The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 383

And the cello in his cabinet—when did he take it? Why was it stashed away in his office?

The way he looked at her. His hand hovering in the air, wanting to touch her hair. The overwhelming, suffocating emotion in his eyes every time he spoke to her.

Piece by piece, it formed a terrifying picture that sent shivers down her spine.

"He really is a psycho."

She whispered the words aloud, her voice drifting into the empty room without a reply.

Sloane stood up and paced the floor.

The chill of the tiles against her bare feet helped ground her, cooling her panic. She stopped, closed her eyes, and forced herself to push the emotions aside, analyzing her situation with clinical detachment.

Fact One: Her primary physician slept with her personal clothes in his arms.

Fact Two: Her personal instrument was secretly hoarded in his office.

Fact Three: She had been in this hospital for a very long time, and every aspect of her treatment, diet, and medication was controlled entirely by him.

Fact Four: The first phase of her brain tumor treatment was complete, her condition was stable, and she was currently only in the observation phase.

Put those four facts together, and the conclusion was glaringly obvious—she had to get out of here!

Not tomorrow. Not in the morning.

Now.

Sloane was a woman of action. Once she made a decision, she didn't waste time second-guessing it.

She only had an old backpack—the one Lexi had brought her. She unzipped it and started shoving things inside.

Sloane held out her left wrist, displaying the white band, keeping her tone completely casual. "It's just this wristband. It's about to snap. I got it wet when I was washing my face, and the clasp came loose. I don't want it to fall off in my sleep and trigger the alarm. Could you swap it out for a new one?"

The young nurse leaned in. The plastic strap was indeed dripping wet—Sloane had deliberately soaked it in the bathroom sink. The internal teeth of the clasp looked loose from the water, and the edges of the strap had faint scuff marks, courtesy of Sloane rubbing it against the edge of her bedframe.

"Oh wow, it really is hanging on by a thread."

The nurse bent down, rummaging through a drawer to grab scissors and a fresh wristband. "Give me one second, I'll put a new one on for you."

She picked up the scissors and snipped the old band in half.

The plastic snapped open and slid off Sloane's wrist.

With a soft clatter, it landed on the desk.