She says nothing as I leave the room, heading back to my office to get ready to put out the next fire I have to deal with.
Is there a world where I could do what I want?
I doubt it, especially as I slide back behind my desk, the leather of my chair wrapping around me like a familiar embrace.
I've been chained to this desk—this life—for years, and while the idea of leaving, of slowing down, might be entertaining, it's not going to happen.
Not when I don't have a single clue what I want.
Not when I don't know if I'm ever going to figure out what I want.
Maybe, if everyone is lucky, I'll be dead before I ever have to start figuring it out.
Chapter Eighteen
SUMMER
I wantto hit something until my hand aches and my knuckles bleed. I want to scream into the void like it's going to fix the shitshow that is my life.
Or I could kill Noah. He's probably sleeping in the spare room like he has been for the last week and a half since he dragged me back here.
It'd be easy to slip into his room. I'd have to figure out the best weapon, the one that's going to be easy enough to hide. Sink a knife into his throat. Find a gun and a silencer.
Hell, I could choke him out just for something to do. At this point, I feel like I'll go insane if I don't have anything to do. Even catching up on schoolwork isn't keeping me entertained for long, but no matter how hard I try, I can't get around the blocks Noah put in place.
Maybe I should be happy to have something to do at all, but I'm not.
I want out of this hellhole, but so far none of the guards I've seen have been ones who worked with my family. There shouldn't beany way Noah found out who they were already, but he might have.
And then there's the phone. I've been messaging Aiden once a day to let him know I'm still alive, but other than that, I've been keeping it hidden in the same cupboard I found the gun.
If they find the phone, I'm dead. There's no escaping it at that point.
I send Aiden the daily message, the same as the last few days.
I'm alive. Not planning on dying today.
It's not much, but it's the most I'm going to manage. It's the only goal for getting through the day.
Groaning, I change into some shorts and a sports bra, tying my hair back before wandering through the house until I find the gym. I head straight for the punching bag, stretching out and then wrapping my hands.
I bounce on my feet from side to side, imagining Noah's face as I slam a right hook into the side of the bag.
It barely moves.
I grunt and do it again and again, tossing in an uppercut at the end.
"Stupid fucking idiot."
More punches. A knee to the bag.
Sweat drips down my face.
I throw more punches, wishing with each one that it'd be enough to get me out of here. I hope that it's going to be enough to seemy family, to finally get to talk to someone other than Zoe after weeks of being trapped in this nightmare.
I throw one hook and then another, switching sides before starting to kick the bag hard.
Arms wrap around my waist, and I'm thrown, the ground colliding with my shoulder hard, pain blossoming.