Page 40 of The Freedom in Captivity

He grunts and turns, his expression telling me he doesn’t quite believe my explanation, but he doesn’t push for a different answer, so before he can, I shut the door and descend the wooden steps.

When I first came down, before Della’s planned visit, to get Rozelyn dressed, her life seemed to be completely drained. Limp, looking lifeless, she stood with her body sagging and head lolling to the side. Exhaustion dominating her.

Until her stepsisters came down here. Like a switch, I watched her flick on, feigning attitude to get through the interaction without revealing what she thinks is weakness to others. She’s letting me see it and I hate how that makes me feel.

I find her in a similar position this time too. Her head is resting against her chained arms, her eyes shut, but they slowly open as I tread across the cement. Her skin is paler, the dark marks beneath her eyes more noticeable.

The shirt she’s wearing—mine—makes my chest burn with old emotions. It reminds me of when she’d wear my hoodies on the frosty, winter days when Montreal’s icy temperatures made the school’s ancient heater struggle. She shivered a lot in class, but I enjoyed that something of mine warmed her.

Reaching into my pocket, I grab the key that will free her from these chains and get to work on her first wrist.

“So you do keep your promises.”

“Yes, because I’m not you. I don’t make promises and then turn around and break them.”

As I go for her other wrist, I catch sight of the scar in the centre of her palm, making this conversation even more bitter in my mouth. Talking about broken promises when the white mark is a visual representation of old vows made.

With both wrists free, her arms fall to her sides and she sways, catching her balance at the last second, right as I turn for the stairs.

“Follow. Or don’t, and see how much I care.”

She’ll follow, even if it kills her because she’ll want her reward for getting through the interaction with Della and Ariella.

“No chain around my neck this time?”

Amused, I smirk over my shoulder, noticing how she’s barely started up the steps, even though I’m nearing the top by the door. “Given how you just hobbled across the room, I doubt you’re able to fight.”

It takes her a moment but finally, she meets me at the top of the stairs. Her stride doesn’t break as she heads in the direction of my room, knowing that’s where we’re going even though I’d never told her so. She’s limping, her pace slow. I wait by the basement door and watch her, knowing with her speed, it’ll take only a moment before I catch up.

She’s clearly in pain and it sets something off inside me. Something Iwon’ttitle.Won’tadmit to myself. Something that reminds me of the old sensations I’d get when I saw the dark spots on her skin. Instead, I lie to myself and pretend to find enjoyment in the scene.

The lie bursts as soon as I try to convince myself of it and I’m by her side in a moment, my arms reaching around her body to scoop her up bridal-style. She doesn’t fight, not that she has the strength to, and her head immediately goes to the curve of my neck.

Fuck. Me.

“You’re carrying me.”

“You were always smarter than I was.”

“Funny. I assumed you’d be fine seeing me collapse.”

Me too.I tell her instead, “I am, but I’d also like to get this over with sometime today.”

She doesn’t talk again as I enter my room, locking the door behind us, and march her straight past my bed, past the food I had brought in earlier, and right into the bathroom, depositing her on the shut toilet seat.

“Shower. Do what you need to. You have fifteen minutes. Don’t think about drowning yourself to escape. I know CPR andwillbring your ass back.”

Then I back away and shut the door, granting her an ounce of privacy that she doesn’t deserve. Why? Wish I fucking knew.

Just like I wish I understood what I’m even doing right now. These niceties are to play right along with her. Days of hell downstairs, only to grant her a reprieve. Show her we’re not the villains she thinks we are. Loosen her lips.

When the shower switches on, I stupidly imagine her stripping my shirt off, the cuts I’ve left on her body red and apparent as she steps beneath the steaming water. Did she moan when the hot water hit her sore muscles? Is she appreciating what this moment means?

Staring at the ceiling, I invent an invisible grid on it and then count every square, simply to keep my mind busy as I wait for the fifteen minutes I’ve given her to pass. I almost hope she goes over the time limit, so I’ll have a reason to release this electrifying energy igniting inside me.

The fifteen minutes come and I give her an extra moment.

And then another.

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