Page 19 of Do Not Open

This time, he doesn’t forget to lock it.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Though I have no way to know for sure, I’m positive several days pass before I see him again.Chris, apparently. That’s what the woman called him.

My body is drenched in a cool sweat, and my joints ache. I’ve thrown up the remaining contents of my stomach and can’t seem to stop shaking. This is withdrawal. I know it, and I hate it. I hate that it’s my fault.

That there’s no one else to blame, not even him, for the mess I’ve gotten myself in.

I understand I’m being punished for what I did. No food and nothing to drink for days. I finished the last of the oatmeal, wine, and water he’d left me with for breakfast what feels like a lifetime ago, and since then, I’ve slept in what feels like a state of delirium, waking in pain, and passing back out. When I’m awake, I’ve been sustaining myself on the LifeSavers he left me, but that supply is quickly dwindling. His already too-large clothing is practically swallowing me whole, and it seems to get worse by the day. I’m losing weight, losing my sense of reality. My grasp on time. My desire to make it out of here.

When he appears, almost like a figment of my imagination—a monster under my bed—he stands in front of the door for several minutes, just watching me.

“Your name is Chris?” I ask, my voice soft and conversational, as if maybe he’s forgotten what I did. As if we can just move past it and act as if it never happened.

“How do you know that?”

“I…” It was a mistake to bring this up, but I realize it too late. Then, I notice the bag in his hand. “What did you bring me? Dinner?” My stomach growls at the thought.

He drops the bag on the bed and holds out my latest wineglass, which readsI may be wrong, but I doubt it. Like a dog with a bone, I dive for it, practically ravenous. I take two large gulps of the wine, barely tasting it, and then reach for the bag. Inside, there are two styrofoam containers. I tear open the top one, my throat growing dry at the sight of the spaghetti.

I search for a fork as he crosses the room, and I notice the bag slung across his shoulder. He sits down on the bed next to me and unzips it. I watch, mouth full, as he reveals a laptop.

“I thought we could watch a movie if you still want to.”

I swallow. Normally, the idea of watching a gory horror movie while eating spaghetti would disgust me, but since I’m sure I’ll have both containers of food gone before he gets the case for one of the DVDs open, I nod. “Sure.”

“Do you have any preferences?” He stands and walks toward the stack of DVDs, running a finger down the spines slowly. When he turns back and notices me eyeing the laptop, he says, “There’s no internet, remember? Don’t do anything stupid.”

There’s an edge to his voice that gets the point across.

“Um.” I clear my throat. “How about the originalHalloween?”

“Ah. A classic. Good taste.” He taps a finger in the air before sliding the DVD from the stack and carrying it over to the bed. Then, he reaches into the bag and pulls out the second container of spaghetti—apparently for himself.

I stare down at what’s left of my food, wishing I’d paced myself more. This portion has done little to satiate my hunger, and my sudden disappointment is painful.

He pops the DVD into the laptop’s CD drive and pushes it forward on the bed once it begins playing, so we both have a decent view of the screen.

I wish I could pretend I was at home, curled up on the couch with Kassara, watching this film for the hundredth time and laughing at how unrealistic and cheesy, yet somehow perfect, it is. I wish I could be anywhere but here.

When I lean back against the headboard, his scent hits me. “You smell like burgers,” I muse, more to myself than anything. As much as I hate him, I find myself missing human interaction more. I just want to have a conversation with someone other than myself.

“The cafeteria,” he explains, shushing me and pointing at the screen.

We eat in silence for a long while. Halfway through the movie, I glance over at him. “Chris?”

His eyes dart toward me. “Yeah?”

“I just want you to know…I’m sorry I tried to escape.”

He leans forward and pauses the movie before he looks at me. “I don’t want you to hate it here, Mari.”

“I know. I just…I wish I didn’t have to be trapped in this room. I wish I could be out in the rest of the house. I get so bored down here.”

“Trust me, I want that too. But you’re safe down here. Protected. I can keep an eye on you. Until we get to know each other better, I don’t know that you won’t try to escape if I let you out—”

“But I won’t!” I promise him. “I swear I won’t. If you’ll just give me another chance, I—”

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