I can't say how long I've been locked in this room. It could be days. It could be weeks. There's no window, no clock, just a dim, artificial light humming in the ceiling that never turns off. I sleep when I'm too exhausted to stay awake. I eat when I have to. That's how I mark time now, by the arrival of food trays and the man who brings them. Always the same man. Silent. Robotic. Drops the tray, takes the old one, leaves without a word.
It's maddening. The silence. The not-knowing.What happens if the phone isn't in the bag anymore?
What happens when they get it?
Will they kill me?
I can't just wait here to find out what they'll do.
I won't.
I've made a plan.
There's not much in this room. A blanket. A bed bolted to the floor. A tiny bathroom. But desperation makes you creative. If I can blind him with the blanket, just for a second, I might be able to use a broken piece of the toilet seat as a weapon. It's porcelain, thick and sharp when shattered. If I hit the base just right, maybe I can get a clean break.
So, I wait. I stay calm. I wait until he drops the tray and leaves. Then I move.
I slam the seat down again and again, muffling the sound with a towel until, crack, a fracture splits through it. I freeze, listening. No footsteps. Good.
I press down hard with my foot until the chunk breaks loose. It's heavy and jagged. I wrap one end in toilet paper so I can grip it without slicing my hand. It's crude, but it's all I've got.
Next time he walks through that door…I'm leaving.