Page 96 of Caged
Please God,I utter in silent prayer,I know I’m not your favorite. I’m far from your chosen. But if you ever allow me freedom, I promise you, I will dedicate the rest of my life to eradicating this cancer that is Sigma, and especially X. I will bring justice to its victims, if it’s the last thing I ever do, even if it costs me everything in return.
The mixer tonight is the perfect cover. I’ve made it this far. I can make it a few more hours.
43
MONROE
Five Months Prior to Present Day,
48 – 72 Hours After the April Full Moon Ceremony,
Junior Year,
Sigma
Kieren’s fingers scratch my shoulder, petting me through the wires of the cage like the barking dog he thinks I am, the dog who will never bite.
He’s wrong.
“I’ll only be gone for a few minutes, puppy. Just to make sure everything is going to plan downstairs. Then I’ll be back. You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?”
I lie motionless, controlling my inhales and exhales. Controlling my rage. If a speck of humanity ever once existed within Kieren, it’s dead now. I can’t blame his actions on psychosis; this is punishment for embarrassing him in front of X and the rest of the fraternity. When you’re rotten to the core, no amount of medication or therapy can purify your soul.
The three deadbolt locks on the bedroom door clunk into position in rhythmic succession. I force myself to count to sixty as I turn the numbers of the combination lock.
Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.
Pop.
The door of the cage gives a small squeak as I slowly push it open. The crossed metal wires dig into my kneecaps as I crawl out.
Standing takes considerable effort. My vision is blurry, and my muscles are weak. Several seconds pass before the black spots dissipate. The level of iron in my blood must be at rock bottom. Convincing my legs to move is another delay I didn’t anticipate. I’m clumsy, and it takes more time than I can spare to pull open the bottom drawer of the wooden dresser. A pair of black leggings sits on top of a grey Dornell logo sweatshirt. I spend five seconds searching for socks I don’t find. A pair of my sneakers, thankfully, are in his closet where I left them, coated with a thin film of dust. When did I wear them last? Is it possible that I’ve been trapped in that cage for almost a week?
I lost track of time. I meant to mark the days by the rise and set of the sun, but I was too out of it, too crippled by low blood sugar and dehydration to do anything but sleep. My body completely shut down to keep me alive.
I check the top drawer of Kieren’s desk. Locked.
His wallet rests haphazardly next to his keyboard, and I take the one hundred and forty-three dollars inside, unlace my shoe, and stuff the cash under my foot. My black lace bra, the one I had on Saturday night and am still wearing God only knows how many days later, is too flimsy to hold the bills securely.
Dammit, I need to go, but the water and protein shake in the mini-fridge claw at my hunger. I pull out a bottle, twisting the cap open, and chug. I do the same for the protein shake, putting both empty bottles back on the cold shelf. I don’t know if thisscant amount of hydration and calories will make a difference given my severe deficit of both, and seeing as I’m still dizzy, my guess is it didn’t do jack shit, but I owe it to myself to try.
The heavy, wooden window frame resists as I wiggle it upward. Dammit, fucker,move! I clench my jaw and apply all the strength I can muster to heave the uncooperative, dinosaur of a window open. Damp, spring air floods the room, temporarily stealing my breath as I gasp through the rush of fresh oxygen. My lungs have acclimated to the bare minimum and are overwhelmed by the abundance of such a basic human right. Never again will I take fresh air for granted. The fire escape looks different in the dark, scarier and more treacherous, but I’d rather fall to my death than spend another minute held captive in that bedroom, caged and forgotten.
I swing a leg over the windowsill and into the night sky, with nothing to my name but hope and a prayer.
44
GABI
Present Day,
Early October, Senior Year,
Sigma
“It’s me,” I whisper in response to the scathing look I’m given from a girl I recognize as a sophomore in my sorority. “Gabi!” I say for assurances.
I’m met with a look of confusion and perhaps, intrigue.
