Page 15 of Beast

“I need to find my uncle,” I say, desperate for news of him.

“You will need to wait until Beast comes back.”

“Where is here?”

“He is taking care of some business in town. But when he returns, he’ll explain everything to you. Until then you need to eat.” Mya hands me a plate from the nightstand. On it is a delicious looking sandwich. “Roast beef, Swiss cheese and mustard relish.”

I want to make some kind of stand and refuse the food and demand to be released.

But I know Mya isn’t going to let me go no matter how hard I demand it. Also, I’m starving, and that sandwich is begging to be eaten.

I try not to give in.

But then my stomach growls, and I know I’ve lost the battle.

I grab the sandwich and bite into it, and my eyes roll to the back of my head when the explosion of mustard relish and Swiss cheese hits my tongue.

“Oh my God…” I moan around the mouthful of food.

Mya giggles, and it’s light and playful and makes me think of childhood summer days and swimming at the beach. A time when the only thing I had to worry about was sunburn and sand rash.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” she says as she stands. “Now, is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I suppose a way out of the clubhouse is out of the question?” I ask, finishing the first half of the sandwich.

Mya smiles softly, empathizing with my situation.

“Please don’t fret, you’re safe. Nothing will happen to you here.”

“I’ve been kidnapped by some giant man who had me shackled me to a bed. Sorry to disappoint you, but every cell in my body is telling me to fret right now. I can’t just accept this without question.”

Mya’s smile fades.

“You must do as he says,” she warns.

I scoff, reaching for the glass of phantasia water and take another mouthful. Seriously, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve had in my mouth in a long time. Even better than the sandwich. “Do as he says?” I shake my head and take another mouthful of water. “Not a chance.”

“Then things could get verycomplicatedfor you.” She chooses her words carefully and they send a shudder through me, but they’re not spoken with warning, more regret than anything.

She gives me a small, remorseful smile and then turns to leave.

When she reaches the door, I call out to her. “Who is he anyway? Your prez?”

She turns back to look at me and mischief tugs at her lips. “Why…he’s the Beast, of course.”

When she closes the door, I hear the latch slide and know I am locked in.

My nerves rattle.

I’ve never done well with confined spaces, and knowing the door is locked and I have no way out brings on a surge of anxiety.

Once upon a time, I asked my uncle why I feel trapped by locked doors. Was there something in my past? Was I traumatized by anything? But he just shook his head and told me that sometimes people develop these kinds of quirks. I guess he's right. My childhood was normal. Apart from the loss of my parents.

I let out a huff of breath.

I suppose I could start banging on the door and demand to be set free.

But I have a feeling that would be a waste of energy.

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