Page 20 of Manic

God, my parents.

Had they noticed me missing yet? Did anyone message my phone? By this time, I would have already hit the coffee shop below my flat. Surely my admirer would have noticed me missing by now. Yet, all my thoughts did was cause a wild wave of panic to consume me.

I shot up, instantly regretting it as nausea blurred my vision so violently that I was forced to clamp a hand over my mouth. God, I was going to be sick.

Screwing my eyes shut, I leaned against the headboard and took a few more breaths before cautiously risking a glance around.

I was greeted by a large, modern bedroom—so large it could pass as a small apartment. Rugs lined the black marble floor, and full length windows sat on two walls—one slightly recessed for a sitting area and elaborate bookshelves. Another wall held a single black door, and—I looked over my shoulder, eyeing the door beside me—the bathroom sat on the same wall as the bed.

My breathing stalled.

Was I in Manic’s penthouse? He’d said I was staying with him, I just didn’t think he meant it literally. Logical reasons for my kidnapping slipped through my mind like water between my fingers.

Was there ever any logical reason for a kidnapping? No. But what did he want with me, exactly? Other than to be a thorn in my side, it didn’t…

A dark thought took root, leaving me to wonder if they had done things to me while I’d been drugged.

I took a brief moment to assess myself, prodding my skin for any signs of bruising—signs of being sore. Besides the tenderness to my neck where I’d been drugged, I wasn’t. I was still wearing the dress from last night though, and I was barefoot. They must have put me in here and left me alone.

As much as I hated to feel it, relief swept over me at the thought of being untouched by them.

I needed to get the fuck out of here.

Adrenaline flooded me as my feet touched the floor, and I walked closer to what I thought was the exit. I worked the handle, doing my best to remain silent as it jiggled in my grasp. Dread consumed me when it didn’t give.

That fucker had locked me in here?

Who was I kidding, of course he did.

Abandoning the door, I darted to the windows, my palms cold against their glass, and peered down. The distance between the windows and the ground was separated by at least a hundred floors. I’d probably die of a heart attack before my body hit the concrete.

I couldn’t even escape through a window.

I turned sharply with panted breaths and leaned against the glass, my mind sifting through possible plans of escape.

Think, Sutton, think.

A large dresser sat across from the bed, and I quickly strode to rifle through its drawers. Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d find something to use as a weapon. Worst case scenario, I would break the bathroom mirror and use a shard as a knife.

I pulled a drawer open, my hand freezing mid-air as my own clothes came into view—sweats, shirts, socks… my underwear.

What the fuck?

I yanked the others open, each one filled with my belongings and my pulse beat harder and harder at the thought of him entering my flat. He’d gone to my flat and retrieved my personal items? What the hell was happening?

My eyes drifted. Those books, the ones he’d given me, were neatly stacked beside the digital clock. A folded piece of paper stuck out from beneath the first cover. I clenched my teeth.

Snick. My head snapped up when a single click of a lock cut through the air—the door.

I straightened and backed away from the dresser, my heart racing. My hands trembled, and my breaths sped up as I expected Manic to walk in. But a minute went by, and the door didn't open.

Then another. Nothing.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I inched closer to the door and gripped the handle to test it, sucking in a sharp breath. With a small push down, the latch opened.

My eyes rounded. Holy shit.

The door didn’t even creak when it swayed open, revealing an empty, albeit fancy, hallway. Like my room, the floors were made of a black marble, but the grey stone walls were bare of anything. Not even a picture frame.