Locked In

12

AINSLEY

The week leading up to Halloween, the third week of October, was always a busy one in town, and it was no different this year. The streets had transformed, draped in cobwebs and eerie lights, with skeletons hanging from porches and scarecrows standing stiff in front yards. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered from every doorstep, and more than a few houses had gone all out with haunted displays, complete with fog machines and ghostly figures that seemed to watch your every move. It was a strange mix of festive and unsettling, as though the whole town had collectively embraced the weirdness of the season.

I didn’t leave my house for two weeks, trapped in my head with too many thoughts and not enough air. But when Mr. Granger, my neighbour down the road, offered to pay me to help him decorate his place for Halloween, I figured it was as good an excuse as any to get out of the house. Plus, the money would help. I liked Mr. Granger—he was friendly, always waved when I passed by, and never asked questions. It made sense to say yes when he knocked on my door earlier this morning. And so I was here, sitting at his kitchen counter, carving pumpkins by myself after he stepped out to grab more supplies.

I pushed the blade into the orange flesh of the pumpkin, carving out jagged teeth in what was turning out to be a pretty menacing smile. The pumpkin guts stuck to my fingers, cold and slimy, but I didn’t mind. The rhythm of carving was soothing, a brief escape from the chaos in my mind. I leaned back in my chair for a second, taking in the silence of the house. It was Monday, and the clock above the mantel told me it was just after 3 p.m. The light outside was already dimming, casting a soft glow through the windows, the day moving faster as the season drew closer to winter.

The house was full of Halloween signs. Strings of plastic bats hung from the ceiling, and a cauldron of fake candy sat in the corner of the room. I’d helped Granger with some of the decorations earlier—stretching faux cobwebs over the front porch, propping up an inflatable witch in the garden, and even hanging a few ghosts from the trees outside.

My place was as empty as any other month. It was as though I was in March and everyone else was in October. Not only did I not have the strength, but I was not in the spirit. Nor did I have the money to waste.

I was yet to thank Theon for ‘rebuilding’ my house; I hadn’t seen him since that night he came inside and touched me. I waited for him to come the next night, but he did not. Not the next, or the one after. He stopped coming, and after a lot of thinking, I realised it might have to do with what I said about dying. I didn’t mean it, I’d said it casually, not knowing it’d anger him. I was aware of his feelings for me, the madness in his eyes was loud enough, but after that night, I was beginning to think I might not have the slightest clue of how he felt for me.

I stabbed the pumpkin’s eye a little harder than necessary.

Minutes later, with the pumpkin finished, I sat back and admired my handiwork. The sharp smile and wide, gaping eyes looked perfect.

My heart skipped a beat when the front door opened, courtesy of the spooky house. When I turned and looked over the sitting room to the entrance, it wasn’t Granger standing there, it was a young man.

A familiar man. The rude man from Ma’am Jeena’s coffee shop.

I stood up. “Who are you?” I doubted he remembered me. “Mr. Granger isn’t h—”

“I know. I’m his grandson.”

“Oh,” was the only thing I could say as I sat down, hyper aware of every step he took towards the kitchen. Feigning casualness, I picked up the knife and shifted the last pumpkin closer to start cutting.

“Who are you?” he asked. I didn’t need to turn to know his distance from me. He was close.

“I agreed to help your grandpa out because I thought he had no one to help him’ and the work would be too much for him.” I casted a glance at him. “Apparently, I was wrong.”

Why the fuck did I say that?

“What was that?” He shifted. “Hey. I know you.”

Okay. Shit.

The next thing I knew, his hand was grabbing my hair. He wrenched my head back, and I screamed from the force.

Holy shit. My eyes watered rapidly.

The knife dropped from my slippery palm as he hauled me to stand, snarling at me. “It’s you. It’s you. You made me lose that contract. You poured that coffee on me.”

Fuck, my scalp.

“Because of you, I was late and rejected. Now, my fucking life is ruined. I’m in fucking debts.” A slap landed on my cheek, sending me to the floor. I cried out as the impact of the fall had the knife splitting my palm, blood spilling out across the cold tile. My head spun, pain radiating from my face and hand, but I had no time to dwell on it.

“You’re dead. I’m going to destroy your stupid life today.”

I scrambled backwards, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My hand slipped on the slick floor as I frantically dragged myself around the counter, the knife clenched in my other fist.

With the maniac gleam in his eyes, killing and burying me would be a piece of cake. He was angry, veins popping out, and he didn’t seem like a sane type of person.

