Page 41 of Desperate Crimes

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I’m thinking about him.

Whoever he is.

I want to know why he knows me better than anyone ever has.

And why do I like that so much?

Chapter Ten-Leanna

I get I should be screaming bloody murder.

But a large part of me just wants to accept it.

My fingers curl around each other.

I tilt my head up, staring into the endless black of the sky above, stars visible through the skylight, cold and distant.

What kind of girl gets kidnapped and finds a secret Christmas garden waiting for her?

What kind of girl sees that and feels her chest ache with something almost like wonder?

Oh God.

There is definitely something wrong with me.

Because I should be trying to break out of here.

I should be doing something. Anything.

But I don’t want to leave this room. This secret place that was made just for me—I know it was.

It’s summer outside.

But in here? It could be December 24th, forever frozen in time.

There’s no chill in the air—just warmth.

A gentle ambient heat that wraps around me like a weighted blanket.

It smells like pine needles and roses and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon and clove.

Like memory.

I should feel disoriented. But I don’t.

I feel like I’m home.

This isn’t just a spectacle meant to entice me.

It’s a Christmas spirit time capsule.

One carved out of stone and glass and knowing.

Made just for me.

And maybe that’s what unravels me the most.

Because it’s not cold. It’s warm. And it’s dark. And I love it.

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