I’d cried myself to sleep.

I wasn’t even ashamed of my tears. I’d used every last ounce of my emotional and physical strength trying to get away, and now I was utterly empty. As though I’d been hollowed out. I kept playing the events over in my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. I should have locked the damned door to prevent Hayden coming back into the house, or at least done something to give me some idea that he was back. But I hadn’t considered he would come back. When I’d watched the boat being pulled out to sea by the storm, I’d truly believed that was the last I’d see of him. Or had I? Had I really thought he’d die out there, or did I think a man like him was immune to death?

When I woke, the room was still in darkness. It was a deeper darkness than I’d been exposed to before, and a stab of fear went through me. Still not fully awake, I was disoriented, my mind trying to put together what I was supposed to be seeing. For some reason, my memory was trying to conjure up my childhood bedroom, even though I knew that wasn’t where I was. My confusion only served to heighten my fear, and my heart raced, my mouth drying. I tried to catch my breath and remember where everything was. The elevator doors were opposite the four-poster bed, the dresser to my right, the coffee table and chairs at the foot of the bed.

I lifted my hands, and metal clinked, and I became aware of the extra weight around my wrists. Of course, Hayden had handcuffed me last night. I remembered that, too, now.

I was able to picture the room in my head, though the room remained in darkness. How long had I slept? I felt groggy enough for it to have been hours, but the lights hadn’t yet come up, which made me think it was still night. Hayden normally brought the lights back up at daylight and lowered them again when it was time to sleep. I didn’t know if he controlled the lighting himself, or if it was done automatically, but from the darkness surrounding me now, I figured something had gone wrong.

My bladder was full and heavy, however, and I needed to use the bathroom. Could I find my way there in the pitch black? Why had Hayden made the room so dark? Had the storm cause an electrical failure? Yet there was a faint light from the keypad from the elevator, which made me think there hadn’t been a failure at all. There was the possibility the elevator was backed up by an emergency generator, but surely the lights would be the same?

Fixing onto that single source of light, I swung my legs out of bed. I was aware that I wasn’t wearing any underwear, my breasts moving freely beneath my t-shirt. Hayden had taken my wet panties and bra with him, and though I could probably find new ones if I went through the drawers, I didn’t want to remove the clothes I wore now. The memory of the weight of Hayden’s gaze remained fresh in my mind. The last thing I was going to do was willingly get naked again. Even though I could have done with a hot shower after getting drenched in the storm, I was now handcuffed and in the dark, and I didn’t intend to attempt to shower in these conditions. Besides, with my hands cuffed, the best I’d be able to do was pull my t-shirt over the top of my head and then down my arms. I wouldn’t be able to take it off fully.

Not that showering was what mattered now. I’d warmed up overnight due to the dry clothes Hayden had forced me into. All I needed was a pee. Using the items of furniture and the walls, I navigated my way around the room, toward the bathroom. My palms met with cool concrete and warmer wood as I patted my way around, shuffling my feet forward in case my toes hit something I wasn’t expecting and pitched me forward.

I tried to push down my building panic, tears squeezing from the corners of my eyes. I’d never liked the dark, but I’d gotten even worse after my father had been arrested. During the conversations I’d had with the numerous therapists I’d been forced to speak to during my teenage years, they put my fear of the dark down to all the nights I spent lying in bed, listening for my father. If I heard him moving around the house, I would tense, my breath held, as I tried to figure out what he was doing, or where he was going. My heart would pound, terrified I’d hear the creak of the stairs, signaling he was going down them, and then the jingle of keys and the click of the lock of the front door. I would lie awake, wondering where he’d gone and praying he would come home again. Things didn’t feel right when I knew he wasn’t home. My mind went to crazy possibilities of what he might be doing—did he have a girlfriend somewhere, or another family? When I was feeling generous, I thought perhaps he was out working a second job to bring in extra money for the home, but that he was too proud and didn’t want my mother to know. Even at that young age, I knew he was sneaking around. And the thing that frightened me more than whatever it was my father was doing during those times was the possibility of my mother finding out. I’d lie awake, hour after hour, terrified she’d wake up and find him gone. Because the worst thing I could imagine was that she’d find out what he’d been doing—whatever that was—and they’d get divorced. When I’d been younger, that was the worst thing my mind could conjure. Divorce. If only I’d known...

I’d learned the truth eventually, and the truth had been far worse than my imagined fears could ever possibly imagine, but still my fear of the dark had followed me into adulthood.

I wasn’t that naïve girl any more. I knew there were far worse things out there than a little darkness, but that knowledge didn’t take the fear away.

The wall vanished from beneath my hand, and I shrieked as I almost fell sideways. Then I realized I’d found the entrance to the bathroom, and I hopped from foot to foot, the pressure in my bladder increasing. I managed to shuffle my way into the bathroom and find the toilet. Awkwardly, as my wrists were still cuffed together, I yanked down the yoga pants Hayden had given me and sank down gratefully.

I put my head in my hands, my hair falling over my face, as I emptied my bladder in a hot rush.

Needing to piss had been a good distraction from my situation, but now I was done, I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. I hated being down here in the dark. I couldn’t do anything. I was just left alone with no more than my fear and thoughts.

I finished up and patted my way to the sink, where I turned on the faucet and washed my hands and then splashed my face. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror. After the race through the storm, I doubted I was much to look at.

For some reason, the idea of the mirror right in front of my face, dark and empty, spooked me, and a violent shudder worked down my spine. I’d just managed to get a hold on my racing heart, but the thought sent it off again, pounding hard in my chest.

I turned and hurried out of the bathroom, moving too fast and only wanting to put distance between me and the black mirror.

I moved too fast, wasn’t taking enough care. I spun around, and my face smacked against something hard. Pain exploded across my nose and forehead, and I cried out and stumbled back. Fuck. I’d just walked into the goddamned wall.

Blood flooded down the back of my throat, and I cupped my hand to my face. My nose throbbed, and there was a stabbing pain in my forehead where I hit it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hoped I hadn’t broken my nose. I’d never broken any bones before and had no idea what it felt like, but this certainly didn’t feel good.

I turned and grappled my way back toward the toilet, one hand held up in front of me, waving around so I didn’t make the same mistake twice, the other cupped to my smashed up face. I found the toilet roll holder attached to the wall and unrolled a wad to hold beneath my nose. The tissue was quickly sodden, my fingers sticky with blood. Fresh tears flooded my eyes—partly out of pain, and partly self-pity. Nothing was going right for me. Nothing ever had, and it never would. I didn’t know why I kept fighting.

I lifted my face, and fresh blood ran down the back of my throat. “Are you happy now, Hayden?” I yelled at the invisible cameras. “Is this enough punishment for me? I’m going to guess it probably isn’t, you fucking bastard. You won’t be happy until I’m dead, too.”