Chapter 6(Tori P.O.V)

I was still trapped in the glass tube.

Silence pressed against my ears, only the low hum of machines and the ticking wall-clock kept me company. I tried to remember today’s date, but my mind felt blank, washed clean by fear and exhaustion.

Terrific.             

The metal door slid open. Footsteps clicked toward me, Judith. I knew those heels anywhere; she was the only woman allowed in this place. She rolled in a trolley, the silver tray gleaming under the cold lights.

Lunch.

Roasted beef, pickles and salad, warm rolls, butter, champagne. I knew the menu by heart. They always made sure the dishes passed through the hallway, right under everyone's nose, so people would think I was eating well.

Judith hummed softly as she walked past me and sat at the far end of the room. She raised the champagne flute in a mocking toast before digging in. She devoured everything with greedy delight, sipping the champagne like she was starring in her own twisted performance. When she was done, she tossed the flute and bottle to the ground. The glass shattered into tiny, fragrant pieces.

Old witch, I thought bitterly.

The food was never for me. It never had been. Judith simply broke whatever dishes were used to “serve” me and reported to the chef that I didn’t like the meal or the wine. I hadn’t eaten in so long that I couldn’t remember the taste of real food.

I missed Ireland.

I missed my apartment.

I missed my life… and Crystal, my dog.

Everyone probably thought I was dead by now. They must have stopped searching.

I cursed the day Mum and Dad brought Zayn home.

Footsteps again. Judith returned, her perfume filling the sterile air. She came close, stroked my hair like I was some lifeless doll, and began brushing and styling it. Then came the makeup, the giggles, the cold hands.

“There. You look beautiful now,” she chirped before leaving, humming cheerfully.

How much longer…?

The door hissed open again. Dr. Kingston walked in mid-phone-call. His voice was calm, clinical.

“The hand is healing well. A good sign,” he said, examining me. “I don’t want to use the drugs on her. She’d die sooner.”

I stayed perfectly still.

“I know your wife has been insisting to see her for over a year. We can cook something up for now,” he continued. “I understand, sir.”

Wife?

Zayn got married? That was fast. And she wanted to meet me? Why? Curiosity? Jealousy? A trap? I couldn’t trust anyone. Not here.

Dr. Kingston was practically family, he’d attended dinners, parties, late-night gatherings. And now he was in the middle of whatever dark bargain Zayn had made, probably fattened with shares and silent promises. He could destroy Zayn if he wanted… which meant I needed to be extremely careful around him too.

He stopped the drip. Testing me.

I kept my limbs still, my breathing unchanged. My eyes stayed shut.

He circled me like a vulture, searching for signs of consciousness. Finally, he gave up and adjusted the flow again before walking away.

Two minutes. That’s how long before the drip would drag me under again.

I wrapped my fingers around the thin tube feeding the fluid into my arm and squeezed hard.

Well, well, well, I thought.

I was awake.

And now… I had to figure out how to get out of here.