ESCAPE

"Fine, I’ll be there in 45. No, I need to feed Ava first." I hear his frustrated voice rising from downstairs as he thumps around the kitchen, pots, and pans clanking in his wake. "Do not push me," he continues, "If I say 45, you know that I fucking mean it. I’m a man of my word and have never gone back on it, unlike some."

Who is he talking to? 45 minutes. Oh, God, It's time!

I have regained the majority of my strength back over the past 24 hours. My limbs are now able to function on their own, but I’ve remained docile with my stranger in the hope of this exact moment.

All I need is 15 minutes. Then I can be free.

With no other explanation for my fatigue over the past few days, I’ve concluded that he must be drugging my food, the doses reduced over time, and I know that this may be my only opportunity to run. Since waking 2 hours ago, I’ve allowed him to use my body while planning my escape.