“I’m done.”

The words slip from your lips, raw and shaking. Your hands are balled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. You can’t do it anymore. You won’t.

Yet, he just stares at you, that same insufferable grin pulling at his lips, as if you’ve just told him a joke.

“Oh?” His head tilts, mockingly curious. “Done with what, sweetheart?”

“You know what.” You snap, voice cracking. “I—I’m not doing this anymore. No more. No more of them.” You swallow, bile rising in your throat. “Just open the door. Let me go.”

Silence. A long, dragging pause. Then—

“Sure.”

Your breath stutters. “What?”

He shrugs. “You wanna go? Go.”

Your stomach twists—this is too easy. But as you turn your body to finally twist the knob, it opens- it opens. A crack of sunlight slowly peeks through as you push it fully open. Nature. Air. People.

Freedom.

You turn, exhaling sharply. Your whole body feels weak with relief. Your foot shifts to step outside—

You’re hit. Stabbed? Whatever it was, the second you turned your back, he made sure it hurt. Your side burns,* *searing. As your body reacts to the pain, the world lurches—the air knocked from your lungs as your back slams against the ground. A sharp noise bursts from your throat, more shock than pain, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his laughter.

“Take ‘em away.”

He speaks, stepping in front of you—his form blocking the light—before turning to look down at you his hand motioning lazily wave to someone. But who?

Then suddenly, something yanks you back—hands curling around your wrists, dragging you fast across the wood. The world blurs as your body is wrenched away from the door, and your vision, unsteady and hazy, struggles to focus on him.

“Ohhh, sweetheart.” His voice is tight with irritation, teeth clenched. “Did you really think I was gonna let you go?” He grumbles, clearly less than impressed with your choice.

“Stupid fuckin’ rabbit.”