I can’t allow things to continue like this, with him constantly altering his needs to suit mine. But now that I see things clearly, I realize that how I operate is exactly what he’s used to. I put restrictions on us, and he abided by them.

If I keep doing this, I’m just as bad as the people who raised him. And that’s not what I want to be. Because I love him, and as scared as I am of what’s coming, I don’t want to lose him.

By Friday I’m restless. I’ve binge watched every terrible reality TV show available. After six straight hours of Garage Wars, I clean my house from top to bottom and fall asleep at four o’clock in the morning, only to have nightmares about being trapped at The Ranch again. Except there’s no way out anymore because instead of a razor-wire-topped fence, the perimeter is lined twenty feet deep with recycled junk, and every time I try to climb to the top, the stacks fall and bury me.

I decide to switch to game shows after that for a few hours. Every time I nod off I have another nightmare, though, so I consume a pile of my candies, hoping to find some calm. I miss Darren. All I want is to curl up in his arms and let him protect me. But I worry as soon as I do, he’ll turn into another Frank, and then I’ll be trapped for the rest of my life.

It’s not rational. It might not even be sane, but the fear takes hold and roots itself in my brain.

Around noon my stomach rumbles, and I make my bleary way to the fridge. The box of wine my mom left for me has probably turned into vinegar by now, and I’ve eaten all the food Violet left me yesterday. She’s supposed to stop by after work with fresh donuts, which is all I want to consume right now, but that’s still hours away.

There’s a convenience store down the street. They’ll have Twinkies and Ho-Hos. I can make it there and back in less than twenty minutes, especially if I drive. Nothing bad will happen.

I get a load of my reflection in the mirror. I look like I’ve been on a serious bender. My eyes are bloodshot, and my pajamas are a wrinkled mess. I end up taking a very long shower and changing into a pair of leggings and a shirt Darren bought for me. I brush and braid my hair, because drying it would take too much effort. Then I grab my purse, phone, and keys and open the door.

I’ve forgotten about the security detail—don’t ask me how, he’s there all day every day—and I suck in a sharp breath and grab for my pearls. But of course they’re not there because they broke, again, all because of crazy fucking Frank.

“Miss Charlene, I apologize if I’ve startled you. Do you need something? A ride to Mr. Westinghouse’s perhaps?” he asks, polite and formal.

I consider it for half a second as I glance around at the wide open space and all the potential for danger. All the worst possible scenarios bounce around in my head, such as Frank popping out from behind some bushes with a chloroform rag and dragging me back to the RV with the help of all the co-op women.

“No. No, I’m fine.” I back up and slam the door closed, fixing the lock with shaking hands. I’m sweaty, and my mouth is dry. I pop one of my candies, even though I’m not sure they’re effective at keeping me calm anymore.

The soft knock at the door makes me scream.

“Miss Charlene? I apologize again for startling you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“How do I know you’re not part of Frank’s RV gang?” I shout through the door.

“I’ve been hired by Mr. Westinghouse to ensure your safety, Miss Charlene.”

I know he’s telling the truth. He’s been standing outside my door all week. Also, Darren texted me his picture and his personal details.

“Prove it!” I yell. My voice is super pitchy. Clearly I’m losing it. Again.

Less than a minute later, there’s another knock on the door. “Miss Charlene, I’m going to slide my phone through the mail slot. Mr. Westinghouse is on the line and he’d like to confirm that I am indeed here for your safety.”

I catch his phone before it hits the floor and stare at the screen. Shit, Darren Facetimed. I take a few deep breaths, wishing I was more put together and that my hands would stop shaking.

“Charlene?”

I keep the phone pointed at the ceiling and drop to the floor. “One second.” I put my head between my knees because I feel dizzy. I haven’t spoken to Darren since my birthday, although he calls and leaves messages on a daily basis to make sure I’m okay.