She abandoned her "room" under the stairs that night, returning to the couch in the parlor, where she'd been deposited upon her arrival. He had multiple guest rooms upstairs, but when his current visitor had been dumped on him unexpectedly he'd initially been naturally suspicious, having no desire to provide her with the freedom to roam around his upstairs refuge unsupervised. The master bedroom was situated not far from the entry way and the parlor was easily visible from the main living area, thus allowing him to monitor her coming and going.
The move back to the couch was of her own volition, much as her transition to the room under the stairs had been after he'd released her from her brief confinement. It had to be a more comfortable option than a camping mattress, but after her confinement when she'd become silently insistent about heading down the stairs every evening he'd simply shrugged and allowed her to have her way. He'd been momentarily caught off guard when she'd bypassed the stairs after he'd bid her goodnight the prior evening, but again had said nothing about the change. He had, however, been hyper aware of her closeness when he'd finally left the living room and gone to bed himself. As a result, he had slept restlessly and woke earlier than usual to prepare their breakfast.
She said nothing as she passed through the kitchen as usual to the larger guest bathroom on the main floor to prepare for her day. He'd returned the silence and focused on the frying bacon. As was the usual routine, she wandered in and sat down only when the breakfast was plated and left at her usual self-selected spot--as far away from his chair at the head of the table as possible without actually being directly across from him.
Usually she ate fairly quickly, but this morning she did little more than shove the food around on her plate. He'd watched passively, wondering if she ultimately would bring up the bath or if--more likely he thought--she would simply pretend it had never occurred. When she finally spoke it was with determination.
"I want to leave."
That caught him by surprise. Not the wanting it, but the voicing of that want.
"Oh?"
He didn't say anything more, simply waiting for further demands.
"You said you don't keep unwilling women captive. I am not willing. So you should let me go."
Her reasoning was fairly on point, but he certainly wasn't going to just let her stroll out the front door and disappear. There was too much unsaid between them to even consider letting her just walk out. Even so, he didn't have the heart to simply refuse her outright.
"Okay, I will get my keys. And where am I taking you?"
She hadn't anticipated his assenting, and when he gave it the reality hit her abruptly. She had nowhere to go. She certainly couldn't return to her step-father's home. Though she was an adult she'd never experienced any form of independence, thus there was nothing she could do to stop him from simply pimping her out to the next bastard who offered him cold, hard cash. She had no friends and few associates. Her younger sister, more confident than her in many ways, had left the home months before the moment she'd turned eighteen. Frankly, she doubted anyone beyond her mother had noticed she was gone. Most likely, her mother would have fallen back to the bottle once again, blocking out the reality that she preferred middle-class comfort enough that she was willing to trade her daughters' well-being to make sure she kept her place in her current husband's household.
He didn't miss her silence, nor did he comment on it. Beyond the sound of his chewing the silence was deafening. When he was finished with his own plate he took hers from in front of her as well, placing them both in the sink. Then he walked out the back door towards the paddock, leaving the girl alone with her thoughts.
-----
She waited until he was nearly out of sight, noting he didn't as much as glance over his shoulder. When she was confident he wasn't paying her any attention she slipped out the door, following his steps to the paddock. Finding an old electrical spool not far from the fence line, she rolled it over and sat down, observing the activity in the field in front of her.
Jon had just come out of the barn, meeting up with the stallion as he paced in the field. He approached the nervous creature from the side, slowly and casually. The horse spooked and raced across the paddock, the rush of air as he passed by thrust Jon's cowboy hat from his head. But he remained completely unflustered.
She watched as he moved towards the magnificent stallion, and away again. The attunement between the man and the animal was unquestionable; Jon seemed to know instantly when the horse had reached his limit and would obligingly back away. The dance continued, unhurried, until the halter had been slipped over the horse's head and knotted. The stallion flung his head back and forth a time or two, backed away and then moved over toward the fence and began grazing as if nothing had changed.
Jon backed away from him casually and leaned up against the fence beside her.
"You can come in now if you're calm and slow. He's settling in. More than I can say for some."
The girl ignored his invitation. Settling wasn't high on her list of things she was wanting to do in the moment.
"You know, Midnight is a wild horse. They round them up every few years. Government says they overgraze the land and they need to control the herds. Reality is the cattle are the issue. But the horses don't pay rent. It's a crime, really. A creature this magnificent and strong doesn't deserve life in captivity. But it's this, or the slaughterhouse. Personally I think this is the better option."
His monologue was just that--she refused to give him even the slightest response. As familiar with the ways of women as he was with horses, Jon didn't bemoan the point. He simply shrugged, grabbed his hat from where it sat in the dirt and headed back to the house, simply yelling over his shoulder as he retreated.
"Sometimes the best solution is the direct result of choosing the least worst option".
-----
She hated him. Truth hurt, and she'd already faced many painful truths. Adding yet another was simply cruel. She was trapped---not by the nature of her location, but by a few simple words.
Despite being trapped, he'd clearly turned the table and forced her to acknowledge her choice in the matter. She had nowhere to go--but she was free to leave. Choices were unfamiliar in her world, where secrets and lies thrived under ugly masks, their existence fueled by sheer desperation.
---
She walked back towards the house dejectedly. Slipping quietly through the door she entered the dining area cautiously, hoping to be unnoticed. It wasn't difficult--her reluctant host was nowhere in sight.
She wandered towards the large island separating the common living area from the kitchen, lightly running her fingers over the granite countertop. Walking the full circle around the island nonchalantly, she noted the rack of tea cups, the glistening silver utensil holder, the clear glass of the cupboards where the pristine China plates were neatly stacked. She felt nothing as she looked around at the niceties.
Then, suddenly, the numbness and the nightmares morphed into something else altogether...and she snapped.
The utensils went first, the entire container flung tempestuously across the room. The tea cups next, the entire stand relegated to the floor with one sweep of an arm. The crash as several shattered was invigorating and furthered her drive for destruction. She'd just opened the cupboard and was flinging the plates across the room, one at a time like frisbees, when he came rushing down the stairs towards her.
He paused on the landing, evaluating the situation regardfully. His presence slowed the frantic mess, but didn't melt the ice around her aching heart. Intentionally, she continued working towards her task of eradicating his dinnerware.
