The hours drift by, and my stomach rumbles, my mouth cotton dry, a headache pulsing across my brows. If the lack of food and water doesnât kill me first, I may just die of boredom.
Iâve tried to keep busy, going through the stuff in here to try to distract my mind, if nothing else. Aside from the furniture, the boxes contained knick-knacks and trinkets, including a rather beautiful glass shoe.
The irony was not lost on me; the fact that Iâm stuck in an attic by my evil stepmother just like Cinderella. She didnât have four princes though, although strictly speaking, I only have one, and she didnât have to deal with sexual exploitation and the possibility of future rape, but I guess thatâs all semantics at this point.
The door opening interrupts my musing, sending my pulse skyrocketing. Thereâs a shadow standing behind Odette again as she brings a tray in, and I canât stop myself from cowering back as she gets closer. Thereâs a silver cover on it, like itâs some fancy meal being served at a high-class restaurant. The bare bulb light glints off it, leaving a stain on my irises as I blink. I was so fucking relieved to find a light switch when it got dark that I shed a few tears.
âI wouldnât get any smart ideas, honey,â she tells me, striding across the room and setting the tray on a table that Iâd found. I even used the white sheet as a tablecloth and placed a small vase of fake flowers on it for the centre. Yeah, Iâve been pretty bored. âI love what youâve done with the place.â
âFuck you, Odette,â I seethe through clenched teeth. The only thing stopping me from rushing the cunt is the dark looming presence at her back. Sheâs the one paying him, even if he sounded unsure about her actions earlier. I canât guarantee that heâd help me take her out. I canât see him, but Iâm assuming itâs Dan, as I have heard no one else come and take his place.
âSuch foul language, stepdaughter. I should wash your mouth out,â she chides, her face showing only a mild amusement, though I guess I canât expect too much in the way of facial movement considering she probably doesnât have any space left after all the filler and botox.
âIâd like to see you try, you fucking bitch.â My lip curls as I have to force myself not to launch at her and rip her fucking hair out.
She tuts, shaking her head as she backs towards the door. At least sheâs not completely stupid.
âEnjoy your dinner, Ember, honey. The boys miss you.â
Then like a puppet whose strings have all been cut, the anger drains from me as hopelessness washes over me, and I drop to the floor, tears making the edges of the room waver.
âWhy?â I ask her, my voice a broken whisper, tears stinging my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall in front of her.
She stops, looking at me with a hard ruthlessness that Iâve not seen on her beautiful face before.
âBecause some of us werenât handed everything on a silver spoon. Some of us have to work to survive and continue to do so no matter the cost.â Her words leave me cold, a shiver pebbling goosebumps all over my skin.
âBut the end doesnât justify the means, Odette. What youâre doing is wrong. What youâve done is wrong. Why canât you see that?â I look into her hazel eyes and seeâ¦nothing. Thereâs no anger, no emotion, and itâs that emptiness which tells me more than anything else that Iâm fucked. Only the worst monsters feel nothing.
âWe all do what we need to, honey. Now, enjoy your food. Prince made it for you especially.â
Then sheâs gone, the door locking behind her once more.
My stomach growls as the scent of my dinner wafts towards me, and I slowly get up off the floor and head towards the table. Lifting the lid, a sob falls from my chest when I see that heâs made me chicken noodles, my favourite. Iâm reminded of that night when we came back from the gallery, how Oct told me they knew so much about me.
The tears start in earnest as I realise that while I told them I loved them, I know nothing about what they want for their futures, and what their hopes and dreams are. Now Iâm stuck in this attic, and it feels like Iâll never be able to ask them.
Taking hold of the cloth napkin that my cutlery rests on, I use it to wipe my eyes, and a small piece of paper floats to the ground. My heart pounds inside my chest as I bend down and reach for it, unfolding the square with trembling fingers.
If I thought I was crying before, itâs nothing compared to the sobs that rack my chest now, my knees giving way as I sink into the chair. My head comes to rest on my folded arms and I give in to despair and sadness, just for a minute.
The note crinkles in my fist, the sound helping to draw me out of my admittedly justified pity party. I look up at the noodles, wiping my eyes and nose on the napkin, and then I pick up my fork and eat.
Prince is right. Iâve survived worse than this. I thought Iâd break when my mum died, but I didnât, and then again when my dad died. Yet Iâm still here.
I will not let that bitch win.