There’re only a handful of other attendees, but by the time the class has ended I feel calm and relaxed.

“Hey,” a male voice says as I make my way out of the yoga studio and over to the running track, intending to do a couple of laps just to warm down.

“Hey,” I say, barely acknowledging him.

“I’m Chase.”

“Starling.”

“Do you wanna run together?” he asks hopefully.

“I’m just going to do a couple of laps to warm down.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it as my warm-up,” he smiles. He’s tall, but not as tall as Sebastian, broad like a football player maybe, or at least athletic.

Not saying anything else, I walk to the edge of the track and then break into a light jog. He keeps pace at my side for the first half of a lap.

“Are you a freshman? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Yep.”

“Cool, I’m a sophomore.”

I nod, but don’t speak. Another half a lap passes before he speaks again.

“You’re making me feel a little pathetic here,” he laughs.

“Hmm,” I say, not agreeing or disagreeing.

“So pretty loyal to your high school boyfriend?” he smiles.

“Nope, just not interested.”

“Harsh,” he laughs. “I’m on the football team if that makes a difference?”

“None.”

“Wow. Friends then?”

“I’m good, thanks. Enjoy the rest of your run.” Then I jog off the edge of the track and over to the changing rooms. Not bothering to shower or change, I stuff my clothes into my backpack and sign out before exiting the gym and turn to walk back to my beautiful prison.

The entire journey back to the house, I’m on edge, waiting for Sebastian to jump out on me, to drag me back to my cage and refuse to let me go again. By the time I push open the front door, I’m practically vibrating with nerves. He’ll know I was speaking to that guy and sitting with Sammy at lunch, he’ll know I was interested in my sociology class and somehow, he’ll find a way to use it against me.

The house is quiet as I step inside, but not empty, I can feel the intensity of his presence.

“Starling,” he calls from the living room that I’ve yet to step inside.

“What?”

“Come here please.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s got me so paranoid, so tense and worried that all of this is one of his fucked-up games, that I find myself walking into the living room. Instead of waiting to pounce, he’s sitting in a chair, his hair unusually disheveled, his expression sad, pained almost. The others are in here too, slumped into their seats and all wearing matching forlorn expressions.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Would you join us please?” Sebastian asks, pointing to one of the empty chairs.

“I’d rather not.”

“Please,” Evan says, imploringly.

I sit down on the edge of the chair, bracing myself for whatever fucked-up thing is going to come out of their mouths.