It would be really nice to have Travis comfort me right now and softly stroke my hair while whispering in my ear, telling me everything is going to be fine. I roll my head to the side and see he is out like a light and softly snoring. I close my eyes and sigh. I really don’t want to wake him. He has gotten next to zero sleep to speak for the past forty-eight hours. I think he’s been running on solid adrenaline. He’s always been a light sleeper, waking up anytime I would stir, but right now, he’s sleeping deeper than I’ve ever seen.
I roll over, look at the clock on the nightstand, and sigh. It's four o'clock in the morning. I get up on my shaky limbs and shed my soaked clothes. Cold chills race down my arms and over my bare body, making me shiver. The air conditioning wreaks havoc on my clammy skin.
Not wanting to disturb Travis by rummaging around, I slip on the first thing I can see in the dimly lit room. My jeans and a clean t-shirt it is. Of course, call me a weirdo, but I can’t put on a tight fitting t-shirt without my bra. I can’t stand my nipples poking out against the thin fabric.
I curl myself up on the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and pull a blanket around me, trying to get warm again. The last thing I want to do is climb back into a cold, damp bed, so I sit here wide-awake and begin to think about things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about.
Gazing upon his sleeping form, he looks so tranquil as his chest rises and falls in an easy, peaceful rhythm. He’s so damn handsome. Well…let me rephrase; he’s so damn hot. Things between us couldn’t be any more messed up right now, and one question in particular that sticks out like a sore thumb is, Why hasn’t he ever told me he loves me?
This relationship I’ve found myself in, if you can call it that, has been built on nothing but lies. I mean, the sex is absolutely phenomenal, but once we calm down from our passion, what’s left? All of the things Quinn told me about them working with the mafia, and the way they all run around with guns and killing…I’m not comfortable being a part of that lifestyle.
I close my eyes and rest my forehead in my hands. I’m so confused. I miss my dad, and I miss Jake. I know between Jake and my dad, they can help me sort through all the rubble in my head. They can help me see things from a different perspective. My fear is that I have Stockholm Syndrome.
I need time to clear my head and think straight, something I haven’t been able to do since I regained my memory. Yes, if I were able to take a step back and get away, I believe I could objectively reevaluate my circumstances, and decompress from all of the shock and mayhem. If Travis and I are truly meant to be, it’ll still be there once I figure myself out.
My heart thrums with anxiety from the mere thought of making an attempt to escape. I sit here and consider my options if I were to try. Thinking of simply walking out the front door, even at this hour, I wouldn’t make it two feet off the porch. Quinn is sleeping on the pullout sofa in the living room, which is basically at the bottom of the steps. My only other option would be the windows. I cringe; there’s no way I’d jump down two stories. I’d break my neck.
I leave the blanket behind as I get up to check what lies on the other side of the window in our room. Moonlight creeps in through the slats of the mini-blinds as I slowly inch them open just enough to peer out. I’m surprised to see I have a three-foot ledge only two feet down. My forehead wrinkles as I think about this puzzle. The ledge below is still too high for me to jump to the ground, but I wonder what would happen if I could manage to get to the A-frame of the roof, and walk around to the back side of the house. I remember seeing the screened-in porch from the kitchen window when I was doing dishes. I noticed it had a flat ceiling and thought it odd, because I’ve never seen one like that. I can only presume the roof is flat too. It must have been an addition the guys built onto the back of the house.
I look back over my shoulder to see Travis lying flat on his stomach facing the other way. I bite my lower lip out of nervousness. I can’t believe I’m about to attempt this. What’s the worst that could happen? I guess the worst that could happen is I’d get caught, then maybe tied up, and then afterwards, I’d get a good yelling at. All those things are punishments I can handle.