Collared(63)

“No, you don’t have to go far. Just down the hall and two doors to the left. That’s it.”

My feet pad across the carpet, moving closer to the door. “What’s the surprise?”

“You know the definition of surprise, right?”

I lean into the wall the door’s on, staring at it. “I can’t do it, Torrin. I tried . . . I can’t get the door open.”

The handle jars a little when I guess he puts his hand on it. “I’ll help you.”

I bite my lip and try to keep the panic from rolling to a boil. It’s crazy what three days of isolation will do to a person. It’s crazy how the world outside of these four walls can seem so scary and unreachable.

It’s crazy that after finally earning my freedom, I seem to have checked it back in.

“You can do this, Jade. You’re strong. Stronger than your biggest, ugliest fear. Ten times stronger than that.”

I don’t believe it, but the confidence in his voice gets my hand to the handle. This is as far as I made it earlier, and already my hand is trembling. I wonder if Torrin can feel from the other side how scared I am.

“Ready?” His voice rolls through the crack in the door.

“I think so.”

I manage to twist the handle a little, and I feel Torrin twisting it at the same time. The knob turns all the way over, but when he starts to push it open, the door stays in place.

“It’s locked. You can’t open it like that. I can’t help you open it if it’s locked.”

The handle’s slippery from my hand, and I don’t dare let go because I’m not sure my hand could find its way back. So I lift my other hand and guide it toward the lock. This hand’s quivering too, but before it grows into shakes, I manage to turn the lock over in a quick motion.

“There.” My voice is high with strain. “It’s unlocked.”

“Then open the door, Jade.”

My heart is firing, and I’m not sure I can, but then I feel my hand twisting and my fingers pulling and then . . . the door opens. Something inside me is ready to be free.

Torrin’s hand is still wrapped around the handle when the door swings into my room. He doesn’t let go until the door’s open all the way.

He’s smiling and looking at me the way he used to. Like ten years of separation weren’t real. “Welcome back to the world.”

I brace myself in the doorjamb and look up and down the hall. Nothing’s different, but I feel like I’m seeing it differently. Like the house isn’t some reflection of my past but maybe a shadow of my future.

“Well, at least back to the hallway.” I smile back and take my first step out of the bedroom.

Torrin backs up to give me some space and waits. “Ready for your surprise?”

“I didn’t just ward off a panic attack for nothing.”

He waves down the hall. “Good. Then close your eyes and let’s get going.”

“Wait. No one said anything about closing my eyes.”

“Why do I feel like you’re still failing to understand the definition of a surprise?”

“Why do I feel like you’re still failing to take no for an answer to anything?” I sigh and close my eyes.

“Promise they’re closed?”

I feel his hand whipping right in front of my eyes, checking. “Promise.”

I hear some rustling. I have no idea what’s making it, but it’s coming from Torrin’s direction.

“Is this going to be anything like the last surprise you walked me to with my eyes closed?” I ask.

More rustling. “If you’re referring to the disaster known as The Night I Tried to Cook Dinner for You, then no. Hopefully nothing like that.” His voice is muffled for a few words, but it clears.

“What are you talking about? That was the best overcooked chicken and undercooked pasta I’d ever had.”

“Yeah, chicken marsala might have been a bit ambitious for a guy who hadn’t mastered the toasting of bread yet.”

My laugh chimes down the hall. It feels so good I just don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to stop smiling and laughing, because maybe, one day, they’ll outweigh the tears and sadness and I’ll remember what it feels like to just live . . . instead of feeling like I’m practicing for life.

Torrin comes up behind me and holds the side of my arm. I’m expecting his other hand to wrap around my other arm when his hand slides over my eyes.

“You peek,” he says like he’s defending himself.

I don’t argue, because he’s right. Even now, I can feel my eyelashes fluttering against his hand as I fight to keep my eyes closed.

When I feel him move, I move with him. He stays close, his hands on me, guiding me. Even though by my vision’s measure, it’s dark, it doesn’t seep in the way I’m used to. It can’t find the door to let itself in.

We move down the hall, and it’s not long before we’re rolling to a stop. I hear a door open, Torrin guides me a couple more steps forward, then his hands drop away. He doesn’t tell me I can open my eyes, but I open them anyway. I have to glance behind me to make sure we’re still in the same hall and didn’t take some wrong turn into a wormhole.

I think this room used to be Sam’s, but it doesn’t look like it. At all.