My hand trembled as I fumbled for my phone, slick with blood. My mind raced, searching for someone—anyone—who could help.

Theon.

His name crashed into my thoughts, clear and undeniable. He was my only hope in this town.

I unlocked the phone, desperately scrolling through the messages, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. His number wasn’t saved, but I remembered the time he texted me—that night. My hands shook violently as I found it and pressed dial, hoping beyond hope he would answer.

But the second my finger hit the screen, I felt the man’s hand clamp around my wrist. I gasped, and my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor, spinning out of reach.

I swung my other hand, hauling the knife wherever. It connected with his flesh, and with a growl, he knocked me away. I hit the floor, immediately reaching for my phone.

He was on the line! It went through. I began to ramble into it without lifting it from the floor.

“The–Theon...Theon...Theon...I—” His leg knocked the phone away from me just as he grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me to stand.

The door burst open, a roar echoing through the room. “What’s the meanin’ of this?”

I jumped, realising Granger had stormed in with his friend. My shoulders loosened, a wave of relief passing over me just as he released his grip on me, his eyes burning into his grandpa. The air thickened with hostility. Granger’s friend slipped away quietly, sensing the tension between the two men as their glares locked, unyielding.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the friend kneel, picking up my phone with a soft sigh. His gaze shifted to my hand, a flicker of pity crossing his face. “I’m sorry, child,” he murmured, his voice heavy with concern. “Do you want me to take care of this? It looks serious—”

“I’m fine,” I bit out, forcing a tight smile as I took the phone from him. “Thank you.”

Without another word, I dragged myself towards the door, desperate to escape. It was when I got to Granger’s side that he spared me a sorry glance. Understanding, I nodded and walked out, my palm dripping red.

I hissed, my eyes on the gash as I made my way home. Every step sent a dull throb through my hand, the raw sting of the cut on my palm intensifying. My face felt no better, stinging from the slaps. But that was that. I was thankful he didn’t do worse, and I kept telling myself a hot bath and some painkillers would take care of it.

But then I stopped dead.

Across the street, I spotted him—Theon, head bent, phone in hand, his steps quick. He lifted his head, and his body froze when our eyes locked. I could feel his gaze travel over me, lingering on the red imprint across my cheek and the blood trailing down my hand. His face shifted—whatever calmness he had before vanished, replaced with a hard, visceral fury.

I stayed rooted, unable to move as he ate up the distance between us, almost afraid of what might happen next. His anger was palpable, raw and terrifying. His eyes darkened, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might break his teeth. A muscle ticked in his cheek, and for a second, I thought he was about to explode, the kind of rage bubbling just beneath his skin that should terrify anyone standing too close.

His gaze flicked between my face and the blood on my hand, and he didn’t seem to be breathing. Theon wasn’t just angry— he was furious, his entire body taut with a tension that could snap at any second. He took a step towards me, slow, deliberate, his expression carved from stone. I didn’t move, my body frozen under his gaze.

“Let’s go,” I said, the words rushing out before I could think. My voice was small, pleading.

Because I knew. I knew that if I let him go—if I didn’t stop him—there would be a bloodbath in Granger’s spooky house.

“Who touched you?”

His tone made my breath hitch. I had to admit, there wasn’t any part of this man that didn’t scare me.

“Let’s go. I’ll tell you.”

“Who—”

“Theon.” I begged with my eyes. “Please I...I just need a hot bath.”

His gaze went over my head, staring in the direction of Granger’s house. I prompted again, giving his stomach a small push. When his hazel eyes came back to me, they softened just a bit.

He lifted his hand and palmed the back of my head, bringing me close to his face. “Your hot bath, and I need his name,” he growled.

Swallowing, I nodded.

I walked out of the bathroom, and Theon was still sitting there—on the edge of my bed, elbows on thick thighs. Although my bed was small, but hell would freeze before I stopped marvelling at how smaller he made it look by sitting on it. I ignored his eyes as they followed me to the closet where I picked an oversized grey sleep-shirt.

I expected him to give me some kind of privacy, but glancing over my shoulder, he didn’t look like he was ready to. His eyes stayed glued to me, hard and unblinking.

Slowly, I unwrapped my towel from around my chest, turning just a little to observe him. When I let the towel slip from my hands to pool at my feet, giving him my naked body for the first time, he straightened up slightly.

I wasn’t exactly facing him, my back was mostly to him. But the fact that it got a reaction out of him did my inside numbers, my thighs clenching.

