Deadly by Sarah Harvey

was so lame. Always crying afterward. And moaning my name. And telling me how much he loved me and how he’d do anything for me. Except figure out how to last more than three minutes. Standing next to Eric made the hairs stand up on my arms. Still does. That’s all I have to say, other than I’m not on board with lust being a sin.
    And gluttony? Well, it’s disgusting, for sure. I mean, look at how many obese people there are. But a sin? There a lot worse things than stuffing yourself with Big Macs or KFC. Like hurting an animal or killing a child. Or just not caring about anything. What’s that called? Apathy. That’s a bad one. So here’s my updated list of the Seven Deadly Sins:
    1. Murder/violence
    2. Hurting animals or children
    3. Wrecking the environment
    4. Greed
    5. War
    6. Gossip/trash-talking
    7. Apathy about any of the above
    Notice that only one—greed—was on the original list. That’s because being greedy for wealth and power can lead to all the other things on my list.
    I put the pen down and flex my fingers. Still sore. So are my shoulders, my back, my legs. I fold the paper up and “mail” it through the slot. I write DAY 5 on the wall. Next to it I draw a fat dude with an erection, falling off a ladder. Three sins in one. It makes me laugh. Writing on walls is awesome. It’s like being three again. When I get out of here, I’m going to paint one of the walls in my room with that chalkboard paint. Then I can write on the walls all the time.
    I tuck the Sharpie into my bra and tie my bra-rope around my waist before I climb the tower for what I hope is the last time. When I get close to the glass blocks, I feel something I haven’t felt in days—fresh air on my face. It feels amazing, and it smells slightly like...water. And beer. The lake. I’m near the brewery at the end of the lake. I attack the grout like a maniac. Sweat pours down my face and back. My arm feels like it’s going to fall off, but I keep going. The grout is coming away quickly now. Two sides of the block are free, then the third. I pull the Sharpie out of my bra. I hope it will write on glass. It does. I write in block letters LOOK UP and then my name, AMY LESSARD .
    Then I get to work on the fourth side of the block. When I can see sunlight all the way around the block, I start to shove it out. I scream and swear at it as if it is my captor. “Bastard! Asshole! Jerk-off!” At last it starts to move. Slowly. Really slowly. When I get it to the edge, I stop pushing and tie my bra-rope to my toilet rod. I’m ready. Or as ready as I can be. I give one last shove to the glass block and it falls away, leaving me a small window. Way too small to climb out of, but not too small to get my hand and arm out. I inch closer to the window and shove the toilet rod out. The rope dangles from it and just before I start to scream, I hear the most beautiful sound in the world—the glass block hitting something and, a second later, a car alarm going off. I wave my bra-flag and scream, “Up here! Up here! Up here! Amy Lessard! Up here!”
    I scream until the car alarm stops. And then I scream some more. I wave my bra-flag. I cry. And then I hear a new sound. Footsteps, followed by someone banging on the door and calling my name. There’s a scuffle, and suddenly the door bursts open. I sink to my knees on the mattress, sobbing. It’s over.

Chapter Fourteen

Eric
    Once we’re inside the room, I tackle Jason from behind and wrestle him to the floor. Amy is huddled on a mattress, crying, but as soon as Jason is down, she jumps up and starts to kick him. She is barefoot, and it must hurt every time her foot connects. But rage makes her ignore the pain.
    â€œYou bastard,” she screams. “Did you do this to me?” She looks over at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. “Did he?”
    I nod.
    He tries to