Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery.
My throat tightened. Every muscle coiled as I mentally calculated escape routes—fight or flight, and right now, flight wasn’t an option.
I’d been working on the ropes with a jagged piece of stone I’d grabbed earlier. They were frayed, almost ready to snap. One good yank, and my hands would be free—but my ankles were still bound.
If he made a move, I’d have to strike first. No hesitation. No mistakes.
The blade’s cold edge trailed down my cheek before the tip pressed lightly over my heart.
"Maybe I’ll just skip the choice," he mused, voice dripping with amusement. "Carve out your heart, turn it into something beautiful. Wouldn’t that be poetic?"
I held his gaze, my pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear my own ragged breaths.
Then—buzz.
His phone vibrated. Annoyance flickered across his face as he set the knife on a high shelf and stepped away, answering in terse monosyllables. "Yeah." "Got it." Nothing useful.
The call ended. He walked out without so much as a glance back.
I twisted, trying to catch the door code, but his body blocked the keypad. The second the steel door clanged shut, I snapped the ropes and scrambled for Emily’s clothes—dirty, crumpled, but better than nothing.
As I dressed her, I shook her shoulders. "Wake up. Come on."
Her bandaged eyes fluttered open—empty. Hollow. Like whatever made her her had been scraped out.
"Are you… here to save me?" Her voice was a ghost of a whisper.
I nodded. A sob broke from her, tears streaking through the grime on her face. I yanked her into a crushing hug. "I’m getting you out."
"Tell me everything," I demanded, scanning the room. "Every detail."
Between shaky breaths, she recounted the abduction—drugged, waking up here, him forcing her to choose.
"Why didn’t you pick the second option?" I asked.
Her head dropped. "I don’t… I can’t just let someone..."
I bit back a reply. No time for moral debates.
The door code was a dead end—no luck guessing. The knife was out of reach, the art supplies useless. Our only shot? Ambush him when he came back.
Thirty minutes later, footsteps creaked on the stairs.
I’d been working on the ropes with a jagged piece of stone I’d grabbed earlier. They were frayed, almost ready to snap. One good yank, and my hands would be free—but my ankles were still bound.
If he made a move, I’d have to strike first. No hesitation. No mistakes.
The blade’s cold edge trailed down my cheek before the tip pressed lightly over my heart.
"Maybe I’ll just skip the choice," he mused, voice dripping with amusement. "Carve out your heart, turn it into something beautiful. Wouldn’t that be poetic?"
I held his gaze, my pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear my own ragged breaths.
Then—buzz.
His phone vibrated. Annoyance flickered across his face as he set the knife on a high shelf and stepped away, answering in terse monosyllables. "Yeah." "Got it." Nothing useful.
The call ended. He walked out without so much as a glance back.
I twisted, trying to catch the door code, but his body blocked the keypad. The second the steel door clanged shut, I snapped the ropes and scrambled for Emily’s clothes—dirty, crumpled, but better than nothing.
As I dressed her, I shook her shoulders. "Wake up. Come on."
Her bandaged eyes fluttered open—empty. Hollow. Like whatever made her her had been scraped out.
"Are you… here to save me?" Her voice was a ghost of a whisper.
I nodded. A sob broke from her, tears streaking through the grime on her face. I yanked her into a crushing hug. "I’m getting you out."
"Tell me everything," I demanded, scanning the room. "Every detail."
Between shaky breaths, she recounted the abduction—drugged, waking up here, him forcing her to choose.
"Why didn’t you pick the second option?" I asked.
Her head dropped. "I don’t… I can’t just let someone..."
I bit back a reply. No time for moral debates.
The door code was a dead end—no luck guessing. The knife was out of reach, the art supplies useless. Our only shot? Ambush him when he came back.
Thirty minutes later, footsteps creaked on the stairs.
End of Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery book page.