“Hey, Seth,” I say softly as he spoons me on my bed.

“Mmm?”

“Do you trust me?”

“What are you talking about?” He speaks more slowly than usual, his breathing regular and completely relaxed.

“I mean, the knife, and the tracker…” I let my voice trail off without finishing the sentence.

My heart pounds in my chest. Despite the happy hormones coursing through my system after my multiple orgasms, I can't breathe easy like Seth.

There's something I want from him, and I think this is the right time to ask, while he's in a good mood. Although my body wants to just pass out, the gears in my brain are turning and turning, trying to come up with the best way to make Seth say yes.

“Sure,” he says as he exhales, his breath warm and tingly on the back of my neck. “To an extent. I trust that you won't kill me, and I trust that you don't want to be killed.”

Damn. You can accuse Seth Wayne of being many things, but a tactful communicator isn't one of them.

“So you know I won't run away, right? You know I won't, like, report you to the cops or something?” I ask.

“It's not in your best interest to do that.”

“Right. I know that now. I know I should stay here for my own safety.” I don't think that’s my only solution, but I don't have to tell Seth that.

“Good. You're a smart girl,” he says lazily as he strokes the dip of my waist.

“Seth?”

“Yes, my angel?”

“If you don't think I’ll hurt you, report you, or run away from you, could I get my phone back?” I bite my lip and hold my breath, my heart going wild with anxiety. I perk up my ears, but all I hear is Seth's steady breaths.

Seth takes a deep breath. As he exhales, he says, “Why do you want your phone?”

I want to say, “Uh, because it's my phone?” But I resist the urge to respond with snark; I don't think that would help me get what I want.

So instead, I say, “I need to call my sister. We haven't talked in a while. She’ll get worried.”

After a tense pause, Seth says, “Okay, come to my office and I’ll give it back to you.”

“Thank you.”

To be honest, Emily and I don't communicate every single day. Now that she has a busy job and a little family, it's more like every week or so.

It wouldn't be strange for me to disappear for a few days, although I don’t think I can go much longer without her getting suspicious.

There's a chance Emily thinks I just need some time away from her. I don't talk much about it, but maybe she senses my envy sometimes. Maybe, when we were on the phone, I didn't sound excited enough about her pregnancy. Maybe she's giving me space.

Who knows? She is the person who knows me best, after all. Even if I had my phone, I still might’ve gone into hiding for a few days after hearing the joyful news.

Either way, I need to get back in touch with her before she gets suspicious. I know now that Seth means well, so I’d rather not get him into trouble. I haven't decided if I should just blindly do as he says, but I don't want that to be decided for me if Emily finds out what's really happening.

Now that's taken care of, I can relax. I snuggle back into Seth's chest and he holds me tighter with his strong arms around my naked body. Our bodies are so close I can almost feel his heartbeat on my back.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “how did a guy like you end up in prison?”

Seth chuckles. “Why shouldn't a guy like me be in prison?”

He make a good point. I haven't even been here a month, and I've seen him take a woman captive against her will (me), knee a guy in the gut, and shoot that same guy. To be fair to Seth, though, the shooting was a self-defense thing.

To get back to the original question, a violent man like Seth wouldn't really be out of place in prison. But many times, getting sent to prison is not about the things you have done.

“Well… You have money,” I say. “People who have money don't go to prison.”

“Why is that?” He asks, amusement dancing in his voice.

“Well, for starters, rich people don't commit risky crimes. They're not strapped for money, they're not desperate, so they’re less willing to take risks. When they commit crimes, they're often less serious offenses, like DUIs, or drug possession.”

“Or shoplifting,” he says with a smile I can almost hear in his deep voice.

“Hey!”

“Yeah, I still remember the story, from that little speech you gave at the start of the class.”

“But that was so long ago. I can't believe you remember.”

“Six years ago,” he says.

