Page 44 of Kept

Pushing myself back, I look down. The window… is not, in fact, a window.

It’s adoor.

My fingers curl around the edge of the glass, and I pull it gently towards me, not daring to hope until a soft breeze dances over my exposed skin.

I jump back, my hand flying to my throat.

Air.Freshair.

I’ve never felt fresh air on my skin.

Taking a tentative step forward, I worry at my bottom lip with my teeth. Sudden trepidation fills me.

This is what I wanted, but I’m suddenly scared.

Walls are comforting.

Walls are safe.

The air that dances over my fingers when I hold them out… there’s a big world out there. No walls to be seen.

My shoulders firm.

I will not be afraid.

This is all I ever wanted. Freedom. And it’s right there for me to take.

I’m taking it.

I yank the door wide open. It clatters back against the wall with an ominous clash, but I don’t pay it any attention.

I’m leaning out over the small set of bars built into the wall, and all I can do is breathe in. The breeze flits around me, playing with my hair, tickling my nose and making me sneeze.

My hands shake on the bars as my eyes blur, the limited darkness fading into an incoherent mass as the tears start to fall.

It’s better than I ever imagined. Inhaling deeply, I take in the fresh scent I didn’t expect. It feels brisk, a little sharp, and all I want to do is suck it down and expand my lungs with it, fill myself up so nobody can ever take this feeling away from me.

Why do people even have windows? What’s the point when they could havethis?

The soft carpet under my feet suddenly feels too itchy. Leaning out, I stare down into the dark garden. A criss-crossing piece of wood winds up the wall beneath me, curling around my window, fading blooms offering the promise of flowers in summer. A petal crunches in my hand as I gently pull it off, curling my fingers around it.

The sudden, desperate urge has me staring at the wood.

I’m not that far from the ground, not really.

I could do it.

Holding my breath, I swing my leg up before I realize I’ve got no actual clothes on. The towel slips with my movement, slithering down to the floor as I stare down at it and then back to the garden.

It’s really dark. Who’s going to see me?

Just for a few minutes, and then I’ll climb back up.

The thought of stopping for even a second, of turning my back on this and worrying about clothes makes my chest hurt more.

I need to get down there.

So I swing my leg over, and it’s only when I’m precariously balanced on the other side of the bars, facing the bedroom, that I remember my promise to Maverick.

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