Page 500 of Filthy Elites

“Yes.”

“It’s too early, run later.”

“I run at five.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” he growls tiredly, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other in my hair as he drags my head backward and presses his lips against mine.

Yanking my head away from him, I wince as a chunk of hair comes free, wiggling away and into a sitting position. “I need to run, Sebastian,” I gasp, feeling panic start to rise into my throat.

“Hey, what the fuck? What’s the matter?” he asks, sitting up in bed and staring at me, wide eyed.

“I. Need. To. Run,” I say through panic-laden breaths. “It keeps me sane. I need to run.”

“Calm down. You’re not going on your own, you don’t leave this fucking house without one of us. How far do you go? You sort of wandered last time.”

“You followed me?” I pant, my chest feeling tight, my vision dimming at the sides.

“Of course I did, you got up in the middle of the night, it’s fucking dangerous.”

My eyes feel too large for my head, my skin tight. He’s not going to let me go, I’m a prisoner, but even those in jail get to roam and have some exercise. I’m on the verge of another panic attack, I’ve never had two so close together, but this is what being around him does to me. My mind descends into a mental tailspin and there’s nothing I can do but brace for impact and hope I’m still me on the other side.

“Fuck. Little bird, stop, just fucking breathe, I’ll run with you, but if you try to leave campus there will be consequences.”

Nodding rapidly, I scramble off the bed as he reaches for me. His brow furrows as if he’s surprised that I wouldn’t want to be touched by him when I’m feeling this overwhelmed and vulnerable. My dad would comfort me, he’d talk me off this ledge I’m balanced precariously on, but he isn’t here and Sebastian is the cause of my panic, not the resolution.

Ignoring the fact that I’m naked except for one of his shirts, I stand up and try to expand my lungs and pull in as much air as I can. Closing my eyes, I try to forget where I am and who I’m with and picture myself in my room at my dad’s place. I pretend the silence is the peace of the calm existence we lived and gradually it works. When I open my eyes I’m not in the bedroom anymore, I’m in the bathroom, backed up against a cool tile wall, my hands covering my ears.

Blinking, I cough to clear my dry throat. I’m not sure how I got in here, if I walked myself, or if Sebastian carried me in here. My throat is sore and my chest is still tight, but I can breathe and the blind panic has faded to a pulsing undertone of anxiety that I know won’t go away anytime soon. My hands are shaking as I reach in and turn on the shower, not waiting for it to warm before I step beneath the frosty-feeling water. The cold shocks me, but I embrace it, stripping off his shirt and ducking my hair beneath the frozen stream, dousing myself before it becomes lukewarm. I turn the water off before it gets hot and jump out of the shower, rubbing my goose bump–coated body with a towel.

When I finally lift my head, I find Sebastian standing in the doorway watching me. “Are you okay?”

Silently I nod.

He nods back, but all of the smugness has gone from his expression and in its place is a cold vacantness that terrifies me. He hated that I flinched from his touch, even back in high school, so it must be driving him crazy that I won’t let him comfort me when I freak out now. Without a word he moves to the dresser and opens a drawer, pulling out panties, running shorts and a sports bra and tossing them toward me. Opening a second drawer, he pulls out clothes for himself and we dress in silence.

“My sneakers and AirPods are in my room.”

“It’s open, we’ll move the rest of your stuff into our room once we get back.”

“I’d rather keep my things in my room.”

“Not your choice, I thought you understood that.”

Because I’m your prisoner, I say inside my head, but I manage to keep my expression clear as I run up the stairs to my room and grab my sneakers, armband and AirPods. I could barricade myself inside and refuse to leave, but I really do need to run, so instead I descend the stairs and then calmly make my way out of the front door, hating that the electric gates open the moment they sense our presence.

The urge to run is almost overwhelming. If I had a car, if I could outrun him, if there was a chance I’d escape, I’d bolt and never stop running until I was free of him. But here and now there’s nowhere to go, at least not before he caught me.

Pushing my buds into my ears, I do my usual stretches, set my run tracker, turn up my mellow running playlist and go. I don’t bother to look behind me, I know he’s following, I can feel the intensity of his presence but I refuse to let him infiltrate my happy place, so I ignore him and just run. After a while, the routine of putting one foot in front of the other settles into place and I lengthen my stride, enjoying the freedom of living entirely in my head from one step to the next.

I don’t turn toward the main gates this time, instead I circle around the main building again, looping the entire smattering of brick-built buildings as I go. Running the same loop another three times, I reluctantly turn back toward the house, my lungs warm, my legs comfortably sore. Ignoring the vending machines I stopped at yesterday I continue straight on to the house, feeling a resigned sense of hatred for the place the moment it comes into view.

Sebastian passes me for the first time when we reach the gates, using his key card to unlock it, then motioning for me to walk through. My feet stop on the threshold, and I glance up at the house, my prison. I don’t want to willingly incarcerate myself again, but I’m not sure there’s another choice, at least not for the minute. I will get away from here and him, but I can’t be impulsive, I need to be calm, make a plan, know where I’m going and how I’ll get him to leave me alone for good the next time I run.

Stepping through the gate, I march up to the front door and straight into the house, not pausing as I make my way to the kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I suppose technically, it’s not mine to drink, but I figure the least the assholes I’m living with can do is buy drinks and snacks, I am their prisoner after all.

Drinking thirstily, I gulp down the cold liquid between pants. I ran a little over ten miles and my muscles are fatigued in the way that makes me smile even though I’m coated in sweat and panting.

One of my buds is pulled from my ear and I startle, spinning around to glare at Sebastian. “Hey.”

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