Christopher had been pacing non stop after she had been given the paper and pen. As if trying to make her brain work the same extent as her body. She had several half-baked ideas, but nothing she had come up with would assure her freedom.
She was frustrated and tired. The situation weighed heavily on her. Every breath she breathed in his house felt stifled. Like each moment she was alive felt loaned to her and that when he came back she would have to pay for it. She wanted to throw something, to break something, to make something feel the same anguish she did. But she did nothing. Nothing but pace, pace and think, and lost again in her pacing and thinking, she had forgotten about the pale blue ribbon she still wore in her hair.