Chapter 6

Six

The silence of the basement wasn’t comforting anymore. It was a heavy, crushing thing that wrapped around me like an iron shroud. It wasn’t the kind of silence that offered peace or rest—it was oppressive, alive, mocking me with its weight. It was as if the silence itself was laughing at me, at the pitiful state of what my life had become. The quiet only reminded me of how utterly alone I was, of how everything had been stripped away until there was nothing left but this still, suffocating void.

I had been waiting for him, holding out as long as I could, but Owen hadn’t come. My body ached from suppressing its most basic needs, from clinging to a routine that had been my only anchor in this hell. Time had lost all meaning in the darkness. Hours? Days? I couldn’t tell anymore. My stomach twisted painfully, the hunger gnawing at me having long since turned to a dull, empty ache. The pressure in my bladder was unbearable now, demanding release with a sharp, burning urgency.

Trembling, I reached for the bucket Owen had left in the corner. My hands shook with a sick combination of shame and desperation as I dragged it toward me. It was humiliating—degrading in a way I hadn’t let myself fully acknowledge before now. Before, Owen had at least kept to his rigid schedule, allowing me those few precious moments in the adjoining bathroom. It was one of the few things that kept me feeling human, like I still had some small shred of dignity.

But now? Now I was nothing. Just an animal in a cage, reduced to the most basic, primal acts of survival. As I crouched over the bucket, the weight of it—of everything—hit me. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I couldn’t even cry properly. The humiliation swallowed me whole, pressing me down until it felt like I would break from the weight of it. I was nothing more than a broken thing, reduced to this—degraded, and discarded, left to rot in the dark.

When it was over, I stayed there for what felt like an eternity, numb. The shame, the degradation, the hopelessness—it all churned together into a sickening, bottomless pit inside me. Owen’s absence was a black hole, sucking everything else into it until there was nothing left but that aching void. Had he finally tired of his game? Had he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore? Maybe he was just going to leave me here, forgotten, to waste away in this godforsaken place.

The thought should have terrified me. But it didn’t.

I dragged myself back to the air mattress, its slow deflation echoing the collapse of my will. Owen’s scent lingered on the blanket—his cologne, woodsy and masculine, once intoxicating, now a twisted reminder of his presence. It clung to me, reminding me that even in his absence, he was still here, still everywhere, like a ghost haunting the corners of my mind. I curled into a ball, clutching the blanket to my chest as if it could somehow protect me from the reality of what my life had become.

The tears came then, hot and silent. They soaked into the fabric beneath me as I lay there, unmoving. I didn’t sob. I didn’t break down in loud, ugly cries. The tears simply fell—just like everything else. Even the act of crying felt hollow, like I was a puppet going through the motions of a life I no longer understood.

I was breaking. No. I was already broken. A part of me knew that. Another part of me didn’t care.

But somewhere in the pit of that despair, a flicker of something else stirred. A bitter determination, a fierce, reckless need to escape. It was a fragile thing—more desperation than hope—but it was all I had. I couldn’t stay here. I wouldn’t. I had to get out, even if it killed me.

I pushed myself up and scanned the basement, my eyes falling on the scattered remnants of forgotten furniture. Desks, chairs, old shelves—dust-covered relics of the building’s past. They were discarded, abandoned, just like me. But they were all I had. If I could stack them high enough, maybe—just maybe—I could reach that tiny window. That one sliver of light, the only connection I had left to the outside world.

I moved to the nearest desk, its wooden surface marred by the initials of students who probably hadn’t thought twice about their lives when they carved those marks. My muscles strained as I shoved the desk across the floor, the legs scraping against the concrete with a sound that echoed in the oppressive silence. It felt too loud, too real, and for a moment, I stopped, my heart pounding in my chest. The silence was my enemy now, and the sound was my only weapon against it.

Piece by piece, I moved the furniture, stacking it into a precarious tower that wobbled with every chair I added. My body was running on adrenaline now, driven by a frantic, wild hope that was barely holding me together. The chairs were lighter, easier to manage, but my hands shook as I worked, my fingers numb and clumsy.

Finally, I climbed onto the tower, the cold metal of the chair biting into my skin as I balanced myself. The window was so close. Just a few more inches. I stretched upward, my fingers brushing the dirty glass. I could almost taste the air beyond it—the fresh, clean air that promised freedom.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt something other than numbness. I felt the sharp, biting edge of want. I wanted out. I wanted to be free. I wanted to leave this place, to escape the cage Owen had built for me. I wanted to breathe.

With one last surge of strength, I rose onto my tiptoes, stretching as far as I could. My fingers connected with the window latch, and the metallic click echoed through the room like a gunshot. I pushed, and the window creaked open. The sound—so small, so insignificant—felt like a victory. It was the first crack in my prison, the first step toward freedom.

But freedom was still just out of reach. My heart pounded in my chest as I reached for the ledge, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. I was almost there. Almost free.

And then, just like that, the fragile balance I had created tipped. The tower beneath me wobbled violently, and I felt the world shift around me as gravity pulled me down.