freedom taste like you

Chapter 3

"Mr White..." Clara said with a shaky voice.

Why is she scared? He won’t do anything to her. It’s me he’s going to get.

"Hello to you too, Clara," my father said, his tone smooth but sharp like a knife’s edge. "Sorry for the disappointment of not talking to my daughter today, but as you can see, she isn’t feeling too good."

He turned to me with that dangerous smile, the one that always made my stomach twist in fear.

"Right?" he asked quietly.

I nodded quickly, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Clara didn’t look convinced. Her eyes darted between us, full of worry and suspicion. Still, she said nothing more about it.

"O-okay then... I guess we’ll talk later, Amber?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

‘No,’ I wanted to say. Please, Clara, don’t leave.

“Yeah... sure,” I replied instead, forcing a smile that trembled on my lips.

With that, she gave a hesitant wave and went back to her house.

The second her door closed, my father’s smile faded.

"Get inside, Amy. We have business," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

I moved back slowly, trembling. He stepped inside, closed the door, and turned the lock with a sharp click. The sound echoed through the room like a final warning.

He glanced through the window, making sure Clara was gone. Then his eyes shifted back to me, cold, narrow, and full of fury.

"Why did you open the door for her?" he asked, his voice calm but deadly.

"I... I wanted to assure her I was fine, that she didn’t need to worry," I stammered.

"Why don’t I believe you?" he asked again, taking a slow step forward.

I backed away, my hands shaking. "I-I’m not lying, Dad. I swear I’m not lying."

He studied me for a long, suffocating moment, then shook his head and walked past me, heading upstairs without another word.

I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, confusion and fear swirling inside me.

Where was he going?

What was he going to do?

Had he finally given up, or was he planning something worse?

My knees felt weak, so I sat down on the couch, staring at the floor. My fingers twisted together as silent tears fell. I prayed, not for forgiveness or comfort, but simply that he wouldn’t have to beat me again.

Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs.

"Pack your things, Amber. We’re moving out," my father said flatly, dragging a suitcase behind him.

I looked up in shock, not just because of what he said, but because he’d used my name. He hadn’t called me that in years.

"W-what?" I managed to whisper, hoping I’d misheard him.

"You heard me, young lady," he said, hauling his luggage outside, probably to load it into the truck.

I stood rooted to the floor, fear pinning me in place.

"You still standing there?" His voice boomed as he stepped back inside. "Do I have to beat some sense into you?"

My heart stopped. I shook my head quickly, whispered a shaky “sorry,” and ran upstairs with tears streaming down my face.

I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. Not again.

What if he kills me this time?

What if no one ever finds me?

I packed as quietly as I could, trying not to cry too loudly in case he heard. Every shirt I folded felt like another piece of my freedom slipping away. When I finished, I looked around the room, the only place that had ever felt like mine, and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I carried my two suitcases, one big and one small, downstairs to where my father was waiting. He snatched them from me without a word and carried them outside.

I followed, locking the house behind me, switching off the lights and fans one last time. The house fell into darkness.

"Ready?" he asked when I reached the truck. His eyes gleamed with that same twisted smile.

I glanced back at the house, at the window where I used to watch the stars and dream about leaving someday, then looked at him and nodded silently.

He started the engine and glanced at me again.

"Don’t worry, Annie," he said, his lips curling. "We’ll have more fun in our next house."

I forced myself not to flinch. He didn’t mean fun the way normal people did.

As the truck rolled down the empty street, I turned my gaze to the window, the night air pressing cold against the glass. Houses blurred past, and I whispered a silent promise to myself.

In the next house… I’ll start my escape plan.