Chapter 2

Days blurred. Or maybe it was just hours.

The darkness was a living thing, pressing in on me.

My throat was raw from screaming. My body ached from the cramped position.

The air grew thick, heavy. Each breath was a struggle.

I think I passed out.

When I came to, a faint, musty smell was in the air. Different from the mothballs.

It was me.

I was dying.

Then, nothing.

A strange lightness. I floated.

I was outside the trunk.

Looking down.

The steamer trunk sat in the dim light of the storage room. Dark stains seeped from beneath the lid, pooling on the wooden floor.

My blood.

The lock still gleamed. The belt was still tight.

He hadn't come back.

A few days later, or so it felt in this timeless state, Jack finally came down to the basement.

Mark, his business partner, had called. I heard their conversation, a disembodied echo.

"Jack, seriously, man, Emily hasn't answered her phone in days. And there's... a smell coming from your storage unit."

Mark sounded worried.

"She's just being dramatic," Jack's voice was dismissive. "Probably locked herself in and is trying to make a point. She'll come out when she's hungry."

But Mark must have persisted.

Now, Jack stood before the trunk. He looked uneasy.

"Alright, Emily, lesson learned," he called out, his voice lacking conviction. "You can come out now. We'll say you've had enough."

Silence from the trunk.

He nudged it with his foot.

"Emily?"

He unbuckled the belt, his movements hesitant. The padlock clicked open.

He lifted the lid.

And recoiled.

His face, a mask of shock, then disbelief.

He saw me. What was left of me.

My body, twisted, broken. The stench filled the small room.

My soul watched him.

He didn't cry. He didn't scream.

He just stared.

Then he backed away, slowly.

He turned and walked out, leaving the lid ajar, leaving me exposed.

Later, I saw him with Sophia.

She was nestled in his arms on our sofa. Our sofa.

"She just left, Jack," Sophia cooed, stroking his hair. "She was probably unstable. You said so yourself."

"Yeah," Jack said, his voice hollow. "Unstable."

He held her tighter.

His gentle touch, the one I craved, the one I hadn't felt in months, was now lavished on her.

He never once mentioned the smell from the basement.

Or the stains on the floor.

Or me.

I remembered being locked in that trunk, hearing his voice just outside.

"Stop faking it, Emily. You're not that good an actress."

"You think this is bad? Sophia was terrified for her life!"

His words, cold and sharp, had flayed me then.

Now, as a silent observer, they just confirmed everything.