Page 38 of The Photo
Deep voices mutter, and my strength crumbles. There’s nothing left to lose. I hide under the duvet and dial 999, muttering a rushed plea for help and giving out my address. The call handler instructs me get out immediately. I tell him I’m on the first floor of an apartment, so I could technically jump for freedom without killing myself. Apparently, the police are on their way, but who knows how long that will take.
I tiptoe around the room, hearing my blood pump. Carefully and quietly, I cram my college satchel with the most expensive equipment I can get my hands on. It fills up with my camera and awkward tripod hanging out.
Omigod. My laptop is charging in the living room. I left it on the coffee table earlier. There is no way in hell I can leave it behind. My entire life is stored on that one device.
Before I venture out of the bedroom on my dangerous quest to rescue my laptop, I unhook the window in preparation for my exit. There are more clatters and smashes, and a wave of fear powers down my legs making them weaken. If I survive this, I’ll not question my life with Noah anymore. I want to slow dance, hold hands and kiss him every day. I’ll move to Canada and find a job out there. If our relationship burns out, at least I’ll have given him my everything.
A clang of cutlery plunging to the floor makes me flinch. Heavy footsteps grow louder and the door swings open. I bounce backward, covering my mouth to hold in a scream. My pajamas are met with torchlight. I freeze. He’s sees me. I see him. Coal colored clothes and a balaclava masking his features except for the whites of his eyes.
“Hey!” the burglars barks. I stumble, banging into the wardrobe. The man leaps like a wildcat, and before I can move, a hand seizes my wrist. “I’ll take that,” he snarls.
Unforgiving thick fingers tighten, squeezing my bare skin. He grapples with the satchel held tightly in my fingers, winning the wrestle without much of a fight. I’m not stupid enough to risk my life. “Take whatever else you want. Just not that stuff,” I try to bargain.
The beam of light blinds me. “Don’t speak or I’ll gag you.” He shakes my arm. “We’ve got a live one in here,” he calls out. “What will I do with her?”
“Please, let me leave. No one needs to get hurt.” I try to back away.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” he hisses out.
He twists his torso and yells to the second man. The lapse of concentration averts his gaze temporarily. My free hand swings into the air, and when his head revolves back, I jut a thumb into his eyeball, gritting my teeth as I apply pressure in a vicious attack. His palm slams over my hand to peel my thumb free from his socket.
I let go and stagger back, watching him struggle with partial blindness. In a stupor, I rush to the window. A siren blasts inside the room when I shove it wider.
“Fucking bitch, I’ll take your eyeballs out and feed them to my pet Cobra,” he spits out.
There’s no time to grab my belongings. The police are nearby but not close enough to help me right now. I won’t give this asshole a chance to hurt me before they arrive. It’s now or never. Perched on the window ledge, I hold my breath. One, two, three.
I dive for freedom.
I land in darkness.
Sixteen
Forty-five unanswered calls and a few unopened text messages.
That’s the amount of times I’ve reached out to Rowan. Sounds obsessive, but it’s almost one call an hour, if you do the math. Give or take, several hours of disturbed sleep.
She hasn’t answered. Not once.
The first attempt rang off. Every other call goes straight to a dead tone. There’s no voice message. Nothing. I stopped hitting redial last night. You can’t flog a dead horse. I’m sure, after some space, she’ll come around.
If I could bottle hindsight, I’d be even richer than I am now, but I’m an idiot. The magazine article went viral. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck. That was then. Now I have a woman who won’t pick up her damn cell phone.
Perhaps I should have told her. We would have laughed about how she’s tamed the bad boy. Instead, I saw her face on the screen, and my dick took over. I’m in limbo after the voice message she left me while I bench pressed my sexual frustration away. Her wording was bland, to say the least. I don’t know if she’s pissed off with me, or— what the fuck I should think. This cruel, silent treatment is burning through my patience.
It’s been two days ofnothing.
No texts.
No photos.
No sexy video chats.
No social posts.
And worst of all… no conversation, and that's what I miss the most.
If I wasn’t so cut up about it, I’d be furious.
