The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Seventeen

Sorry for the delay in updating! It’s been... *checks date* ...HOLY HOOKER! Two weeks! I’m such bunny poop. You are all amazing for reading so far, so this is dedicated to YOU. I appreciate every single one of you.

It had been a brightly-lit room filled with furniture; a small, cramped bedroom, to be exact. Tom had shoved me inside and locked the concrete door behind him. My eyes focused on the large, clearly double-paned glass window. They were obviously watching me on the other side – watching for what, was the question.

And then, in an instant, it happened.

The bed – a four-poster queen – shifted slightly in my direction, making a faint, scraping sound against the grey carpeting.

My heart began to pound a million times a minute, hammering painfully against my chest. I was rooted to the spot as tears began to prickle my eyes.

The penny had finally dropped.

They were going to watch me suffer through this ordeal; they were going to watch me beg them to open the door, to let me out. They were going to watch.

Pushing my back against the cold slab of a wall, I kept my eyes focused on the bed. The movement had stopped, but I knew that it would take up again. The tears flowed freely, and I turned to look at the glass window, silently pleading with whoever was behind it to have pity on me.

Dad put me here. He’s the reason I’m here. And I don’t know what I’ve done to make him hate me so much.

An ugly red-and-yellow leather couch in the farthest corner of the room caught my attention. Like a small wounded animal finding its bearings, it slowly shrugged to life, inching forward. A loud sob escaped my mouth and turned into a choke as the magnitude of this situation started to sink in.

I was trapped.

“Please!” I wailed, shoving myself against the door. “Let me out!”

I lunged at the window, not caring if I hurt myself or not, but the glass didn’t shatter. What was I hoping for? A miracle?

“Please!” I repeated, wishing that my voice didn’t sound as high-pitched as it did in that moment. Crumpling to the ground, I broke down in tears, giving myself up to my fate.

You should have run, Terra. You should have listened.

The shuffle of the bed started up again in my direction. My heartbeat almost drowned it out – until the twinkle of something shiny caught my eye.

They couldn’t be that stupid, could they?

But apparently, they could.

There, on the nightstand, my salvation shimmered. I made up my mind that instant: Anything was better than being subjected to this torture. I had dreamed of doing it once before, but never had the guts to do so. But now... now everything had changed.

Gingerly standing up, I glanced at the window one last time – and moved towards the things that made me crumble inside from fear. As if sensing my approach, they stilled, waiting; watching.

I quickly reached for the nightstand and grabbed it, before anyone could open the door and stop me. Or maybe this is what they wanted; what it all came down to.

There were no thoughts or tears as I plunged the kitchen knife through my gut.

* **

“Ter? Ter, wake up.”

Is that You, God? I can’t speak. I’m sorry for doing that to myself. But You forgive me, right?

“Terra? I don’t have much time.”

I forced my eyes open, blinking them to life. I wasn’t in Heaven. Even as I tried to see in the darkness shrouding the room, I could feel the uncomfortable slimness of a hospital bed beneath me.

“How could you do that, huh?”

I sat up, wincing at the piercing zing that shot through my lower abdomen and instantly regretting it. Lifting my top, I gently pressed my palm against it, feeling the thickly-wrapped gauze around my gut. I was a failure.

“Terra, can you speak?”

“Go away. Marco.” I didn’t recognise the croak that escaped my lips. Was that all I’d accomplished? Ruining my voice?

“I know you must hate me... but I never meant to hurt you. You just have to know that,” he murmured, his voice inches away from me. If I wanted to, I knew that I could reach out and touch him; feel the familiarity of his skin.

But I wouldn’t.

“Don’t care,” I wheezed painfully. “Just leave.”

“I thought you had died, Terra. Do you understand what you put me through?” Marco continued as though he hadn’t heard me, which only further irked me. How could he sit there and tell me how he was concerned for my well-being when he was the enemy? How?

The dull throb where the knife had pierced my skin was beginning to transform into an acute sting with every breath I took. Gingerly, I lay back down, hoping it would subside.

“Please say something. Anything. Tell me how much you despise me.”

I didn’t want to breathe another word, but I needed to: “Why? Why am I here? What’s going on?”

An interminable silence met my ears before he replied.

“Remember Patrick Keller?” His voice was lowered, as if he were mentioning a dirty secret.

“Who?” I whispered, the pain fading away.

“The book you found in my room? Way back?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Terra, it has everything to do with everything. I can’t really –”

Footsteps resonated outside the room, ominous in their consistency. I felt Marco move in the darkness, and then the door was pushed open.

I lay on my back, eyes squeezed shut, faking sleep. The light was turned on, instantly smarting my eyes through my eyelids.

What if Marco got caught?

Why was I worrying about him when he was a traitor?

“She’s fine,” a voice came from above me. “Vitals seem normal. What has Mr. Martins said?”

“He’s impressed. She’s the first that’s actually had the balls to do it, you know.”

“Well, Sarah’s in the building, and not too happy from the look of things. Do you think Mr. Martins will tolerate her any longer?”

“Definitely not. He thought she understood, but clearly she doesn’t. She doesn’t see how positive this is.”

“Then he’ll have to dispose of her, won’t he?”

“Exactly.” Pause. “I’m famished. Cafeteria?”

“Sure.”

The women left, the click-clack of their heels tapping out a rhythm on the linoleum floor.

They had been discussing my mother.