Chapter 10

The scratchy texture of the duct tape against my skin was slowly driving me mad. Was this still a dream? Was I still asleep in my bed, dreaming of this horrifying scenario? The events of the previous night played in my mind like a macabre film reel.

As the sun timidly peeked through the grimy cabin window, casting long, ominous shadows across the room, I decided to take a closer look at my binds. My hands were numb, but I managed to get a good grip on the tape. A snag in the headboard offered a sliver of hope. It wasn’t much, but it gave me enough leverage to tear at the adhesive.

With each successful rip, a surge of adrenaline and satisfaction coursed through my veins. Freedom was so close I could practically taste it. Finally, with one last desperate pull, the tape tore completely free. My hands were raw and sore, but I couldn’t help but grin with triumph.

Shakily getting to my feet, I tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake my captor. The cabin was small, consisting of one main room, a bathroom, and two tiny bedrooms. Haides’ door was slightly ajar, revealing a scene that made my breath hitch.

He lay sprawled across the bed, sound asleep, his black hair tousled and his chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked so… relaxed. The sight of him so vulnerable sent a strange tingle up my spine. He was my creation, yes, but in this moment, he seemed so real, so tangible.

I couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, despite the terrifying circumstances. The line between fantasy and reality was blurring, and I was starting to wonder if Sofia felt the same way about Haides in my book.

Suddenly, the urge to do something completely unexpected took hold of me. A mischievous grin played on my lips as I decided to play the role of his fictional counterpart. I would be Sofia, stepping into her world, her life.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I was surprised to find it bare. There were no cupboards overflowing with ingredients, no fridge stocked full of fresh produce, just empty shelves and a silence that echoed through the small space.

“This is starting to feel like one of Sofia’s nightmares,” I muttered to myself, frustration creeping into my voice.

Memories of Sofia’s struggles and triumphs flooded my mind. What would she do in this situation? How would she react to being trapped with Haides in this isolated cabin?

Closing my eyes, I tried to channel Sofia’s spirit. I imagined her strength, her resilience, her unwavering determination. Then, I pictured the kitchen as I wanted it: full of fresh fruits and vegetables, a colorful array of spices, neatly arranged jars of jams and pickles.

Opening my eyes, I held my breath in anticipation. But the kitchen before me remained unchanged. Empty shelves and a cold, unwelcoming silence greeted me.

Anger flared within me. But I wasn’t going to let my inability to master my lucid dreaming and the lack of ingredients stop me from making breakfast for the man who had kidnapped me.

Determined, I decided to improvise. I’d borrow Haides’ keys and go to the nearest town to bring back some groceries. Then I would make Haides the best damn breakfast he’s ever had. After all, being Sofia for a day couldn’t hurt, right?

Okay, being Sofia for the day does hurt.

I gripped the steering wheel of his car, trying to steady my nerves. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands blanched as I drove. My eyes kept trying to flick back to the rearview mirror, as if Haides would be there, watching me with those icy eyes. But the car was empty, and I kept reminding myself that this was a dream, a twisted, morbid dream.

I drove for a long while before I found a small grocery store. If I could have let out a breath of relief, I would have, but with how tense I felt, I couldn’t manage it. On the way there, I was filled with anxiety about it being later than I thought and Haides waking up, all while I was gone.

I groaned internally, berating myself for not reading the premonitory signs.

Nothing goes that smoothly when I’m involved.

When I finally pulled into the parking lot of a small, old grocery store, I was met with an unpleasant realization. I had no cash. Not on my person, and there was no money in Haides’ car except for a $50 bill crumpled up in the glove compartment.

Given where it was, I felt the need to scrub my hands with sanitizer afterward.

It was laid next to a gun and what looked like a blood-stained rag. I sucked my teeth at the latter and made a mental note to include this in a future book–the sloppiness of a serial killer as a lover. But I was also giddy at the fifty-dollar bill. Fifty bucks could get me a fair number of things at a small, backwater grocery store.

The store had a nice, old-country feel. It had wooden walls with hanging wicker baskets full of fresh, homemade baked goods. There were rows and rows of shelves filled with staples, pasta, canned goods, spices, and some random other things that I briefly wondered how the locals used: random pieces of folk-art, pipes, and some nondescript mason jars.

The man behind the counter was an older man with a beard. He wore a red plaid shirt and had long, silver hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. I smiled at him. He gave me a friendly nod and said, “Good morning, or rather, good afternoon. Forgot to set your alarm, did you?”

I felt my cheeks burned with a blush.

“Yeah, something like that,” I laughed nervously.

I shopped for a while, filling my arms with provisions for my imaginary captor. Bread, eggs–it took a long time to make a decent omelette, so that was a frugal choice. I liked to think I was picking the groceries Haides would have wanted, while in reality, I was somewhat choosing things I liked.

After I paid the man, who turned out to be the owner of this small grocery store and who talked to me like I was a niece, I loaded my supplies into the car.

The highway I was on was deserted. I had driven for years and had never seen such a lonely road. The trees on either side were like ghosts, and the air was cold. The sky was an iron-gray, the sun a smudge behind the overcast.

I drove.

And drove.

And drove.

I drove, I think, for hours. It was like I had entered some fae realm where time wasn’t real, and the roads I took weren’t on the map. The only thing that brought me out of this strange reverie was the growing need for a bathroom break. My bladder had never done so much work in such an inappropriate and uncomfortable situation.

But the more I drove, the more I sensed something. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but it was like an invisible weight on my shoulders–a dread almost. The buzz of anxiety felt familiar, subconsciously.

And then it hit me.

I didn’t know how to get back to Haides.

I was…lost.