Terms of Survival
1269 Words
"You're wrong, you know, I didn't kill anyone," Sienna said. But she felt scared.
"But you saw who did." He smirked.
Shaking her head as if trying to clear a fog or somehow juggle her memory. She felt breathless.
Jaxon walked slowly towards her.
She stepped back.
He stopped near her. He watched her closely. "You do recall it."
"Stop this now."
She paced, hiding her shaking hands. "Why are you here, Jaxon? You don’t care about the company. You’re a ghost. A memory. So what’s this about? Revenge?”
“No,” he said. “Control.”
That single word hit her hard. She faced him again. “Control over what?”
“You.” It was simple, cold, and blunt.
Her breath hitched. “You’re crazy.”
He shrugged slowly.
“You work for my family’s company. You’re in debt, and vulnerable.” He stepped closer again, “You’re one of the few who knows the truth.”
The room grew colder.
He slid a folder to her.
She opened it with shaky hands. Inside were papers, contracts, surveillance images of her going into her mother’s hospital, photos of her brother’s arrest, even her bank statements.
Every detail of her life, stored like a case file.
“You’ve been watching me,” she whispered.
“Protecting an investment,” Jaxon said. “I want your loyalty.”
She shut the folder hard. “What if I refuse?”
Jaxon’s smile vanished. “Then I will reveal the truth about that night.”
She froze.
He went on, his voice ice-cold. “I’ve kept it hidden out of respect. Out of curiosity. But if you don’t cooperate, the world will know about the blood-stained dress, the broken glass, the missing security footage, and the girl who ran away.”
Her legs nearly gave out. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" he asked. “You think I haven’t planned this? Every step, every detail?”
She looked into his eyes, anger burning inside her. “You’re sick.”
“And you’re desperate,” he replied smoothly.
She made fists. "I'm not yours to control."
He breathed near her ear. “You already are.”
Then he turned and unlocked the door.
“Think about your choices,” he said. “You have until tomorrow.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sienna sank into the nearest chair, still clutching the folder. Her heart pounded loudly.
She wanted to run.
But where could she go?
He had her cornered, legally, financially, emotionally.
That night, Sienna returned. She locked her apartment door.
The lights remained off as she sat by the window.
Her hands still shook. She opened the folder again and looked through the documents.
This time, she felt more than fear.
He had everything on her, her debts, her family, even hospital bills she didn’t recognize.
He had been watching her for years. But he made one mistake.
He didn’t know she remembered everything.
She went through her old notebook, one she hadn’t opened in years.
It helped her understand what happened that night.
She saw sketches of the crime scene, timelines, questions she never answered.
Then she wrote a name she hadn’t dared contact. Lucas Mitz.
He was there that night, just in the background, quiet, watching.
She hadn’t seen him since but knew he hadn’t disappeared completely.
He owed her a favor, the big kind.
She pulled out her old burner phone, the one she hadn’t used in years, and turned it on.
The screen flickered, showing only one bar of signal. Just enough.
She sent a message: Lucas, it’s Sienna. I need your help. It’s about prom night. I remember more.
The reply came almost instantly. Where do we meet?
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her fingers moved before she overthought.
Same place. Midnight.
She shut the phone and leaned against the wall.
The city’s lights flickered across her face.
She had one night to decide. Play Jaxon’s game or start her own.
If she was going down, she wouldn’t go quietly. Sienna didn’t sleep that night. She tried.
She lay on the couch with her coat still on, the burner phone on her chest, and the folder open like a map of everything she wanted to forget.
But her eyes stayed open most of the night.
Every time they closed, flashes returned, hallways, music, blood.
Alexander’s face. Jaxon’s eyes.
Soon, she started writing in her notebook.
At 2:13 a.m., she listed every new detail she remembered.
She wrote fast. She drew the hallway, the lockers, and the broken trophy case.
She underlined where blood had pooled. Something still felt wrong. She remembered yelling. She knew that now.
But not when she saw the body, earlier, just before. She wrote that down too.
I screamed before I saw him. Why? The question bothered her.
She sat back and looked at the city.
She wasn’t sure if her trembling hands came from fear or anger.
By 3 a.m., she packed a bag. Everything she might need if she couldn’t go home. Because after tonight, she might not.
By 4 a.m., she started walking. She didn’t go to work or text anyone.
She moved through the city, parks, and empty trains.
She needed to feel her legs and watch her breath. It made her feel in control.
At 6:47 a.m., she bought a new SIM card and put it into a clean phone.
Her old phone she threw into a fountain in City Square, just in case Jaxon was watching.
At 7:10 a.m., she made a call from a blocked number. One ring.
“Dr. Mehra’s line,” said the voice.
Sienna stayed quiet. Then she spoke. “This is Sienna Hayes. I need a copy of my mother’s psychiatric file. All of it.”
There was a pause. “That’s not something…” “She was committed involuntarily.
The bills say it was your clinic. I know you treated her.”
“Miss Hayes, that info is sealed…”
“I’ll come with a subpoena if I have to.” A long pause followed. Then, “I’ll see what I can do.”
She hung up without saying thank you or goodbye. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
At 9 a.m., her work phone buzzed in her coat pocket.
She ignored it while sipping coffee at a small café.
The screen showed HR Office. She knew what it meant.
Jaxon was expecting her to come back begging.
She blocked the number.
By noon, she was back home, taking a shower and changing clothes.
She kept the lights off again.
Paranoia wasn’t a bad thing anymore; it was just a way to stay safe.
She checked her bag and looked over her notes.
She studied the printed map of the old part of town.
The question nagged her: Why was the security footage gone? It had always been the weak spot.
The school had plenty of cameras, but there was no footage of the hallway, only static.
That made no sense.
She flipped through her notebook again. Lucas Mitz.
He worked on the tech crew that night. It was senior year. He knew where the cameras were. He knew how to cut the feed.
Did he really do it? Or was someone already watching when it happened?
11:38 p.m. Her keys jingled once, but she stayed silent otherwise.
The walk to the meeting spot felt heavy, like walking into her own grave.
Not because she feared Lucas, but because saying his name aloud again would bring the past back.
It would no longer stay buried.
And ghosts don’t come alone.
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