The Trap

Chloe knew she couldn't confront him. He was twice her size, and they were miles from civilization. She needed proof. She needed to know the extent of the lie before she made her move.

She started hiding her pills. When he gave her the evening sedative, she tucked it into her cheek, spitting it into the toilet once he left the room. Her mind began to clear, sharpening the edges of her fear.

That evening, a fire crackled in the suspended hearth. Liam was reading a book, feigning a domestic tranquility that made Chloe’s skin crawl.

"Liam," she said, breaking the silence.

He looked up, marking his page. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking about my aunt," she lied. She didn't have an aunt. She had grown up in foster care. "Aunt Sarah. Did she call? Does she know I’m hurt?"

Liam didn't blink. He nodded sympathetically. "I spoke to her yesterday, actually. I told her you were recovering and needed quiet. She sends her love. She said she’ll visit once you’re up to it."

The air left the room.

He was lying. He was lying effortlessly. If he was her boyfriend of six months, he would know she had no family. He would know she spent holidays alone.

"That's good," Chloe said, her voice trembling slightly. "I miss her."

"I know," Liam said. He stood up and walked over to her, tucking a blanket around her legs. "You just focus on getting better. I’ll handle the world outside."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. His lips were warm. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream. As he pulled away, she saw him check the lock on the front door—a heavy, deadbolt mechanism that required a key from both sides.

He wasn't keeping the world out. He was keeping her in.