When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

This isn't love-this is a prison!

Myra

I drove like my hands were on fire. The backpack was in the passenger seat, my college forms and brochures crumpled beside it, and my phone was buzzing nonstop in the console - his name flashing like a curse every time. 

Marcus

I didn't answer. Not this time. I didn't owe him anything anymore. Not after tonight. Not after the truth.

I had made it almost out of Riverbridge. The last gas station sat like a rusted relic at the edge of the county line. One more turn, and I'd be out. Out of his town. Out of the shadow of that house. Out of the grip of that contract.

Freedom was two minutes away.

And then the headlights behind me flashed.

Once.

Twice.

And then they didn't disappear.

My chest went cold. My grip on the steering wheel locked. I pressed harder on the gas.

But it was him.

I knew it before he even pulled in front of me and slammed the brakes. I jerked the wheel to avoid a crash and skidded onto the gravel shoulder, dust curling up like smoke, my heart slamming in my ribs.

He was out of the car before mine even came to a full stop.

His expression wasn't rage. It was worse - it was cold, unreadable. Focused.

Like a wolf assessing a bleeding animal.

He opened my car door.

I didn't move. Couldn't.

"Get. Out."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

"No," I whispered, gripping the wheel tighter.

He leaned down, grabbed the keys, and tossed them into the field.

"Marcus, what are you doing-" And then he pulled me out.

I fought. I kicked. My hands beat against his chest, my voice broke in screams - but he didn't flinch. He didn't budge.

When he had me on the side of the road, held tight in his arms like I was a misbehaving child, he said nothing. Just walked to his car, opened the passenger door, and threw me in.

"You really thought you could outrun me?" he asked sitting in, quiet. Dangerous.

"I have to leave!" I shouted, voice cracking. "I can't breathe here anymore, Marcus!"

"You'll breathe when I allow it."
His words froze the blood in my body.

The drive back to his estate was silent. Too silent. He didn't speak. Just drove like every turn was another nail in my coffin.

When we reached his house, he didn't take me inside.

He took me to the outhouse. The locked one. The one no one used anymore. Dan and his friends used to use this to play in middle school.

I struggled harder. "What are you doing-Marcus-Marcus no-"

He dragged me like a ragdoll and shoved open the door. He threw me inside and locked the door behind us. I fell on the dirty floorboard.

There was nothing there but a single chair in the center of the room. No windows. No clock. No light, except the one above.

"You're done running." His voice was calm. Controlled. That was worse than yelling.