I trust you.
I don’t know why I said those words.
Trust.
I don’t trust Enzo.
But it seemed those were the words he needed to hear to carry out his plan. And it seemed I would be rewarded if I let him get his way.
So despite every bone in my body begging me to run, I stay. I lay on the cool bedsheets face up. I expected to hate and curse the bed the second I laid down on it—but I don’t hate it.
The bed is firm. The sheets feel brisk, my skin adapting to the temperature easily. And the pillow is supportive under my head and neck, not soft and mushy.
I’m not sure what Enzo has planned as I lay face up on the bed, but I’m tired of living in fear. Today, I will claim something back. Something bigger than wearing clothes or stepping out into the sunlight. But what?
“Turn off that