I didn’t let his hungry eyes ravish me for too long, knowing what it was doing to him. I wore my shirt and walked over to him, slightly dizzy from the drugs I took after he treated my wound.

“No panties?” he asked, voice rough.

“I don’t wear panties to sleep,” I replied and climbed my bed, trying not to think too much of this new intimacy between us. How we were doing this like it was a normal thing.

I brought my cover over my body, snuggly placing my head on my pillow, very exhausted and sleepy. I told him what happened at Granger’s house, he didn’t say anything. He just listened. I had no clue what the guy’s name was, and he’d told me to describe him instead. Before I did, I forced him to promise not to try anything funny like spilling his blood. I didn’t know why I’d said that, probably because a part of me knew he might be capable of killing someone. He’d shown me that tendency, mostly when he was jealous of the guys I talked to back in school.

He had nodded once.

“Stop doing chores. Don’t ever step into anyone’s place to work. Clear?”

I forced my eyes open—when did I close them?—and chuckled. He can’t be serious.

“I’m very fucking serious, Ainsley.”

I shook my head. “You’re not.”

He cocked his head, a devilish glint flicking through his darkened eyes.

I almost sat up. “You can’t be serious. How else am I going to survive? In case you don’t know, I’ve been rejected by several companies and this is the most profitable work I’ve ever done. I’m not going to back out because one asshole assaulted me. Or because you want me to.”

“What do you want?”

“What?”

“How much would be enough for you to back out?”

“Oh, I’ve almost forgotten how rich and—”

His jaw muscle worked. “I’m not joking.”

“One million,” I replied sarcastically, eager to give in to the sleep tugging me. “I don’t know. I just want to sleep and—”

“Done. You’re not going back there, or anywhere else. Understood?”

He’s just kidding. He’s not serious.

My eyes were closed, and no matter how loud and fast I chanted those words, the truth remained: Theon doesn’t bluff. Particularly when it had to do with someone touching me. During my free time, I googled obsession, trying to navigate and understand his feelings, and each time, I learned something new. Something terrifying, something that always left me thinking if there was a possibility of ever escaping him. Not that I wanted to. I wouldn’t make it far if I tried. Somehow, his type of love fascinated me, and I found my mind going back to him every free hour I did.

What baffled me was how he’d been able to keep to himself for six years. Anyone would have forced me into a relationship with them, or at least would have kissed me. Not Theon. It was as though he was content with just keeping his eyes on me, when we both knew how bad he wanted more. His expressions were always readable. I would really strip down if he told me to. In my head, I’d accepted that he owned me because it was impossible to imagine Theon standing by and let another man take me, though I would never say it to him. He’d claimed every part of me without even touching me, and that alone was a mystery, and a torture to him.

His self control was commendable.

“Why haven’t you tried to touch me? Not even once.” I didn’t know how many minutes had passed, or if he even heard my question. I could be speaking in my head for all I knew, since I was half asleep and half awake.

After a long while, he spoke.

“You’re a dangerous temptation.” His voice was soothing, quiet, soft, as if singing a lullaby or reading a bedtime story in a silent space. “You…you’re like a drug. One hit, and I’d be hooked. You’d sink into my veins even though you already have, and I know—once I got a taste of you, I wouldn’t stop. I’d lose control, lose myself. And if I get too attached, more than I already am…I don’t trust what I’ll become.”

My heart suddenly felt too heavy.

It took me back six years, to three months before graduation—to that cliff. He had tried to save me, tried to save me from my kidnapper. But as we ran, he slipped, falling over the edge. He managed to grab hold, his fingers clinging desperately to the ledge, the rushing waters and jagged rocks looming below. I’d left him and ran away.

I’d left him because the kidnapper was on our tail, and if he knew Theon was holding onto his dear life, he’d throw him off completely. I couldn’t let that happen to him. So I’d run, using myself as the bait, distracting him.

It must be why he suddenly hated me. Either because he thought I’d left him there, or because he regretted coming to save me.

Theon and I were the only ones in the woods, he’d found me, being the stalker that he was. He must have had a tracker on me, just like today. Because there was no way he’d have found me that night, or this evening.

The door clicked open.

Was he leaving?

“Theon,” I whispered, hoping this wasn’t all in my head, hoping I was actually speaking to him even though it felt like my body was floating in space. “I came back.”

He needed to know. He should know I didn’t leave him there to save my ass. That I got rid of the man and came back for him.

“I came back, but you weren’t there anymore.”