The Room – 13

Flan was emptied of all emotion, drained of any mental plans of escape, and infinitely more aware of her physical limitations.

She lay in the middle of the room, bound to a chair that toppled over in frustration. Long exhausting the possibilities of freedom, she prayed to the heavens without the slightest bit of hope of being heard, and the silence magnified her pleas. Eyes red with dried tears, chapped mouth, and a greater desire to meet death than to live in torture.

Flan was certain no one would know. She thought again of Roy. Roy, what a stupid name, she thought. In all his efforts, the flowers, his endless pursuits to remember every little thing and give little gifts to show it, how he got her postcards that made him think of her, even in his recent use of the term girlfriend. She smirked at the thought of him. This was the first she really thought about their relationship as a genuine thing. Then her dry eyes welled up once more, as she knew that her hopes of sharing his affection couldn’t be. Instead, she always pushed him away.

The floor creaked slightly as her captor slowly tiptoed to the door. She saw the doorknob slowly rotate as his head peered in. There he was once more. Ever since high school, his goody-two shoe act and smarmy way with girls put off Flan. He knew it. She didn’t think it would get to this point. She thought he would regret pushing her down that hill all those years ago, not grow to embody the demon that persuaded him that was the right thing to do.