Page 195 of Deliverance

Therefore, I need to come up with a different tactic.

Deceit.

Then escape.

That I can do. I can run and I can run fast. All those hours spent at Roque’s gym and hiking the hills around L.A. weren’t just for fun.

When my thoughts settle, I make another attempt to straighten up and study the room again, this time very carefully, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon or to cut the ties.

Through the cracked door, I can hear the hum of the TV and the clanking of the silverware interrupted by occasional cheers or curses.

He’s watching a game.

Typical.

I don’t know why this behavior doesn’t surprise me. Probably because he did it for years—beat the shit out of me first and then went on with the most mundane things. Like washing the car or mowing the lawn.

Suddenly, an idea takes root in my mind.

There has to be a sharp enough object somewhere in this house and it’s time I started checking the other rooms.

You’re not a victim. You’re a survivor, Drew.

I clear my throat and call his name, “Rhys.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Rhys. I need to use the bathroom!” I say louder, then add, “Please.”

For a while, the noise of the football game is the only answer, but eventually, the chair scrapes over the floorboards and he moves toward the bedroom.

There’s a creak, and then his silhouette is filling the doorway, all sharp angles and promise of danger.

I swallow and force myself to look at him to convey obedience. He liked that a lot. Total submission. “Rhys. I really need to use the bathroom.”

He produces an indiscernible grunt and disappears, only to return later with the pair of scissors, the ones I’ve been wanting to get my hands on since the moment I found out they existed.

After separating my wrists from the bed, he yanks me up.

I wince from the pain lashing through my limbs and spine.

A part of me—and I don’t know how determined that part is—wants to kick him, but the sensible part of me knows this fight—with my hands still tied together—won’t yield any results. If anything, it’ll probably give me more bruises and anger him to a catastrophic degree.

Be smart… Be smart… Be smart… Be smart…

Rhys grasps my elbow and pulls me across the room, toward the door by the dresser.

Lips shut tight, muscles clenched, pulse thudding against my bones, I follow his lead blindly. Or rather, I allow him to think that while my eyes continue to covertly study my surroundings. My feet have numbed and my knees are buckling from lack of use and that fact only solidifies my doubts.

My plan is shit.

How am I going to outrun a man when I can barely stand?

You shouldn’t have wasted dinner, the voice in my head sounds a lot like Rhys.

He gives me a light shove and, stumbling, I nearly fly into the bathroom. My hands awkwardly grip the edge of the tiny sink for support. Truly, he didn’t even need to apply much pressure because I’m already one step in the grave. At this point, breathing hard in my direction will ensure I drop to the floor.

“Are you going to watch me?” I ask as I spin to face him.

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