The Cage: 4. The Breaking Point

She couldn’t breathe in the cage anymore.

Every breath filled with him—his voice, his touch, the memory of his mouth bruising hers. Sleep was no refuge; in dreams she yielded completely, whimpering his name into the dark. And when she woke, she hated herself for it.

It was on the seventh day that she snapped.

He had gone upstairs—she’d heard the footsteps receding. For the first time, silence wrapped the room without his presence in it. The keys, she knew, were gone with him. But her hunger for air, for space beyond these four walls, drove her to madness.

She yanked at the chain on her ankle until her skin bruised. She slammed the bed frame against the wall, searching for weak points. The cage rattled with each desperate movement, her pulse pounding in her ears. She wanted out—wanted to prove she wasn’t the pliant captive he thought her becoming.

Her fingers found the tray he’d left, its thin metal edge bent slightly. She stared at it, her heart hammeri