“Yes,” I answer, standing to clear her plate once she’s done. I give the bowl a quick rinse before placing it in the dishwasher. All the while, Emily’s eyes track my movements.
“Can I leave?” she asks, and when I turn back around, I see her nibbling on her lip.
My head shakes. “No, Angel. Not yet.”
Her eyes dim and I hate myself for making her sad.Temporary, I remind myself.
“Please?” she whispers and it almost breaks me.
I step in front of her, dragging her up from the chair so I can wrap my arms around her shoulders. “When you’re in love with me, you can leave.”
She deflates in my arms.
I place a kiss to the top of her head, then step back, forcing myself to leave the house.
The cameras installed in every room mean I can continue to monitor her, knowing if she tries to escape. And the additional locks on all the doors and windows add an extra layer of security. Could she break a window? Maybe. But she won't.
Emily
After Eli leaves, I go snooping.
It’s clear he’s removed a lot of personal touches; there’s not much left that would give away who he is.
But now that I know… I can see it even in the colours of the place—muted greys and blacks. Dark, like him.
Snooping keeps me busy for the first hour or so. Then I grow bored of not finding anything interesting. Without my phone, I can’t scroll through social media, which leaves me curled up on the couch, reading a romance novel from Eli’s bookshelf.
But I can’t concentrate. My mind races, turning over the situation I’m now trapped in. I haven’t tried to escape yet. I’m not sure if it’s fear of him finding out—or something else. I want him to lower his guard. I want to know who Eli really is beneath the mask.
Is he the version of him I saw as a patient real? Or is that just another deception?
He says I have seven days to fall in love with him. Then he’ll let me go.
Maybe I can pretend.
Let him think I’ve fallen. Let him believe the charade.
Then, as soon as I’m free?
I’ll run. Leave it all behind. Start over.
I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
Somehow, I find myself in the kitchen.
I snack.
Just a bit, at first.
It’s a familiar comfort—something I need right now, while I’m feeling so unsettled and confused.
Some biscuits from the cupboard. Then a six-pack of crisps. A protein bar.
The book lies open next to me, forgotten.
I end up back in front of the fridge.
Some ham.