I just stare at the closed door for about ten minutes, willing it to open, willing him to come back. My head pounds with the need for more information. I guess this is my way of stressing. My way of coping with anxiety, trying to ignore the problem until a solution appears.
Fifty minutes later still, I realise there isn’t a solution.
My blood boils as I realise how he took advantage of my vulnerability to lock me up in his room for his stupid job. He’s probably getting money for this. That’s probably all I am to him; cash. His house already shows how rich he is, so he’s obviously done this before.
Sitting down on the edge of the made bed, my hands start shaking, and my wolf starts to surface. She doesn’t like being caged up like a psychotic beast. Everything I’ve ever done has had a rea
