Chapter 3

Soon, I couldn’t tell time anymore. The room never changed. No window, no sun, no sky. Just four walls and the lamp on the table.

We kept it on most of the time. It didn’t use much electricity, and no one could see a glow from outside. Still, Mom said if anyone unexpected came, a neighbour, an inspector, anyone, we’d have to turn it off straight away. I always felt on edge.

The air was stale. It smelled of us, our clothes, and most of all the bucket in the corner. I hated it, but I was learning to live with it.

I tried to move, quietly. Three steps across the floor, three steps back. Push-ups with my hands pressed into the mattress so they wouldn’t thud. Deep squats until I couldn’t go anymore.

My legs ached. Not the good kind of ache, the kind I used to get after running. At school, I used to sprint on the track until my chest burned and my friends laughed, shouting my name. Sometimes Tim ran beside me. Not keeping pace, not quite, but close enough that our arms brushed. I never told anyone how much that meant.

Now I was in a box. My body wanted to run, jump, stretch, but there was nowhere to put the energy. It built up inside me like a storm. Sometimes I thought I’d burst out of the room just to make it stop. Just run down the road and see what happens. Instead, I pressed my fists into the mattress and stayed quiet.

We were safe here, Mom said. But I didn’t feel safe.

The wardrobe creaked. My whole body stiffened, even though I knew the sound by now. Mom touched my wrist, a reminder to be silent.

Claire slipped through the coats, balancing a tray. Bread, soup in a covered bowl, slices of carrot, three cups of tea. The smell made my stomach twist with hunger.