering alongside them.

Alex had barely left my side over the last few days, probably to keep an eye on me given my recent quietness and reticent behavior, despite my promise to never run again. I could barely stand it, because I wanted to be alone right now, but on the other hand, I knew I had to try and act normal around him lest he realize what was happening inside my head.

I was preoccupied with thoughts of escape, even if it meant ripping my heart in two. There was still that part of me that wanted to be with him, trust him, give into him. But the part of me that refused to trust him was growing bigger and stronger every day, and I felt suffocated with the restless need to get away from this place.

I was sick of waiting, sick of wondering what sort of death lay in store for me and when it would happen. Sick of all the unanswered questions in my mind; questions Alex would never answer honestly. Sick of the fear that left me breathless and helpless whenever I thought about what might happen to me if he found out what I knew.

Most of all, I was sick of wanting Alex. I hated myself for being so damn weak, for still craving his body, and I was angry that I hadn’t thought of a way out.

I had the pilfered knife hidden carefully under my mattress along with the photo of Evangeline, but I couldn’t hurt him with it. There was still that part of me that felt too devoted to him to ever hurt him, and even if that finally dissolved, he was too strong for me, always had the upper hand. He would kill me long before I ever killed him.

Even if I waited till he was asleep, I wouldn’t be able to get him. He was a light sleeper, so if I got up and started trying to retrieve the knife from its hiding place, I could almost guarantee he would wake up immediately and demand to know what the hell I was doing, even if I tried to be as quiet as a church mouse. I couldn’t risk it.

My only serious idea had been to try and cut the collar off with the knife, but I hadn’t yet had the chance to see if that would work. Like I said, Alex had barely left my side over the last few days. Apparently he hadn’t had any consults in the city this week, and he’d also started sleeping with me again, so I never had a spare moment to myself. He even came with me when I showered, so I couldn’t try anything in the bathroom. Not that I’d had the chance to sneak the knife into the bathroom, anyway.

The only time I had more than ten minutes to myself was when he went down into the shelter to feed or speak to Justice Baldwin. Or torture him. I might have just enough time to cut the collar off then, but if I ran outside and took one of the cars, Alex would hear and realize what was going on, and he’d come after me fast and hard. If I didn’t take a car and went on foot to avoid the issue of him hearing me escape, then I’d face yet another problem—he’d realize I was gone within half an hour and catch up to me right away, given that he would be speeding around in a car and I would be trudging through the snow on foot.

As such, I knew I had to wait until he was actually well and truly off the property before I could try.

My chance finally came an hour later, a lot sooner than I expected. As I finished tending to the herbs, Alex entered the greenhouse and looked down at me. “I have a patient to see in the city,” he announced. “It’ll take a while, but I should be back in time for dinner. I think we’ll have salmon tonight.”

“Good choice, sir,” I murmured with a smile and a nod, as if I were a fucking waitress who’d just taken his order in a fancy restaurant. “I can make Hollandaise sauce to go with it, if you pick up some more eggs and butter on the way home.”

He smiled. “That sounds great.”

He gave me a kiss, then turned and left. I waited until his car was a speck in the distance, and then I dashed back inside and down the hall to my room.

I lifted the mattress and slid the knife out. My heart raced and my skin prickled with guilt over the thought of leaving this place. Leaving Alex. I tried my best to push the feeling aside and focus on the part of me that distrusted and despised him instead.

I thought about everything that’d been torn away from me when he brought me here with all his lies and faux promises of protection. My friends, my jobs, my internship, my studies. Walks in the park, trips to bars with Samara, chats with my friendly old neighbor. My whole life, stolen from me under the guise of ‘protection’.

It would be gone forever if I didn’t take matters into my own hands, and time was running out.

My guilt finally replaced with hot, seething anger at my situation, I went and stood in front of the dresser mirror so I could see what I was doing. Then I began to carefully saw into the collar around my neck. I couldn’t go fast, or I’d risk slicing my own throat open.

It took over twenty minutes to slice all the way through the thick plastic-coated material, but finally, the collar was broken. I tossed it aside and rubbed my neck, gulping down several deep breaths. I hadn’t even realized how constricting it was until it was off me.

“Goodbye, Alex,” I said out loud, turning around and heading for the closet to grab a jacket. I felt excited, invigorated, for the first time in weeks.

“Goodbye?”

I froze at the deep, icy voice and turned, my heart beating so fast I thought it would explode right out of my ribcage. Alex was standing in the doorway to my room, his face twisted with fury. A red flush had built in his cheeks.

No….

No, no, no!

I wanted to scream and curse with terror and frustration, but the words were frozen on my lips. My stomach roiled, and the edges of my vision pulsed with every heartbeat. Please, be a hallucination, I begged silently, but when I blinked, Alex was still standing there, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked softly, eyes darkening as he regarded me. “Home? To the cops to turn me in?”

“I….” I faltered, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

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