Five Minutes

HAZEL

In the end, I decided not to go downstairs for breakfast.

Am I hungry? Yes. I really, really want to eat something. But going down there… I decide it’s not worth it. So, I just stay on the bed, lazy and full of thoughts I can’t quite name.

By the afternoon, Angela walks into my room. Like I said, she’s not the talkative type. She goes straight for the laundry basket, cleaning quietly, deliberately avoiding my eyes. That’s her signal; no eye contact means I don’t like this.

When she's in a good mood, she'll give A soft “Good morning,” maybe, or a dry comment about the weather. But today, nothing. Just silence. So I don’t talk either. I ignore her because, honestly, I’ve got my own shit to deal with.

She’s almost at the door when she stops. “You didn’t come downstairs for breakfast,” she says finally, still facing the hall.

“I wasn’t angry,” I mutter.

“Well, you didn’t eat last night either,” she continues.

I take a deep breath. “Maybe I wasn’t angry then, too.”

“So what now? You’re going to starve yourself?” she asks, her tone sharp but still soft enough that I know she cares.

“Maybe,” I say flatly.

She hums under her breath, that little sound that means she’s annoyed but done arguing, and walks out.

I lie there, seething. Angry at her, at me, at everything. Five minutes later, the door opens again. Angela walks back in, carrying a tray of food. Still no words. She sets it down on the bedside table, turns around, and leaves.

Door closes.

I smile.

This is kind of our thing. When I first got here, Axel practically handed me over to her, my warden, my caretaker, my reluctant friend. Her job was to make sure I was alive, fed, and not trying to hurt myself. As if.

We have this push and pull between us. She pretends she doesn’t care. I pretend I don’t notice. But this, her bringing me food, is her way of saying, Eat, idiot.

And because I’m so damn hungry, I do. I grab the tray, sit on the bed, and finish everything. Then I lean back, sighing hard.

There isn’t much for me to do in this bedroom.

I’m allowed to go outside, of course, only inside the property—where there are “enough people to watch over me.” It's for my protection, Axel told me...... Oh my God, I could laugh.

I have books I can read, though. I asked him once if I could get a television in here, and he said— No. That was it.

If I want to watch a movie, I have to go downstairs to the movie room. But I’m not going out there. Not today. Not after what happened.

So, I pick up the novel I’ve been nibbling at for days and decide to finish it. It’s thick, beautifully written, and for a while, I get lost in it. The story becomes my escape, the only one I have left. By the time it gets dark, the automatic lights flicker on, but I’m still buried in the pages, my body curled up on the bed, my mind far away.

Then—knock, knock.

I pause. I already know who it is. Angela, probably to remind me about Dinner.

“Come in,” I say weakly. But then the door opens, and it’s not Angela.

It’s Axel. The moment I see him, I freeze.

Seeing him again after yesterday, after that.....my body goes still. He doesn’t look like the same man. The one from last night had been raw, unguarded, at the edge of control.

This one? He’s perfect. Every button fastened. Not a strand of hair out of place. He looks like the man I know and hate....handsome, composed, calculating.

And that perfection makes him cold.

I swallow hard, my gaze darting anywhere but at him. I can't meet his eyes for some reason.... He slides his hands into his pockets and exhales, the sound reluctant.

“I was told you didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

I don’t answer.

“Angela also told me you refused to go down for lunch. Apparently, you haven’t eaten since yesterday night.”

His voice is calm, clipped. “Would you mind telling me what the problem is?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I just didn’t feel like eating.”

He studies me for a moment, jaw flexing. “I thought we were over this phase where you throw tantrums and refuse to eat.”

He’s still standing there, all calm and in control. I pick up my novel and open it again, my silent way of saying, Leave me alone.

Suddenly, the book is snatched right out of my hands. Before I can react, Axel throws it behind him. It hits the wall with a sharp thud and collapses to the floor.

“Hey! I was reading that!” I snap.

The anger I always feel for him is back. It precedes every other feeling and doubt after what happened between us last night.

He gives me that cold, almost mocking smile. “I was waiting for you for half an hour, so we could have dinner.”

“Not my problem,” I shoot back, my voice sharp.

“You had one rule,” he says quietly, calm.

“I have a lot of rules,” I fire back. “Like the one where I can’t even step outside this property unless you’re there? Isn’t that something?”

Now we’re locked eye to eye. Anger and heat between us, breathing the same air. He nods slowly, as if he understands, but I know that look. It’s not understanding.

He breaks eye contact and glances at his watch. “You have five minutes. I want you dressed.”

For a split second, my heart skips. Is this it?

Has he had enough? Is he finally going to tell me to leave?

Maybe, just maybe.....he’s going to let me go. A girl can dream, right?

Right.

As he walks toward the door, I ask behind him,

“Are you finally letting me go?”

He doesn’t answer. He just repeats, calm and clipped,

“Five minutes, Hazel.”

Then he closes the door behind him so quietly that I almost wish he’d slammed it. At least then I’d know he felt something.

I walk to the closet and run my hand across the clothes. He goes all out with me, gives me my own personal shopper, and new deliveries every month. There are clothes here I’ve never worn, clothes I would never wear. Sequins, silk, lace, all of it feels like costumes for a life that isn’t mine.

I touch the fabrics and ask myself, Am I really going to do what he wants?

And then I decide, no. I’m not.

I go back to the bed and sit there, defiant. And then I think, You know what? I can do one better.

So I return to the closet and pull out my fluffy teddy pajamas, the soft, cozy kind that make you feel like nothing bad can touch you. I slip them on, crawl under the covers, and start turning off the lights.

That’s when the door swings open and Axel walks in.

The moment he sees me lying there under the covers, his eyes narrow, and I can literally see the anger growing there, slowly.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks, a little too calmly.

“I’m sleeping,” I say simply. “It’s my bedtime.”

“I told you to get dressed.”

“I did.” I pull the blanket down to reveal the fuzzy pajamas with a bright smile.