“Wow. I really can't believe you remember that,” I say. “That's kind of my point, though. I grew up poor. I’ve seen that desperation firsthand. You can't blame me for shoplifting for my little sister, who was starving at home. If I had money when I was seventeen, and a sister who could eat whatever she wanted at home, I wouldn't have done it in the first place. There would’ve been no need.

“So, all things being the same, I would’ve had less incentive to do it. I wouldn't have taken that risk.

“Now, there would always be that one person who’d commit crimes for the hell of it, regardless of his finances, but let's just leave him out of it for now.” I realize I’m droning on and I’m starting to feel self-conscious about it. I look back at Seth, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Okay,” Seth says. “So that guy who has money is just an asshole who goes around committing crimes for fun. Nice. Thank you. Good to know that's what you think about me,” he says sarcastically. After a couple awkward seconds, he laughs. “I’m not that easily offended. I’m an ex-con, remember?”

I laugh with relief. I don't know if I’ll ever learn to distinguish whether Seth is being serious or just delivering dry humor with a deadpan expression. But I’m glad he's interested enough to listen and make jokes about it.

“Okay, so, even if that one guy who has money gets arrested, he can hire a big, expensive team of attorneys, unlike most people. That means he's less likely to get sent to prison.”

“I see,” Seth says.

“So what was a guy like you doing in prison?” I repeat my original question.

“You’re not too far off the mark, actually. It was drug possession...kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Yeah. My friend wanted to buy some coke, so we went to his dealer’s place. We got there and suddenly the cops were all over us. There were gunshots… Anyway, that's how they got me.”

“That's horrible. You barely did anything.” My heart aches for Seth, having committed no crime, yet paying for it anyway.

Sure, there were a thousand better things he could've done with all his money and free time, but he didn't commit a crime.

It's not fair. I actually committed a crime, and I never got arrested for it.

“It's okay. It was a long time ago,” he says nonchalantly.

“Your friend, he got arrested, too?”

“No. He died before they had a chance to arrest him,” Seth says, his voice tinged with sadness.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

“This brings us to the attorneys part, right?”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

I feel him hurting and I almost don't want him to continue replaying the worst moments of his life just to sate my curiosity. At the same time, after everything he's done to me, I think I’m entitled to some answers.

I mean, I know he's trying to protect me, but did he really need to be such an asshole about it? The fake job offer, the phone confiscation, the hours-long lock-up…

I get that he means well and I’m actually warming up to him—I wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise; I’ve never been into casual sex. But the way he just took away my freedom still grates me.

“Well, you’re right,” he says. “My parents did have the money to get me out of trouble, but they cared more about what people thought of them than about what was happening to me. I tried to explain to them what had really happened, but they wouldn’t even listen. They told me they didn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

“That must’ve been rough.” I’m honestly taken aback. I thought rich people led easy lives with no problems. But despite his wealthy background, Seth has obviously led a tougher life than I have.

“Yeah, I have to admit that hurt more than the part where I actually got sent to prison. But it’s all good now. I served my two-year sentence, and now I’m in a good place,” he says.

“How’s your relationship with your parents now?”

“They’re dead,” he says curtly.

“Oh…” My voice trails off as I rack my brain for something to say. Should I say the usual sympathetic words, considering he might hate their guts still?

“I’m sorry,” I finally say.

“That’s okay.”

“Did you ever talk to them again?”

“After I got arrested?”

“Yeah.”

“We had one conversation, in which they told me to fuck off, basically. And then I never heard from them again, right up until the day I got a phone call from the cops, telling me they had died in a car accident.”

“Oh.”

“Before you say you’re sorry again, I really don’t care. They threw me away. Even if they were still alive today, I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with them. So it doesn’t really matter to me if they’re dead or alive.”

“Do you have any family besides them?” I try to change the subject, maybe get him to talk about a beloved brother, sister, or even close cousin. The mood is getting a little too heavy.

“No,” Seth says.

Damn, I curse quietly. Now I have to be the one to come up with something happier to talk about.

