Page 68 of Caged
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I retort through a mouthful of bagel sandwich.
“Then what’s the problem? I’m getting sick of your fucking games, Monroe.”
The bite I had taken sits partially chewed in my mouth as I furrow my brows at his capricious accusation.
“Do you remember what you said to me earlier this morning?” Kieren asks.
I give him a slight shake of my head because I barely remember the shower I took.
“You said you didn’t think you could do this. You were sewing your seeds of doubt, like you always do right before you run, and there will be no more running, Monroe. You can’t keep telling me you love me and then leave the second things don’t go your way. After last night and that stunt you pulled, we’re going to do things differently, starting with your security. Whenever you leave this room, it will be with me or with anescort.”
I manage a painful swallow. “You can’t keep me captive in your room, Kieren. That’s absurd!”
“No, what’s absurd,” he snaps, sitting up to glare at me as I huddle on the floor at his feet, “is that you fail to comprehend the target you have on your back as my girlfriend. Do you think I don’t hear the whispers? The envy of what we’re doing here at Sigma? The jealousy wielded at the women who have been initiated as Sigma Little Sisters? Everyone is getting an escort, Monroe. Sigma protects their own, especially you. Above all else, you, so do not forget, Monroe, that you are not only a part of this now, but as my girlfriend, you are the face of Sigma Little Sisters. Every dick with a pulse is out to fuck you, and I’ll be damned if Ilet anyone touch what’s mine, because the only one who gets to make you scream is me.”
“Kieren, this sounds incredibly paranoid, even for you. Escorts? Security? You sound like you truly have lost your mind.”
He closes his eyes and laughs to himself. “Yeah,” he agrees with a mocking sneer. “I lost my mind a long time ago, Monroe. My mind, my soul, my humanity. But you know the one thing I refuse to lose?” he asks, looking at me with determined zeal. “It’s you.”
31
MONROE
Five Months Prior to Present Day,
Thursday Before Spring Break,
Junior Year,
Dornell University
Iglance out of the corner of my eye at my shadow. Harrison sits two seats down from me with his laptop out, pretending to be a student in this class. I don’t know what he’s doing; maybe he’s working on one of the courses he’s actually enrolled in, or maybe he’s typing a minute-by-minute update for Kieren detailing what I ate for lunch, how many times I’ve taken a piss, and how many breaths I take per minute.
This is madness, and I’m convinced there is something deeply wrong with me.
When Kieren declared I would be monitored at all hours of the day for my own security, something inside of me started to shut down. At first, I found having a constant companion to be irritating, because most of the time, it wasn’t Kieren, it was oneof his henchmen. Barrett I cannot stand, although Harrison is not much better. At least he rarely speaks.
After nearly two weeks of my new normal, I no longer feel like I’m living. I’m just… existing. I’m living in a void, and I don’t understand how I got here or how to get out. For days on end, I’ve done nothing but wake up, shower, wait for my escort, go to class, come back, and wait for Kieren. I’m physically present, but mentally and emotionally gone. My brain registers sounds and visuals, but everything is muffled, like I’m under water, listening, watching, drowning.
A pestering feeling lingers at the tip of my cortex, like I’ve been here before, but I can’t remember when or how or why. It’s a memory I cannot recall, and the nagging sense of déjà vu haunts me. I can tell my body recognizes this state of being because the numbness I feel is less like a shell and more like armor. I don’t feel fear. I feel acceptance.
Unable to focus, I open a new tab in my browser and type in the address for Dornell’s campus news website,Dornell Daily. My blood turns to ice as the page loads. On the homepage of the website is a picture of a smiling female student with the headline:Rory Copeland, Freshman Student Missing.
My breath grows choppy as I click on the article. A quick glance to the right tells me my shadow is engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his laptop screen, but I don’t want to take any chances, so I shrink the size of the browser window down to a small, barely legible box. I scan the news story, squinting as I read.
Rory Copeland, freshman architecture major and recent pledge of the sorority Delta Delta Delta, has been missing for over seventy-two hours. Friends and classmates reported seeing Rory this past Saturday at her sorority and with her study group at the library. If you have anyinformation on Rory’s whereabouts, please contact the local police immediately.
I study the picture of Rory, and an image of a woman with shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair, just like that on the webpage in front of me, pops into the forefront of my mind. I see her backside, her exposed buttocks, her red lace thong, her hair pressed flat against her head from the blindfold…
Cold sweat beads along my hairline and upper lip. My fingers quiver. A tightness in my chest makes it impossible to get a breath down.
Suddenly, the auditorium floods with noise. The professor must have delivered his closing remarks because students begin to pack up their belongings. With uncertainty, I do the same, realizing I didn’t absorb a word said during the seventy-five-minute lecture. Harrison’s prying eyes find mine, and I wonder if he can see the panic on my face.
“I need to stop by my sorority,” I state, standing with purpose. I don’t bother asking Harrison if he minds driving me across campus. The new pledge class is doing roommate and room selection tonight in anticipation of moving into the sorority house at the start of the next academic year. Kasey undoubtedly will be there, and I desperately need confirmation that I’m not crazy.
Grey clouds blanket the sky, threatening rain or possibly snow depending on how low the temperature drops tonight. After a teasing glimpse of spring weather, the cold has returned. Students are still bundled in their winter coats and boots to trudge through the dirty slush on the sidewalks. Everyone is eager for a sliver of sunshine, a signal that the relentless upstate New York winter is loosening its hold at last.
The tires of Harrison’s Toyota Land Cruiser slosh through the half-melted, muddy snow, creating a soothing lull. I close myeyes and drift to the gentle rocking motion of the car as we drive the main street connecting the south-east campus quadrant to north campus, where many of the sorority houses reside.
