“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, gesturing to her swollen face. “I’d rather die than live like this. And I do think we’re going to die if we stay. I want out.”
“We aren’t going to die, Rose. This will work.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel because, as we begin setting the plan in motion, I’m nervous. Trembling with an intoxicating mix of terror and adrenaline.
Rose lays down on her bed, facing the wall, and I go into the bathroom.
Every possible weapon or suicidal instrument has been removed from the room, leaving it depressingly bare. But there’s one thing in the bathroom Taras and his guards didn’t think of. One thing that could be the difference between life and death.
I climb up onto the small sink, my feet on either side of the basin. Then, after a silent countdown,