“I didn’t have a very happy childhood either, but I had my sister Emily and she made me feel less alone.”

Geez. Good job moving on to a lighter topic of conversation there.

“That’s nice. You’re close?” Seth asks.

“Yeah. We used to share an apartment. Now she lives in Seattle, and I don’t see her as much.”

Seth remains quiet.

I start to think about Emily, and how much I want to see her. I wonder if she’s already showing. I wonder if she has that pregnancy glow. I wonder if she’s having morning sickness and all the other pregnancy symptoms.

More than anything, I want to share these moments with her, but I don’t know if that’s possible, now that I’m Seth’s prisoner.

It’s a long shot, but I need to ask him.

“Seth, do you think...” I take a deep breath and pause. Do I really want to ask this question now, when he has just given me back my phone? Maybe I should wait a few days. But the question has already sunk itself into my brain and I can’t get it out now. So I ask, “Remember when you said I could go to Seattle?”

Seth stays quiet for a few seconds before saying yes.

“Did you ever mean to let me go at the time?”

“No.” His muscles grow tense; I can feel it in his arms that are wrapped around me. He doesn’t like where this discussion is going, but it’s too late to change course now. I’m going full steam ahead.

“Do you think you could let me go now? I won’t try to tell anyone or run away. I’ll come straight back here.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

I don’t have to turn around to know that he was speaking through gritted teeth.

“When are you going to let me do that?”

When he stays quiet, my suspicions rise. My heart starts to pound in my chest. Surely, he doesn’t mean to keep me locked up here forever, does he?

“Seth, you are going to let me go at some point, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. Like I told you. When it’s safe,” he answers tersely.

“When is it going to be safe?”

Seth says nothing.

“Can I at least ask my sister to visit here? I really miss her.”

“You’ll only put her in danger, and I know you don’t want that.” He sounds brusque, annoyed.

“So I can never see my sister again?” I wiggle out of his arms and turn around to look at him.

As I expected, Seth has a frown on his face. His eyebrows are taut, his lips a thin line. The muscles in his neck and jaw are strained as he opens his mouth. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you don’t know when it’s going to be safe, so it’s all the same, right?”

He sighs deeply, like it’s a big inconvenience for him to let me know what my fate is going to be. This is my future we’re talking about. I have a right to know.

“Get out,” I say. If he doesn’t want to tell me what I need to know, then I don’t want him here.

Seth stares piercingly at me, as if offended by the notion that I dare to tell him to do anything.

“Get out,” I repeat. “I want you out of here.”

He refuses to budge, but doesn’t say anything. He just continues to scrutinize me with his penetrating gaze.

I raise my voice. “You can’t lock me up here and expect me to just lie down and take whatever you do to me. You can’t keep me here forever. I’d rather die than let you force me to stay here forever.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“You keep saying that, but you never tell me anything, so how am I supposed to know?” I shout at the top of my lungs. I’ve been holding in my anger for weeks, and now it seems I can no longer keep it bottled up. “Damn it, Seth! I have things that I want to do, goals that I want to achieve. I have a life out there!”

“Your old life doesn’t exist anymore. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

“Fuck you!” I yell out. I don’t usually drop the F-bomb, but I feel like it’s justified here. I can’t even stand to look at him anymore. “Just get out, okay? I need to be alone.

Without a word, Seth gets out of my bed. He never took off his clothes, so he zips up his pants and then he’s done dressing up. He walks out and slams the door behind him.

Damn it. It makes me feel so used now, knowing he just intends to imprison me here forever, without telling me anything. When was he even going to tell me that he’s not planning on ever letting me out?

I thought things were bad when I was trapped in a relationship with Fred. I was so giddy when I met Seth, thinking he’s the perfect man, with his wealth and taste and good looks, but now I see him as the monster he truly is.

One thing is for certain. Since there’s no chance of Seth ever letting me leave, I have to run away.