Page 31 of Under Fyre

Charlotte

Ascratching sound wakes me from a strange dream. It dissipates as soon as my eyes open to inky darkness, leaving me with a feeling of quiet horror. I lie for a moment, disorientated, stifled,trapped…until I realize why.

I’m bundled against Fyre’s chest, my head on his curled-up arm, his other slung over my torso and his fingers under my ribs.

I know how I managed to fall asleep like this—Fyre’s warm body was too comforting to resist after the belting he gave me—but how did I manage tostayasleep?

Another scratch rouses me from my drowsy thoughts.

What is that?

I stay still, barely breathing as I try to identify the sound. When it comes a third time, I think I know what it is.

I almost say Fyre’s name, but then I remember what he told me a second before hitting me with his belt.

There’s another scratch as I fight a sudden flurry of confusing, tangled thoughts, and then I carefully wriggle out from under his arm.

I creep across the floor and go to the bedroom door. As soon as I crouch and put my fingers by the gap under the door, Arrow starts snuffling at the air. Her hot breath still makes me shiver—it reminds me too much of her sharp teeth—but I keep my fingers there longer than I thought possible.

“What’s the matter?” I whisper.

The dog whines. Her nails click on the floor as she backs up from the door and a second later she scratches gently at the wood again.

I look over my shoulder at the sleeping mound on the bed, and then at the stuff he brought with him still lying on the nightstand. I search through everything except the black shopping bag—the keys wouldn’t be in there.

He must have them on him, possibly in his pocket. He told me not to address him, not to beg, or plead, or ask questions. I can’t wake him up without going against his express wish for me to shut the fuck up, right?

I’d bedisobeyinghim.

But not if I find the keys and open the door.

The thought springs up out of nowhere, and latches hold like a creeper of poison ivy.

I climb onto the bed, careful not to stir him too much. When I slide my hand into his right pocket, he lets out a soft sigh and shifts a little at the touch.

But he doesn’t wake, not even when I pull out the key. Not even when it hooks on the seam of his pocket and I have to fidget to get it loose.

He sleeps through everything, and my heart has just about banged its way through my fucking ribcage by the time I back up to the door.

I don’t take my eyes off him.

I convince myselfhe’sthe danger, not his dog outside. Arrow is big, and could hurt me if she wanted, but the only time she threatened me was when I tried to run.

So how about if I justwalked?

Right out the fucking door.

My eyes are glued on Fyre’s dark shape as I blindly find the keyhole, slip in the key, and turn it.

The click of the lock disengaging is too loud, but it’s not loud enough to wake Fyre.

Should I lock the door again?

My heart jumps into my throat at the thought. It would keep him in, but what if I woke him the process? Could I be fast enough?

No, it’s too risky.

I’m too clumsy.

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